A Brush With Reality

By Roger Sheehy

An ancient curse or a family legacy? A scourge or a gift? What is that old saying...be careful what you wish for?

Things are rarely what they seem. Sean didn't care. He just wanted a simple life, a normal life. He wanted his family back. Somewhere off the coast of Somalia, he made his decision. It was time to stop running, go h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger H. Sheehy
• Release date: Jul 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781777534554

Roger Sheehy

Writing has been a passion of mine since my youth. Like most, it started with journaling (and some really bad poetry), but later I moved into short stories and later travel. I love to write about the things that inspire me. I try to capture the essence of the ever-changing world around me and share it with others so that they too can share in the experience and find their own story. Most of my writing is in blog form, but I still write short stories. This is my first published novel.My wife and I recently moved to Portugal which has given me a new topic on which to write: the trials of immigrating to a new country. I share some of our crazy stories, as well as tips to making the move easier for others. I'm a contributor on several Facebook group pages devoted to expats, as well as the Prisco Business Group website. Prisco is the team here in Braga who assisted us in getting our Portuguese residency and in starting a business.Outside of writing, I have a wide area of interests. I consider myself a Renaissance man: a person with many talents or areas of knowledge. Obviously, I love travel, but I also love to cook. I briefly attended culinary school and I am a card-carrying 'foodie.' Having spent many years in Kansas City, I am also a huge fan of BBQ! So much so that I have become quite a pit-master in my own right, and my wife and I were even Certified Kansas City BBQ Society Judges. We participated in several high-stakes BBQ contests in Missouri and Arizona, which required trained judges from across the country. But what's BBQ without beer? I love a good craft beer and I'm even a homebrewer. I also love dogs and woodworking.Now that I'm in Portugal, my other necessary passion is learning Portuguese. I have had two teachers, Ricardo (Viva Portuguese) and Patricia (Fun Languages), along with a collection of mobile apps and flashcards to help me slog through this. In five years, I hope to pass the language test, but in the meantime, I use what I have learned to be able to communicate with the locals.Connect with Roger:https://rogersheehy.com/https://www.facebook.com/RogersRhapsody

Book preview

Dedication

To my love, my confidant, and my best friend, Thene.

Prologue

The lightning’s strobe effect lit the room for a full second before the darkness returned, but it was long enough for him to see them at the top of the stairs. Frozen like fawns in a spotlight. With a second burst, they were gone. He had hoped to catch them sleeping. They were, after all, innocent in this. It was their mother he wanted to hurt.

Don’t worry, he muttered. It´ll be quick.

Subsequent bursts revealed his path in segments, but before he could make any meaningful progress, absolute darkness returned, leaving spots exploding like fireworks before his eyes. His progress was glacial, but finally he reached the base of the stairs. Gripping the baluster he moved slowly up the inner edge, where he knew the treads were less likely to creak. Halfway up, a loud bang came from his left. Years of practice had honed his reflexes to a near super-human level. In the time it took most people to blink, he whipped the blade from inside his coat, twisted around, crouched, and scanned the room for the threat. It was a second before he realized the wind had slammed the front door shut. He smiled, straightening up and turned back to the stairs but jerked back almost immediately. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, certain that it was only the sudden darkness playing tricks on him again. But when his eyes finally adjusted, there was absolutely no doubt.

What the f—?

From above him on the stairs, a man in his twenties stared back. He had a silvery-blue aura about him that filled the room, and a mirthful grin spread across his pale face. Whoever he was, he needed to die but before he could attack, the glowing man thrust an arm forward, stopping him in his tracks. He tried to grab the man’s blue arm, but his hands passed right through it as though it were merely an illusion. He felt pressure around his throat. It grew stronger, and stronger, cutting off his air. He flailed against the apparition, but it was in vain. He looked into the man’s eyes.

Who? Was all he managed. He felt the crushing weight on his throat. He felt the stabbing pain. He felt cold. Then darkness enveloped him, and he felt nothing at all.

Chapter 1: Sean’s Return

From time immemorial, poets and seafarers have anthropomorphized the sea. They speak of its moods and personalities as though it were a temperamental lover. And they whisper with cowed heads of its apathy for human life. Sean was neither superstitious nor illiterate, but time on the waves had taught him to respect the vast, deep waters. He had seen his share of the unexplainable and the horrifying, all paling to what was coming. Soon, he would face an entity more unpredictable than the sea, and more horrifying than death itself. Soon he would face...his sister!

Standing at her door, he braced himself. Then steeling his resolve, he raised his hand, and rapped on the door three times. Within seconds, he heard footsteps. The door opened, and there she was. He had played out various scenarios about this meeting. What would he say? Surprise! or Long time no see. In the end, he opted for silence, and braced himself for the slap.

