Unwelcome Memory (Passage from The Lie of a Lamplight)
The rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed within the cavernous red barn, a steady beat against the backdrop of the late afternoon sun filtering through dusty windowpanes. Richard worked with a practiced efficiency; his movements honed over years of tinkering and building. Yet, despite his focused labor, a subtle distraction tugged at the edges of his awareness. The faint murmur of voices drifted from the direction of the small cabin nestled further down the path – Raven’s cabin. He tried to ignore it, to lose himself in the task at hand, but an unwelcome curiosity, a ghost of an old, darker impulse, began to stir within him.
The intrigue grew, a persistent itch beneath his skin. Finally succumbing, Richard wiped his calloused hands on a rag and moved with a quiet stealth he had not employed in decades. He retrieved a pair of old binoculars from a shelf cluttered with tools and peered cautiously around the corner of the barn. His gaze settled on Raven and another woman, Olivia, standing in the small front yard of the cabin, their conversation animated. He focused intently on Raven, his eyes tracing the contours of her form, the way she moved, the tilt of her head as she spoke. There was something… familiar.
A jolt, unexpected and unwelcome, shot through him. A fleeting image, sharp and brutal, flashed behind his eyes: a young woman, cornered against a brick wall, her face contorted in a silent scream of terror. Blood, stark and crimson, smeared her pale skin and stained her light-colored shirt. A chaotic tableau of implied struggle – a hand reaching out, a desperate flinch – flickered and vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Richard momentarily breathless. He blinked, the barn’s familiar interior swimming back into focus, the ghost of the memory a chilling reminder of a life he had buried, or so he thought.
He forced his attention back to the present, the mundane reality of the two women chatting in the sunlight, as they headed inside, a stark contrast to the darkness his mind had momentarily revisited. A shadow fell across the barn entrance, and Richard’s breath hitched. Martha. She walked past, her gaze fixed ahead, seemingly unaware of his clandestine observation. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over him – a surge of the deep love that had anchored him to this life, followed by a prickle of guilt and the gnawing fear that his buried past was not as securely locked away as he believed.
Turning abruptly from the window, Richard moved towards his sturdy wooden workbench. Amidst the scattered tools and half-finished projects, a stark white envelope lay waiting. The letters BRK clearly on the front in an unfamiliar, precise hand. A knot of apprehension tightened in his chest. He had not seen it there before. He reached for it, his fingers brushing against the smooth paper, the silence of the barn amplifying the sudden, frantic beating of his heart. Raven’s presence, the unwelcome memory – and now this. He held the mysterious envelope, its contents an unknown weight in his hand, a silent question hanging in the air.