Chimes of Passion

Chimes of
Passion

By Joe
Mudak

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Copyright 2013 Joe Mudak

Smashwords Edition

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Smashwords Edition, License
Notes

This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given
away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this
author.

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These stories contain strong adult
content and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18. All
characters found in the following stories are 18 or
older.

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This story is owned and copyrighted
by author Joe Mudak.

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This is a work of fiction. Names,
places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product
of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious
manner.

Any resemblance to actual persons
living or dead, actual events or locales is purely
coincidental.

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It was a dark and stormy night, and
the five friends backpacking across northern England scurried to
find cover from the rapidly intensifying downpour.

Alyssa was the first to notice the
silhouette of the large building, with a dimly flickering set of
lights punctuating its shape. “Hey guys, look!” She pointed at the
building.

Between the rain battering their heads
and shoulders, and the mist that rose from the moors around them,
no one was sure exactly how far away it was. But then again, no one
cared either. Here was shelter. Sanctuary. A place to dry off and
warm up.

The friends shared the unspoken hope
that someone would take pity on five poor college students. Five
college students who, Irene seemed overly fond of reminding
everyone, could be sitting on a beach in Cancun at this very
moment, sipping margaritas and wondering where the MTV cameras
were.

Soon, the five friends found
themselves within shouting distance of the shelter they sought.
Following the roughly hewn path into the building, Lynda paused for
a moment and inhaled deeply. “I think I smell lilacs.” She’d loved
working with flowers since she was a little girl; that’s probably
why, she would tell friends and acquaintances, she chose to major
in botany.

Her friends had already reached the
door into the building and she hastened to join them. The five
friends stood in the doorway. Pete asked, “What kind of place is
this?”

“A church of some sort, I think,” Ron
answered. He let out a deep sigh and continued, “I guess we should
knock, huh?” He felt along the door and found a heavy iron knocker,
which he used to strike against the metal plate upon which it
normally rested, the door opened slightly with a creak that echoed
throughout the cavernous halls inside.

The five students shuffled into the
building. The large stone walls were lined with thick, heavy
candles that, at first glance, resembled torches. The candles sent
shadows jumping across the granite floor. The building definitely
had the feel of an old church, however there were no icons or
religious statues. In fact, with the exception of the candles
themselves, there was nothing adorning any of the walls.

As the gang of five surveyed the
building, they couldn’t help but notice the large wooden pew-like
benches facing what clearly resembled a low-key altar.

The air inside the church was heavy,
yet dry. Irene removed her backpack and coat, remarking, “It feels
good in here, but I’m chilly.” The other four nodded agreement and
followed suit. Irene casually walked to a series of large, thick
candles, attempting to dry her skin with the flames. As she rubbed
her hands above one candle with two independent flaming wicks, she
smiled. “This isn’t fast, but, man it feels good.” Alyssa took her
place a few yards away from Irene and started doing the
same.

One by one, all five students found a
candle and attempted to dry themselves. Ron and Lynda found that
they were more comfortable after removing their respective shirts.
When Lynda noticed Pete staring at her rain-soaked bra clinging
tightly to her skin, she chided him, “This isn’t a wet T-shirt
contest, honey.”

Pete quickly looked away. For a long
while no one spoke. Most were too thankful or too busy trying to
dry off to think about actually communicating with one another. The
rain battering the walls outside and the occasional distant crack
of thunder was the extent of any real sound.

When Ron figured he was about as dry
as he was going to get, he sat down on the floor and stared at the
light flickering everywhere around him. He closed his eyes and a
slight smile appeared on his face. He spread his arms in what he
considered a silent homage to the atmosphere of this place. The
sound of the rain, the feeling of the air, the mystery of this
whole place.

Alyssa noticed him and asked, “What
are you thinking?”

His voice echoed across the church,
betraying a sense of revitalization that his companions hadn’t yet
experienced. “Do you know the song, ‘Chimes of Freedom,’ by Bob
Dylan?”

Pete answered sarcastically, “I try
not to think of anything by Bob Dylan.”

Ron scoffed. “It’s just that, well, I
can’t help but think that we just walked into that
song.”

Alyssa moved closer to him. With a
genuine interest in what he had to say, she asked “How does it go,
Ron?”

