Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (51 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY

Within
the fields of blue,

Voices
spring fourth, withered and new.

Scents
rise sweet and delicate within the heat,

With
the dispersal of bloom sticking underneath bare feet.

Mingled
sweat with hope upon the air,

So
intense, you're forced to stare.

Through
branches the sun's rays speak,

Dare
we not cast our eyes to peek?

Follow,
follow down to the well of dreams,

Where
nothing is quite as it seems.

Where
(in passing) dead brush be nothing but illusion,

Everyone
is wild and mystical with the pleasure to stun.

Set
to work upon the garnet byway,

Still
there's no time to oeillade and stay.

For
it has been told

There
be no gold!

At
the winding cusp, destiny shalt not wilt,

Upon
a cliff where imagination was built.

But
there still will be a reward, no worry!

But
first, you must trade everything you be!

For
worthless be not this,

You
shall have everything you wish!

Where
brick be laid in white,

And
azure shields reveal blind light.

Entrance
of pure, undiminished cardinal,

Fall
to your knees where all The Great also fell.

If
you travel through the sea of bloom,

Be
prepared to step into a nexus—

Leading
to nothing but your impending doom!

The
sun stretches upon his features, turning them from harsh and tight to
soft and delicate. A second later, his eyelids flutter open and
settle upon the room he now finds himself in.

He
hears birds consumed in melody outside the window where the serene
warmth spills through.

He
throws his legs to the edge of the bed and allows his feet to touch
the wooden floorboards. He expects his body to scream out in aches
and pains, but it doesn't.

When
he lifts from the unknown bed, he sees the bedding is white lace and
cotton. The chunky pillows are still propped on one side of the
king-size bed where no one has slept. The wooden headboard is
beautiful with decorative curls at the ends.

Beams
hang above the bed. The side tables have matching white lampshades
with lace detailing around the tops and red crystal stands. They
glimmer with splendour when the sun pokes through the curtain.

As
he walks around in admiration, he feels only a mild tingling in his
limbs before he spots the goggles on the windowsill. When he drifts
toward the window to pick them up, a sight of awe stares up at him
from behind the glass. It is a sea of bluebells that span for miles
through the trees.

This
is how I remember it.

The
red pathway runs through the flowers and mud and past the brick well
on his left now, leading right to him.

“
I'm
inside.”

With
the goggles in hand, a smile traces his lips, and he turns to find a
door standing ajar. Despite having never been within the walls of
this place, he recognises the red, diamond glass handle around the
blue paint. Without hesitation, he pulls the door open soundlessly
and steps onto the landing.

“
Oh
good, you're up. I was just coming to get you. Breakfast is ready.”

A
plump woman stands halfway up the staircase with her back curving
with dignity. Although she appears to be in her eighties, her eyes
are full of youth and bounce. Even the white streaked curls that
tickle their way over her ears are full of vibrancy. She wears a
full-length cream and violet dress with a blue apron tied around her
slim waist.

At
first, he believes the woman to be his mother years into the future,
especially with the colourful stones she carries in a glass.

“
Come
before the rest get here. You need to eat before your journey
begins.” The woman shuffles down the stairs and disappears from
sight behind the banister.

Bobby
glances across the landing to see all the other doors are the same
colour with the same crystal handles.

It's
like a hotel.

Hesitating,
he hangs back on the stairs for a moment to observe the paintings on
the walls. Behind him is the familiar sight of the white house on the
cliff, sitting in the frame the shop owner picked.

To
the left of the stairs, an abstract painting hangs in a golden frame.
An eye-catching, gold strip runs halfway down the page. The top half
is painted in vivid red shades and burgundy squares with white scars
in places.

Is
that supposed to be lightning?

A
familiar silhouette stands in the background, in front of a Ferris
wheel. He can make out other buildings too, like a mini rollercoaster
and a mat slide.

When
he can tear his attention from his brother, his eyes drift to the
textured sand castle on the gold that runs horizontal across the page
with a cream and peach item smeared on top.

“
How—?”

“
I
hope you like eggs, Bobby,” the woman's voice calls from
downstairs.

When
his mother made eggs, he found the smell repulsive, but right now it
is the best thing he's ever smelt. His stomach rumbles and saliva
forms in his mouth as the cutlery clings down below.

Holding
onto the banister, he descends with caution, staying against the wall
where more pictures hang. They all depict scenes of a red sailed
boat, or a lighthouse. Much to his amazement, they are all signed
with a similar signature—R. Kuffs.

“
Please,
take a seat.”

When
he reaches the bottom, he spots the two servings of scrambled egg and
toast set out on two opposing spaces. Sitting opposite is the
grinning face of the guy who helped him get here.

“
How—?”

“
It's
irrelevant, Bobby. Sit down and get some grub. If you're anything
like me, you must be starving.” He shovels the fluffy substance
between his lips and rolls it around inside his cheeks.

“
And
there was me thinking your kind didn't feel such things,” Bobby
mocks.

“
Maybe
not so much in your world, but here, I'm ravenous,” he replies
with his mouth still full to the brim.

Bobby
notices the polished oak table isn't set up for two, but eight.

“
Where
are we?”

“
You
know where, Bobby. I believe you have seen this place before. You
have also walked through what they call 'the whispering fields' as a
child.”

“
But
I don't understand.”

“
Doesn't
matter,” Gage says as he motions again for him to sit.

“
We
went through that light, then there was this woman in the sea who
had—”

“
Raven
hair and a scar running from here to here,” he continues,
pointing from eyebrow to jaw.

“
Yeah.
I bleeding, but couldn't feel anything.”

Bobby
takes a seat at the table with the fancy cream and blue tablecloth,
and waits for the guy across from him to swallow another mouthful. It
sure smells heavenly after not eating over the last few days.

“
Who
wants bacon?” The woman calls from the kitchen to Bobby's left.

Mum
would have loved this.

“
That'd
be great,” Gage calls with his head tilted one way. “She
did, Bobby. She loved the view; she said it was just how she wanted
her garden to be.”

“
She's
been here?”

Gage
looks him over and smiles. He is about to answer his question, or
explain what he means when the grand front door pushes inwards.

A
warm, bright light spreads through the room, coating everything in a
reflective glow.

The
elderly woman with a curved back comes shuffling back into the room,
but he doesn't notice until she laughs in a musical tone of delight.

“
Come
in, come in, make yourselves at home. Breakfast is on the table.”

“
It's
about time,” Gage says as he rises from the chair opposite and
wipes at his face. Moving toward the door with grace, Gage heads to
greet the newcomers.

A
lucid, surreal quality clings to everything within sight and, for a
moment, a strange feeling swallows him. The warm glow consumes his
body like a spirit experiencing the afterlife, making him feel
complete. It may have a fuzzy quality like a dream, but he is
whole—something he hasn't been since Benji left. Even if this
is a dream, he could remain here for the rest of his life because
nothing has ever felt so inviting.

So
right.

Shielding
his eyes, Bobby watches as the figures step forward and into the
light.

To
be continued . . .