The Locket

By Jennifer Rowlands

Copyright 2017

Smashwords Edition

Discover other titles by Jennifer L. Rowlands at:

jennifer-rowlands.com

For my husband, My Love.

I knew you were mine when I saw you.

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Chapter 1

See you next time.

David had little chance of survival as the wind howled against him and the snow stung his poorly protected body. He considered giving up. He could curl up in the snow; no one would know. Not in the dark of the night, not when most were hiding from the blizzard in their warm homes. More importantly, no one would miss him. Already, he could feel the pain and numbness roaming across his skin. Eventually, the icy air would seize him, freeze the blood in his veins, and there wouldn't be another day he'd have to long for shelter or food or a familiar face.

Wandering alone through the empty plaza of Pittsburgh in the heart of the storm, David could not see two feet in front of him. The screen of snow created a darkness his vision could not overcome. For a long time, he closed his eyes to shield them from the storm and followed his feet along the familiar path. His eyes flew open just as he stumbled and fell through the white powder. He crashed into the solid ground, banging his head against the edge of the sidewalk. Warm blood trickled from a cut just above his eye; the cold keeping the pain from the impact at bay.

A streetlight nearby broke through the night, casting a meager yellow light only as far as the blizzard would allow. David stood, not bothering to shake the snow from his clothes, knowing he would be covered all too soon again, anyway. He looked back in search of the object that had sent him to the ground. A mound of white lay motionless before him, dark fabric exposed where David had tumbled. He kicked the object, watching a tiny avalanche of snow reveal what lay beneath: boots. Black, worn, weak with holes. Familiar.

Without hesitation, David reached into the pile of snow. The wet and partially frozen mittens he wore were riddled with holes. He put them to work, struggling to dust away the sea of snowflakes and reveal the man who was hiding beneath. When the man's face was uncovered, David tugged it into the light.

George, he thought. He felt his head and shoulders sink.

The wind picked up and David held his jacket closed with cold fingers that no longer wanted to bend. He looked over the body that lay before him. Flakes of white clung to the man's dark gray hair, reflecting the pale yellow glow of the light overhead. Beneath the scruffy whiskers, his face was pale, the red glow of alcohol that David had become accustomed to now absent from his cheeks. In George’s hand, whiskey sloshed inside a bottle wrapped tightly in a brown paper bag.

David met George six years ago. He had always been a kind man, known only to stop conflict, never to start it. Most, even those as homeless as he, assumed that he was a drunkard. It was hard to disagree. David, though, knew that the alcohol chased away memories of a life George could never truly escape.

I am so sorry. The whispered words were carried away by the unsympathetic wind. Consumed by the moment, David had let free his thin jacket. Most buttons were missing and the icy air didn’t hesitate before finding its way to David's chest, where it pounded hard against him. Time was up.

I can't leave you like this, old friend. David tore the bottle from George’s frozen grip. Unable to see clearly enough to find a garbage can, he chucked the bottle as far as he could, putting as much distance as possible between George and the alcohol. Whoever stumbled upon George now, David hoped, would not write him off as a drunk who deserved the death he was handed.

With the bottle out of sight, David pried the tan coat off of George’s solid body. George had often offered David more than he could spare, and he knew that, in this moment, George would want him to take all he needed to survive.

Threading his arms through the sleeves of the coat, David shook at the lack of warmth. He hoped the coat would soon begin to work in his favor. He looked at George’s shoes. His own were full of holes and the bottoms were nearly worn, but George’s were in even worse shape. Taking inventory of all George had left, which was very little, David caught sight of something that shined in the dim light—the reflection of the street light on the dog tags from George’s military days. Wiping away the ice that had formed over the tags, David read the name of the man aloud.

George Kepper. He placed the tags on George’s chest in plain sight and took one last look at his friend. Thank you for everything, he whispered before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to his feet.

