Romantic Uber

Two women in Love, no sex. Maybe next time.

The songs are all composed by the late Stan Rogers.

This piece was work-shopped through The Bardic Circle, and posted on The Tavern Wall. My thanks to all the members, especially each of the namesakes, Ann Braxton and Claudia.

This was written for Linda-Anne and everyone who is hoping.

All mail is appreciated and answered Kamouraskan@yahoo.com

Mrs. Henry had heard the sound of footsteps above her head, and so she’d hurriedly pulled on a dressing gown and ventured into the hall. The door to the top floor apartment was open, but it was only when she was up the dimly lit stairs and she saw the flicker of light inside the darkened room that she felt her heart swell in relief. As she approached the door, she was smiling and about to call a relieved greeting to her tenant, but as her eyes adjusted to the blackness she was able to perceive an unfamiliar figure - much larger in size and stature than the one she was expecting, eerily illuminated a pearl of a flame from a cigarette lighter. Her heart plummeted down again.

"I’m sorry, I thought..." She felt a poignant knowledge enter her. "You’re with the police?" she forced out.

"Yes. I’m a detective..." the stranger replied..

"Lariel. She’s dead." The landlady pronounced the news with certainty, and the words seemed to echo in the empty room. As if in response, the lighter went out, and the room was silent in darkness for a moment.

The landlady closed her eyes, and lowered her head. "Oh God, it’s my fault. I only gave her the eviction notice because...I wanted to help her. Truly." She looked up to where she thought she could make out the tall shadow, searching for some sort of sympathy. But though the figure seemed to have none, she continued anyway. "She sat in here, just waiting, she said. For what, I have no idea. She wasn’t working, there was no money coming in. They cut off her electricity last week... cut off the electricity! and she just lit candles. I thought, the eviction letter, I thought it would be a... boot to the bottom. I was afraid, when I heard her go out late last night, without a coat., that she might...She didn’t mean to do it, I know. She hadn’t been eating, not at all, and I think it made her a little crazy...She was normally such a cheery thing..."

The detective had allowed her to run on, but finally spoke from the darkness. "Can you find a flashlight? If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look around. "

The landlady turned to go, but stopped at the door as a thought occurred to her. "I’m sorry, but I didn’t see a badge, could you...?"

"Of course." The detective moved towards the light from the hallway and presented the credentials.

The landlady read them carefully and apologized. "I’m sorry, but you know..."

There was a shrug. "No. My responsibility. I should’ve shown it to you right away."

The detective hadn’t stirred when the landlady returned from her apartment full of more apologies. "I’m sorry, I looked but I could only find some other candles..."

There was some fumbling with them in the dark for a moment, until a spark flashed, and a wick caught. "They’ll have to do, I guess. Your tenant? Did you know her well?"

Mrs. Henry wanted to sit, but the apartment had never seemed less welcoming. It was so cold and bereft of any life. A second candle caught, but the flame cast more shadow than light. She looked to her memory for the gentle girl who had once brightened this somber space. Poor Lariel. Why?

"Well, as I said she was the cheeriest little thing most of the time. Then about two weeks ago, she just...stopped. I asked her what was wrong, did someone die? And she just gave me the saddest little smile and said maybe. But she wouldn’t say who or anything else, just that she couldn’t leave. She was waiting..."

"Two weeks ago?" There were now three tapers aflame, impaled in empty wine bottles. In the flickering light, it was possible to see plates and other bottles stained with wax. There were more dishes stacked in the drain, and an unhealthy smell permeated everything.

The detective seemed indifferent to the unkempt state of the room. There was not a flicker of any emotion to be seen in that stoneface. Mrs. Henry supposed that in cases of suicide, oddities were normal. "She was usually so tidy." She apologized on Lariel’s behalf. "You can see she wasn’t well."

"Then this," the detective indicated the dozens of wax coated bottles and plates, "wasn’t usual?"

"No, not at all. She’d been using candles to write by, ever since the electricity was cut off. But so many of these, well..."