Hello, she said brightly. Can I help— She looked hard at him, then furrowed her brow. She cocked her head, then squealed, Sean! and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. For such a small person, she had a suffocating embrace.

Hey, Sis! he gasped and awkwardly patted her back.

She released her grip and dropped back to the porch but kept her hands on his forearms. I dreamed of this day. Her face had an impish grin. I had the whole thing planned out, including your well-deserved ass-chewing. But now... The grin fell. Her eyes pooled, and the tears began flowing. Her face hardened. She bit down on her lip. She hated to cry in front of people. Two years? she choked. Not since the funeral. I know I was a bitch, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since. But I’m your sister! No calls. No emails. You never even sent a Christmas card! At least Mom got that much, otherwise we would have thought you were dead! She jerked her hands away from him. Her gaze turned to a glare, and now came the slap. It hurt his heart more than his face. She crossed her arms and turned away.

Sarah. I—I.... He straightened up and was about to leave when she turned back around. Her face glowed soft again with a crooked smile. She raised a hand to his face. He recoiled, but only for a moment. Her touch soothed him. She leaned in and added a kiss.

You had that coming, she said gently.

The slap or the kiss?

Both! She smirked. So, tell me everything.

Whew! He sighed. Where to begin?

How about where you’ve been, why you never so much as dropped us a postcard, and why you’re here now?

Gee. Is that all?

It’s a start, but let’s go inside. Where’s your luggage? she said, glancing around him.

He shrugged at the knapsack on his shoulder. I travel light.

Nothing? Her eyebrows shot up. Literally just the clothes on your back and that bag? Sean nodded. Ok, well, come on in. Sarah tilted her head toward the door and stepped aside.

The interior was an open floor plan making the dining area, kitchen, and living room one large room separated by furniture. The dark pine floors were set off by the cream-colored cabinets, and all around there were hints of French-country décor. The late-morning sun streamed through the windows and in the distance, Sean could see the blue Atlantic stretch to the horizon.

Beautiful, isn’t it? Sarah called from behind him.

Hmm, Sean offered. But his thoughts were on the bone-chilling ice storms off Cape Town, the skin-cracking heat of the equator, and everything in between. When he stepped ashore in Newport that morning, he swore he’d never set foot on a ship again. For that matter, he may never step off dry land. But, in the warmth of his sister’s house, the ocean view was tranquil and soothing.

So, Sarah said, snapping him out of his thoughts. Coffee? Water? Something stronger?

Uh, coffee, if you have any.

No problem. It’ll just take a second.

Oh. You don’t have to make any. Water’s fine.

It’s no problem, little brother. I like coffee too. She went about the process while he glanced around the house.

I like the house, he said.

Is it what you expected? The inside, that is, you obviously pegged the outside, she said with a little snort. That still amazes me. I mean, what are the odds of finding a house that so perfectly matches your painting. She gestured to a frame on the wall. He turned his head. There it was. The painting he’d given them on their anniversary. The accuracy was uncanny, as though done by an architect. Even the surrounding landscape was spot-on. A shiver ran through him. He suddenly felt sweat beading on his forehead.

Well? Sarah said, snapping him back again.

Huh?

The inside. Of the house? Did you imagine it like this? She repeated as the coffee pot began to gurgle.

Uh, no, he lied. I mean I really hadn’t thought about it. In truth, he’d seen every detail right down to the grandfather clock and the Persian rug, but he saw no need to tell her that. At least...not yet.

Well, she chuckled, like I said. You sure nailed it. She filled two mugs with the fresh brew and was just taking them to the table when she stopped short. Oh, you take cream and sugar. Right? She turned back toward the cupboard when Sean stopped her.

Nope. Just black.

Black? She blinked. You used to add enough cream and sugar to make it a malted!

They laughed.

Yeah, well I just figured cream and sugar wouldn’t be readily available on a ship. So, I just went cold turkey.

Sarah looked at him, slack jawed. Ship?

Chapter 2: Two Years Earlier

Martin Everette Gant was as southern as magpies, magnolias, and molasses cookies. His South Carolinian roots went back to Constitutional signatory Pierce Butler, Revolutionary War hero General Thomas Sumter, and secessionist leader Christopher Memminger. So, when it came to his final resting place, there was no way that his mama was going to bury him in Massachusetts. My son will rest in the warm embrace of Southern soil, she told Sarah, and dictated that his remains be interred with full honors in the veteran’s cemetery outside of Charleston.

Sarah could have overruled the witch, but she didn’t see the point. Besides, having the cheating bastard a thousand miles away was far more appealing.

The funeral itself was nauseating. Had it not been for the kids, Sarah would have taken a page from her own mother’s notebook and just skipped the whole event. As it was, she endured the funeral, the burial, and the wake until she could make a respectable exit, using her children as an excuse. Thank God, Sean was there.