David felt as though it wouldn't be long before he'd end up like George. He moved as quickly as he could to the nearest shelter. He was familiar with the streets of Pittsburgh, and despite the low visibility, he knew he was close now. He imagined his clothes and skin thawing, his insides warmed with soup. Every step carried him closer to survival, closer to another day.

As he rounded the last corner, he paused. There was a house where the shelter used to be. The light from the porch illuminated the house, revealing its blue facade and black iron gate. A stone step led up to a strong, wooden door. The windows glowed with warm, welcoming light.

David felt the urge to go inside; a deep, powerful desire to find the person who lived therein. It wasn’t the house that called to him; not the safety, not the sense of home. There was someone he needed to see, someone he wanted. He took a step forward and the house faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the shelter.

As soon as the house was gone, David felt a great loss as if his heart were longing for something his head never knew existed. He looked around, shaking his head and blinking, as if it would force the house into existence again. It didn't return, but he knew where to find it. He turned his feet to follow his heart to this mysterious place. Pain surged through his body.

Little could be gained by me going there now, he told himself. I may even face the same fate as George. Food, heat, and a few hours rest. That is all I need. Then I will find it.

Despite his best efforts to convince himself to remain in the shelter for the night, he was being drawn elsewhere and couldn’t resist.

Chapter 2

There is much I have to tell you.

The cold, bitter wind pressed against David’s coat, forcing icy needles into his body. Even the wool collar that was pulled straight up could not keep the sting from his ears. The wind continued to assault David as he stumbled down the street. From behind the stained-glass windows of the houses lining the west side of the pavement, he imagined his predicament would be perceived as deserving and self-inflicted. The chilled air offered no condolences as he continued to force himself forward, pulling on the iron fence that lined the sidewalk.

The opposite side of the street had been lined with thick trees that dug deep into the earth to keep themselves steady on the steep slope spilling down into the city. The trees directly across from the iron fence had been cleared, leaving the owner of the property with a spectacular view, and David with far less cover from the treacherous winds.

Reaching the gate to the home, David paused to adjust his clothes, pulling the sleeves of his shirt out of the coat just enough to offer his hands a little added protection. Gripping the collar of the coat together in a reddened fist, he took another step forward.

Young man, a voice called.

David considered that the voice he heard was something created in his tired mind, but it was oddly familiar, comfortable. It offered a sense of home he was unaccustomed to.

The words must be in my head, of course. He continued pulling himself along the iron fence without looking up.

Young man, the voice came again.

It was real. David turned to see an elderly woman peering at him from the door of the very blue house that had appeared to him earlier that night. At the moment he felt like an intruder, his nerves rattling his insides. I mean your fence no harm, he assured her. I’m moving on. I'll be gone soon.

You'll freeze to death, she called. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I guarantee you won't make it three days.

David turned to the woman now, putting all of his strength into twisting toward her and turning his head up.

The house that towered before him was, unmistakably, the same house he had envisioned earlier that evening. In the doorway at the top of the steps, the elderly woman stood proudly. Although a cane supported her right side, David was sure she could hold her own without it. Her silver hair, still full of body, was pulled into a bun at the back of her head, leaving her face unobstructed. Shadows fell into the wrinkles that covered her face, neck, and hands. Her brow and steady gaze gave her the air of confidence and wisdom. A dark blue blouse with long sleeves hid her arms, although, by the way the material rippled in the wind, David imagined it did nothing to keep the icy air at bay. On one hand she wore a black ring, large enough that he could see it clearly from where he stood.

She stared back at him, awaiting his response with silent patience. Pains began to rise up in his stomach since he has ignored its growls for food for so long. His hands shook in the cold, his knees rattled under his weight. Every muscle in his body had grown weak enough that he could collapse at any moment. And yet, as he stood before the very house he sought, he no longer had the courage to discover what lay inside.

Three days? He mulled this over. That doesn't leave me much time to prepare. I'd better be on my way.

Set your stubbornness aside. You're welcome here. The woman turned to reenter the warmth of the house. Celestine, please make him comfortable.

As the old woman disappeared beyond the sturdy blue walls, a younger one emerged.