"She just sat here? Lighting candles? Waiting?"

"Yes. I’ve been so worried, I..."

"There’s very little decoration, pictures, was she here long?"

"She seems to have packed it all away, but she didn’t have very much, anyway. Alone, no family. At least none she would talk about, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. She loved the quiet, and being near the river. She used to go and hide in some spot and write. She would go out walking with that cat, the beast always marching ahead of her like she was Lariel’s protector, and sometimes I could hear her talking away to the thing just as natural as you can imagine..."

"Oh, here’s ‘Dite. Are you alone? where’s your friend?"

It was fortunate that Mrs. Henry had given the detective the warning. The sudden brushing of the trenchcoat was unanticipated in the candlelight. A large golden longhair looked up, sapphire eyes catching the light, before flopping on her side, exposing her stomach languorously.

"That’s Aphrodite. You should have seen the mess she was in before Lariel found her. The combing and brushing that girl did, but now look at her!" Certainly that seemed to be what the cat wanted as she rolled over provocatively. The detective ignored the animal and began examining the papers neatly stacked on the desk.

A sheet was picked up and read. "She wrote poetry?"

"No! Songs. Beautiful songs. Oh where is it...?" The landlady took one of the candles and went to search alongside the small single bed. She came up triumphantly with an electronic keyboard. "Do you know how to make this work? She showed me once. You just type in the numbers on the top of the page, and it plays the tune. She made her own arrangements, and the machine has all these different instrument sounds."

"Songs? Did she sing?"

The landlady chuckled sadly. "She tried to. No, she said the songs were all for someone else..." She stopped for a moment. "Your identification, it said your name is Anna?" There was no acknowledgment from the detective. "Anna, would you mind playing one? Just one, for her? She was so alive, I can’t stop thinking of her... alone. Wherever they took her. Would you mind?"

The detective cleared her throat. "Ma’am, first I think we should be looking for a note of some kind, or perhaps letters from friends and family that should be notified."

Mrs. Henry shook her head. "It won’t matter to her if people don’t hear this news for another minute. But I think it might make a difference to her if someone listened to her music. Please?"

In the centre of the desk, apart from all the stacks of papers, were two sheets. Picking one up, the detective read the words.

Hoping that her eyes were sheltered in the flickering light, the detective laid the sheet back down with its twin on the desk. Struggling to maintain her professional mien, she said: "These would appear to be the last things she wrote before she left."

Mrs. Henry would have none of this professional detachment. "Please. Try not being a policeman for one moment. One song. There are so many of them. Look!"

The landlady held out a sheaf of papers, and grudgingly the detective took them.

Songs. All in the same careful hand. The musical notation easy to read even in the dim light. She stood there, and began to shuffle through them, each one shouting to her what this was.

A gift, as Aphrodite rubbed against the policewoman’s ankle, from the Gods. Exactly what she’d told Sam she needed. Original material. And, written, as if for her. But now? Her schizophrenic other life as performer was supposed to be her outlet, a chance to express her soul. Was there anything left of it now? Missing. One lost soul. Last seen in the vicinity of... She could put out an APB

Her job had become more and more who she was - a cop; something to bury herself in, when her soul became more and more bruised. As a cop, she was dispassionate. Controlled. As a performer, her soul had been loosed and soared dangerously, frighteningly free. Experiencing all, fragile and subject to the vagaries of pleasures and terrors, of the wind and the skies - and people. Uncontrolled, it could be damaged, hurt - a dangerously delicate flame which could be snuffed out by one careless breath. No, safer to be the cop. Safer.

But these pages called to her, fanned the embers inside her, and it was the singer who scanned the music sheets now.

She’d always visualized her phrasing as if it was skiing exercise. The traverse between notes. The gliding, and the downhill slopes. She looked at the neat notations in the margin. Here, she would dig in the edges just a touch, not enough to make it ragged, but to pull the words out... Then there were all these low notes that she could make the listener tremble when... Every song was even in her key. Every one. A gift. But it had cost far too much, and was probably too late.

