The last time we used it was at the hospital the morning she died.
On that day, all three of us made a silent wish, certain the others had wished the same. Kate died that afternoon and I never thought about it again. It was the last time I believed in magic, in love or... in the existence of God... and then, after three miserable, lonely years... the unthinkable, a second chance... Warwick.
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Excerpt
We walked in silence back to the front door and outside where the car waited. The driver opened the door for her and Williams slid over out of the way; the desire to get in with her pulled at me as she wrapped her arms around me.
"Be good," I said as we kissed. "If you can't be good... be funny."
"Three days, Ben... I'll be back... and we'll go home. Three days," she said, kissing me again.
"Three days," I repeated and almost before I realized it she had slipped into the vehicle, the door had closed and she was gone.
I watched the car for as long as I could before it finally faded from view.
The others had returned inside, all except Director Meadows.
"Ready?" she asked, rubbing her arms, warming them in the cold air.
"So ready I'm first in line," I joked. The tug of Audrey and homesick hit me all at once.
She slipped a warm arm around my shoulder, guiding me back inside.
As we reentered Roger and the others had disappeared. We were greeted by two people, a man and a woman, both in white coats.
"Mr. Harris, this is Doctor Richard Prout and his wife, Doctor Joan Prout. They will be your -"
"Guides," the woman interrupted, leaning forward a little.
"Yes, I like that... guides... for the next few days," she continued with an odd smile. "They will help you get to the bottom of your... situation."
"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking each of their hands in turn.
Meadows went about her way leaving me with my two new companions.
I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else... devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn't friendly, I just wasn't "people orientated". Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.
The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can't remember what it was about... something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.
It wasn't a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. "Be as detailed as you can," we were told.
I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it's making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an out right lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn't be sure if it were true or not. If I can make people think "it could happen," even for a moment, then I have them and nothing makes me happier. When I write, I always write with the effort of "it could happen" very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.
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