“The first lines of the song go
something like this:

Far between sundown’s finish and midnight’s
broken toll

We ducked inside a doorway as thunder went
crashing

As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in
the sound

Seeming to be the chimes of freedom
flashing.

“I’ve always loved that song. He goes
on to sing about how the chimes of freedom touched everyone who
sought shelter from the storm which then reached out to the people
he admired and loathed, extending, in one way or another, to
everyone in the world. There’s a certain unity to it.”

Lynda cleared her throat. “Wouldn’t it
be easier just to begin the song by saying, “It was a dark and
stormy night?”

Ron laughed. “Um. No. It’s not
--”

“But that’s what he said, isn’t it?
Between sundown’s finish and midnight’s broken toll is night.
Thunder went crashing, so it was stormy. It was a dark and stormy
night.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Ron demurred.
“Saying ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ is just too cliche. This
way has a lot more poetry and symbolism.”

Pete defended his friend. “I’ll tell
you what I’m thinking of. What’s that line by C.S. Lewis? April is
the cruelest month, or something like that?”

“T.S. Eliot,” Ron corrected him. “It’s
from ‘The Wasteland’.”

“Sorry. Either way, here we are, five
friends taking spring break amid less than ideal conditions, it’s
raining profusely outside, and didn’t you say you smelled lilacs
outside, Lynda? There's something in that quote about lilacs, too,
isn't there?”

Lynda nodded her head yes.

Ron smiled. “I guess you really did
learn something in Lit 101 two years ago, didn’t you?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, you’ve got a good point. I
thought of that quote, too. Eliot wasn’t the only one who waxed
poetic about April’s cruelty. Chaucer did it in the Canterbury
Tales. That’s part of why I thought of ‘Chimes of Freedom.’ That
song, believe it or not, is a modern Canterbury Tales.”

Irene stood up and spoke quickly,
impatiently. “When we get back home, you can play it for us. Right
now, I’d just like to see if this place has a bathroom and maybe
change into some dry -- dryer, I should say -- clothes.”

Alyssa stood up. “I’m with you.
Besides, I’m not sure we should be going anywhere in here
alone.”

Lynda joined Alyssa and Irene. “Why
not all three of us go? That way, the guys can change
here.”

Neither Irene or Alyssa objected to
Lynda’s suggestion. Ron started to rummage in his backpack. As the
three women started to walk away, Ron stopped Irene and handed her
a flashlight. “You might need this.”

“Thanks.”

Pete called out, “When you find the
bathroom, could you let us know where it is?”

The three women strode
semi-confidently across the sanctuary and towards what appeared to
be a door near altar, the pounding rain accentuating each
stride.

*****

Once he was certain the women wouldn’t
hear, Pete looked over at Ron. “Why do you keep trying to impress
Irene, dude? She doesn’t have the patience for all of this
artsy-fartsy shit. Besides, can’t you tell how much Alyssa wants
you?”

“Yeah, I know. But you know how it is.
I can’t have Irene, which is why I want her. I can have Alyssa,
which is why I don’t.” Ron rummaged around in his backpack and
found a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. Why he’d decided to wear
shorts that morning, he couldn’t remember, but it didn’t seem all
that bad an idea at the time. “How long do you think it’ll be
before the storm lets up?”

“Hard to tell, but I think we should
plan on sleeping here tonight.”

“Assuming no one tries to kick us
out.”

“Assuming no one tries to kick us out.
Right. Do you think there’s anyone else in here besides us
five?”

“Well, someone lit these candles.
Whether they’re still here right now, I can’t say.”

“So, what do you think this place is?
Something about this place feels ... I don’t know. Off?”

“I get that same feeling, Pete. I’m
not sure what this building’s used for now, but it definitely once
was a church. I don’t think they have services or rituals in here
any more, though.”

“Yeah. I’d think there’d be a cross,
or a picture of Jesus, or something if it was still being used as a
church. What do you think it’s used for now?”

“No clue. For tonight, I’m hoping it
can be used as a haven for five wet and weary travelers. Here’s
hoping the owner or owners of this place don’t mind us being
here.”

As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder
struck the ground somewhere on the grounds outside the building,
lighting up the sky through the small windows in the top of the
walls.

Irene, startled by the unexpected loud
noise, jumped. The three women were standing in a hallway, lit with
candles similar to the ones they had seen in the main sanctuary.
Midway down the hallway stood a large wooden door. For the time
being, this was their goal.