Her thoughts were broken by a plea. "Anna? Please."

The detective looked up. A wry smile twisted her mouth. "It’s Anastacia. It’s Russian. People...people call me Stash."

"Anastacia. Choose a song, please?"

The second sheet still lay untouched and unaccustomed fear build in her as she thought of that last page. For no rational reason, part of her dreaded reading it. So innocent, lying so open and vulnerable beside the burning candle. Yet it threatened her in some way.

One thought kept repeating in her mind. I wouldn’t be here if... Why didn’t I get off the train two weeks ago?

How could she have explained it? Say that it went against everything that she had to live by to survive? That belief and dreams were the stuff of failure?

Look what dreaming had brought Lariel.

No. Going back and finding the note on the subway wall and coming here were acts of madness. And this poor girl’s actions were the final proof of that.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t give her this moment.

There was a note in the corner of the page indicating the command for the keyboard, and half hoping the batteries were dead, she switched it on, and programmed it. There was an arid click that echoed in the now silent room, and then it began to play. Bringing the first sheet closer to the light, she followed the notes with a practiced professional eye.

A trio of woodwinds opened the song, and there were some violins as a subtle counterpoint. Unbeknownst to her, she was mouthing the words as she read;

Like I got religion, and then I lost the light...

‘Religion’ was carried over four notes, and she could hear exactly how she would phrase that against the harmony of the flutes. There was no doubt. This was written for her. Even before the she picked up the last page, tears were streaming from her eyes. ‘For what?’ she thought. For some damned stupid hysteric? Why was she being shown this when it was too late?

The room was silent. A hush. A pall. The landlady said quietly. "You sing beautifully."

Stash looked up in bewilderment. "I didn’t realize I was..."

Very carefully, Mrs. Henry gathered up the papers, and handed them formally to the detective. "I think these are yours." Both women stared down at the bundled sheets in the detective's trembling hands. Somehow the landlady knew this was right. The younger one just stood there shaken, struggling, but unable to find the words to reject the bequest.

In the candlelight the tears had been visible, and the landlady wasn’t insensitive to the inner turmoil of the other woman, so she turned to the closet and began chattering. "She left all her clothes. I suppose she thought I’d give them away or something. They’re much too small for you, and too young for me."

Trying to get ahold of herself, Stash took a candle and went to the cramped washroom in the corner. She stood over the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Splashed some water on her face as the landlady chattered on in the outer room.

"Strange how she used even her dishes as candle holders, and didn’t use her favorite."

Stash seized on the question as a distraction when she emerged from the washroom.

"Why was it her favorite?"

"I think because it was part of a pair." Mrs. Henry answered, lifting an object. It was a miniature lantern. Four sides were tinted blue glass, with a brass base and crown.

"She always used the green one on her night walks, I suppose it was with her when you found her. The glass was the colour of her eyes." The landlady looked up speculatively. "Isn’t that funny, but the this one, it’s the same colour blue as yours are, isn’t it?"

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t really perceive the question. Where she was found. Another pilgrimage to be made? No. She would leave these songs. Leave this place, and go on. That was the logical thing. But the question slipped out. "Where did they find her?"

Mrs. Henry looked at her curiously. "How would I know? You’re the police. Didn’t you come here after finding the address on her?.... Was Artemis with her? I’ve been waiting for her to return. That cat would never leave her alone. I told you she was always looking after her..."

Stash closed her eyes. Deep inside her, again, a small flame flickered. "You mean... you haven’t received any official notification? You just assumed..." Trying to control herself, she demanded "Where do you think she went last night? Where did she usually walk?"

The landlady’s eyes widened, and her hand went to her mouth. "Oh, my goodness, do you think? But it’s freezing out there. She’s been gone for so long..." She stopped to concentrate. "She told me she would go down to the shore, wander along the banks, and stop and write. She said she had some place she could watch the shore and the people at the pier and not be seen."