That was brutal, she sighed, collapsing into the chair next to her brother. With the kids down for the night, they sat on the hotel balcony sharing a bottle of wine. Can you believe all of that military shit?

Sean knew she didn’t mean this disrespectfully, it’s just that it was so ostentatious. Between the honor guard, the flag-draped casket, and the bugler, you’d have thought they were burying a war hero. Martin never did anything that wasn’t self-serving and that included his stint in the Navy. After graduating from the Citadel, he used his school connections to secure a cushy but highly visible post in Washington where he was wined and dined by power brokers looking for a military insider to secure lucrative government contracts. By the time his obligation to the Navy ended, he’d made all the right connections with all the right people to ensure his own company’s success. His whole life had been about appearances, and his mother ensured his death was just as pretentious.

Sean gave her an obligatory nod but remained silent. He needed to tell her; he just wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Our flight is at ten tomorrow morning, but we need to be at the airport at least two hours early, and it’ll take an hour to get there and an hour to get the kids ready. She was leaning back against the chair with her eyes closed doing the math in her head. We need to get up around six. Let’s both set our phones, so we don’t oversleep. Can you handle Luke again while I watch Mandy? One kid per adult is so much easier. That’s how Martin and I –

I’m not going back with you, Sean interrupted.

Sarah turned and squinted at her brother. What?

I’m not going back to Burwater, he said to the glass in his hands.

Well, no. I kind of figured you were going back to New Mexico. But—

No.

W—what does that mean? No to what?

No, I am not going back to New Mexico and, no, I am not going back to Burwater with you tomorrow. I’ll help you get the kids to the airport, but then I’m leaving.

Where are you going?

I don’t know.

You don’t know? That's a child's answer. I know. I have two in the other room, and I hear it all the time.

I’ll figure it out.

Sarah snorted. Don’t you think—

I don’t want to discuss it, okay? His words were harsher than he’d intended, but he felt like he needed to present a firm position, and an amendment now may be perceived as weakness.

Sarah’s face was like stone. Her lips made a very thin line across her face. Fine, she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.

I—I’ll still help you get the kids to the airport, he said sheepishly.

Sarah wanted to tell him where he could put his offer, but she needed the help, though she was never going to admit it. Yes, well, I’m sure the kids will want to say goodbye. She gulped her drink and got up to go to her room.

Look, I’m sorry.

She spun around to face him. Sean couldn’t tell if the red in her face was from anger or wine, but the look in her eyes left little doubt. Sorry? she hissed. So am I! I’m sorry that you are still a child! A man-child! You had a good life in Santa Fe, a good job, and a good home. You’re just going to throw all of that away and do what? Flip burgers in some truck stop? Live on the street? Be a Bohemian? Grow up, Sean! Do something with your life. Maybe start with a proper education. Martin may have been a son-of-a-bitch, but he was an educated son-of-a-bitch and very successful; he left us well off. Make no mistake, I don’t need you, little brother. You need me. But ya know what? She leaned toward him ever so slightly. It’s your life. Do whatever you want! Just don’t come crawling back to my doorstep when you fuck it up! She turned on her heel and left. The following morning moved mercifully fast. Although Sarah refused to speak to Sean unless it was absolutely necessary, there was enough chatter from the kids to keep things relatively normal. They weren’t even phased when he said he wasn’t returning with them. At the airport, he gave them each a hug, but Sarah quickly busied herself when it was her turn. Sean watched them disappear into the crowd. It wasn’t the way he wanted to end things, but at least they’d be away from him, and safe. He hoisted his knapsack over one shoulder and trudged in the direction of the highway.

Experience had told him not to walk along the Interstate itself. Besides being dangerous, it was illegal. You were likely to end up with a scolding or a fine from the state police. Entry ramps, on the other hand, were a free zone, though you may end up waiting for hours before ever getting a ride and never get any closer to your destination. Today was a good day. He only waited thirty minutes or so before someone stopped. And what a ride! A mint condition, 2000 Prowler in candy-apple red. The license plate read, CUD-B-U.

Where ya headed? the guy asked through the passenger window.

Atlanta, Sean said.

It’s your lucky day, Bud! Me too! Hop in!

Sean gave him a thumbs up and stepped down into the car. Before he could fasten his seatbelt, he was forced into the deep-cushioned seat. He glanced at the speedometer. By the time they had reached the bottom of the entrance ramp, they were already traveling at 110 miles per hour. This is going to be an interesting ride, Sean thought.

Name’s Rudy, the driver said, extending his hand while watching the road.

Sean accepted it reluctantly, not wanting Rudy to be driving at high-speed with only one hand. Sean, he said quickly shaking his hand. Thanks for stopping.

No worries. I did a fair share of hitchin’ myself when I was younger.

Younger, Sean thought. The guy wasn’t much older than him. If you don’t mind me asking.

Just turned thirty, Rudy answered before