Stash reached for her cell phone. "I could call out a team, we could start a full search..."

Mrs. Henry interrupted. "No. Don’t you see? She didn’t plan on coming back. She took her last candle... if she’s still planning to... She’ll hide if she sees police. She’s given up waiting... for you."

Tear streaked eyes met each other. "Then what do I do?"

*

There was a gray mist hovering over the water waiting for the sun to rise and burn it off . All sound was suspended in it except the dull thrum of city in the distance

Lariel had lost any sensation in her body. She knew she should feel cramped, but instead there was a dreamlike distance from herself and her body. Her attention focused on her lantern. The candle’s last half inch of wick was standing upright, the wax a clear pool at its base. How long before it fell and smothered itself in its own yield? She tightened her arms around a dark sleek form.

"It wouldn’t be so bad, Artemis? To just drift away? Not too bad at all. No dreams, no expectations, inevitable...inescapable, the end."

Despite her resolve, the Furies thrust more last despairing thoughts into the forefront of her dimming consciousness. ‘Why? Why didn’t she come for me? What did I do wrong?’

In this state of reverie she heard her name being called from a distance, but she only closed her eyes tightly, squeezing out the last tears.. It was the sputter of the candle, and the cat springing up with claws extended in reaction to it, that jolted her back to consciousness. "Ow! Artemis!"

Then she looked down and saw it.

Moving along the waning darkness of the pier, its bearer invisible in the mist’s shroud, a glimmer of blue light. Swinging slightly back and forth like the ship’s lantern it was meant to be.

No.

There had been too many hopes and disappointments to risk one more second of belief. This was just the product of her wish. The voice calling was in her mind. Not real.

"Lariel?" it called.

She closed her eyes, but the light was still was there when she opened them.

Not daring to trust her senses, she waited. The voice called out again and the blue light moved nearer. No please. This is too cruel... She swallowed, and called out.

"Who are you?"

The detective froze at the sound in the centre of the square. There was a small forest of trees stretching along the river bank for over 100 yards directly in front. The voice had come from there. The small flicker in her chest that had driven her to this place, glowed briefly despite the twilight chill. She moved deliberately towards the thicket.

"Lariel? Is that you?"

"Who’s asking?" The voice seemed strained though clear, but it was carried to Stash’s ears by the wind through fog, and there was no way she could tell its source. She called to the trees. "I’m..." And stopped. She continued in a different tone. "Mrs. Henry sent me."

There was no response. Her heart said. ‘Wrong answer.’

‘Say it,’ her mind urged, ‘You know what she wants to hear. Say it and get her down. Then you can leave her with some nice shrink and go on with your life.

"Lariel?" There was no response. "Please Lariel. I can’t see where you are. Please keep talking."

Nothing. Find a compromise. How much could she reveal, how much was real?

"Lariel. I read your music..."

She could almost feel a quickening in the trees.

She stopped and tried again. "This is my lantern, isn’t it? And the music is mine too... Isn’t it?"

She heaved a sigh when this earned her a repeat of the question. "Who are you?" But she still couldn’t give the answer she knew was required. "Please. Lariel?"

Silence. But the question still hung in the frosty air. Who are you? ‘No. I do not believe. I am doing this to save a life. I do not believe. This is what you have always feared. It’s a WEAKNESS’. But that small voice had already captured her. From the first word, just like the music she had written. From the first word, the first bar. Struggling with fear, herself, her instincts, she blurted "I’m...." Pause. Commit!

Her world crashed and she said it. "Soulmate."

She heard an almost inaudible intake of breath and then a rustling and a groan. She hurried to stand under the tree it came from. She still could not see anyone, but there was a movement of green light, that she knew came from the twin of the lantern she carried.

"Soulmate." came the whisper. It should have been a question, but it wasn’t.

There was another battle, her mind and soul clashing, before Stash could answer hesitantly. "Yes."

"You don’t sound too sure." said the quiet voice..

Relief flowed through every vein. She felt her face break into a smile she didn’t know she possessed. Almost jauntily she said "Look, you. Could you stop playing Cheshire cat with me, and...."

She never finished. The voice in the tree somehow stopped her with only a gentle question. "This is very hard for you, isn’t it?"

The words blew out her false confidence. She saw herself standing beneath the tree carrying her lantern offering as a supplicant, and not a rescuer. She froze, her mouth unable to move.

More words floated down from the tree. "I should be very angry with you. I waited. I took the chance, and you left me alone. I think I might have hated you. But this isn’t about pride, or disbelief, is it?"

Forgetting that she was only visible by the light of a single candle, Stash nodded. Then realizing what she had done she croaked out, "No."

"But..." the girl seemed just as unsure. "Do you want this? Can you accept it? Or are you still too afraid?"

Madness Stash thought, utter madness. I’m letting the crazy girl analyze me. Know me. But it feels so damned...right . Good enough to want... to want to never give it up.

She stared directly at the green glow dancing between the dark leaves, and felt tears actually forming under her eyelids. Tears again? She hadn’t cried this much in years. And why now? All this emotion was so frightening, there was a unthinking urge to run far away, and yet she stayed rooted to the spot. Am I too afraid? Can I even admit it?

"I’m... terrified. I don’t want this. " The rest of the words came bubbling up and she would not stop them. "But ... I need it. I was waiting too. Please."

"Please?" the voice from the branches repeated.

Stash swallowed in genuine pain. "I don’t know how... Help me."

"Anything. Everything I am or have, it’s always been yours."

Stash felt a sense of wonder she hadn’t felt as a child even as she tried to reject the words. She was about to ask a question when there was a groan and a curse above her. Lariel continued in a far more human tone "... but right now all I have is this damned cat, and a candle I can’t let go out, and I’m freezing... but I know I have to get down from this tree to get to you."

Stash strode over to the trunk and with ease, leapt off of the ground to the first level of branches. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but above her was a figure bathed in a green glow.

There was growl. "Oh damn, Artemis. You don’t have to protect me from her. She’s the one."

Stash stopped climbing to ask "How can you be so sure?"

"Because you are, aren’t you? This is Artemis." the cat rose up and planted it’s legs firmly on either side of the thick branch, daring the officer to approach.

"I figured. She going to let me by?"

"I guess this is the first test for you. Can you convince the Goddess of the Hunt of the honorableness of your quest?" Now the tone was slightly mocking, but still serious somehow. ‘Madness’ Stash thought, even as she climbed closer.

Another foothold, a scratch of her shin on the bark, and she was at face level.

Yes. A sense of rightness, of completeness filled her just looking at that face.

"Hello." the tree sprite said.

"Hello." And Stash felt a exhilarated grin spread across her face.

"...oh..." said Lariel in a small voice and they both watched as her wick brightened briefly, and then sputtered out.

Lariel looked up, and even in the slight light from her own candle, Stash could not, did not want to look away from the eyes which glowed with an inner compassion and magic. She raised her own lantern. "I have a fresh candle in mine." She gave a pause before allowing an embarrassed smile. "I think... it’s hardly been used...."

By the time they had helped each other to the ground, the sun was just appearing on the horizon, but Stash was still surprised when Lariel slid up a pane of glass and blew out the last candle. At the disbelieving stare, Lariel gave a shy grin and said hesitantly "Does anyone really need a candle... when the sun is up? I mean, that would be really nuts, wouldn’t it?"

A chuckle forced its way out of the detective’s throat, and turned into a deep throated laugh. And though Lariel looked slightly offended, she moved beside Stash, lifting one of the taller woman’s arms and slipped comfortably under it. Artemis dashed ahead of them and stopped to wait, senses alert to any dangers.

Madness Stash thought. Absolute madness. But as her arm tightened around the woman, they fitted together so perfectly, walking so naturally that Stash couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have this for the rest of her life. Madness... and she smiled.

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