Celestine, David noted.

She was blessed with beautiful almond skin. Her black hair hung down, barely brushing her shoulders.

Come on, now, she said. I have things to do other than stand around and wait for you, you know.

David's feet remained firmly planted where they were as he hesitated, trying to fully understand the opportunity placed before him. A stranger – an old woman – was welcoming him into her home. He considered the tricks that could be before him if he complied.

I have nothing to offer, he said.

Celestine smiled knowingly. I have no doubt you'll find a way to repay my employer's kindness.

What could she want? he wondered.

Listen. Her tone was quickly stripped of all nonsense. You may be numb to the bone, but I still have feeling in my limbs and would like to keep it that way. So, I'm going to close this door and go about my work. You come along inside when you're ready. With those final words, the heavy wooden door swung closed.

David remained still. The storm continued to harass him, and although it could do nothing to alter the bewilderment that now consumed his mind, he could still feel the icy pangs nipping at him from all angles. He had nothing to give and even less to lose.

He took in the house and its property. Through the strong gate was a path of neatly laid stones leading to four cement steps. On either side of the shoveled path, a small yard was covered in snow. The walls of the house ran three stories high, covered in blue wooden panels. The two columns framing the top step and the many window panes were all colored in ivory. Overall, the place was in good repair. Not a single chip in the paint, or crack in the staircase, or ding in the stately wooden door.

David looked down the road before him, weighing his options. Though the sun was climbing, it remained hidden behind stubborn clouds, plunging the earth below in an eerie gray. Half-rotten leaves wiped across the pavement, carried by the hateful whisks of the wind. David imagined what it would be like to find shelter from the painful sensation of the harsh, unrelenting cold.

Flipping the lock, he swung the gate open, closing it securely behind him. Moving with uncertainty, he took one fumbling step at a time. When he finally reached the doorway, the possessive storm blew harder. An oval window sat at the center of the great oak door with an ornate, golden handle set to the right side. Forcing his hands around the handle, David turned it as winter battered harder against his back. Stepping inside, he leaned with all his weight against the door to force it closed. He could hear faint snippets of a conversation in an adjacent room.

You were right, Ms. Alice. He is handsome. I can see why you wait—

—Celestine, the old woman interrupted the other.

He didn’t have time to digest what he heard. The warmth of the home instantly began to defrost his body. His hands and face tingled with a slight burning sensation. Golden light poured out of the lamps in the room, engulfing him in its glow. David fell to his knees, using what strength he had left to seat himself upon his heels and keep from crumbling to the floor.

He glanced over to see the old woman seated in a chair by the window, watching him with caring eyes. His vision began to blur just as he noticed a large, dark object beside her.

There we are, he heard a voice say before he fell to the floor and lost all consciousness.

~~~~~

David opened his eyes, weakly. Bright white light distorted his view of the room. Closing his eyes firmly again, David rubbed them, trying to force away the large spots the light had left in his vision. Momentarily blinded, his other senses compensated for the loss of images. Birds chirped a morning tune, their song faint and muffled. All else was quiet: no voices, no footsteps, no movement whatsoever.

Shielding his eyes this time, David opened them once more and slowly began to look around. His eyes needed a moment to adjust in the brightly lit room. David sat up, pulling at the heavy blankets that spread over his body. The thin quilt on top was off-white with age. Colorful stitching formed a picture of a tree growing from the bottom of the blanket. The winding limbs, decorated in leaves and flowers, reached out in all directions, wrapping themselves around David. A few locks of hair spilled over, tickling his cheek. The sweet scent of shampoo lingered in the air and he wondered when he had last bathed.

Light spilled in through several windows, illuminating the sheer white curtains that adorned them. Rosy floral patterns decorated the walls from the white ceiling down to the shining wooden floor. Sunlight reflected gloriously off of the polished cherry furniture, embellishing the particles that danced upon the air. A rocking chair sat beside one window, cradling a small pillow with a design that mimicked the quilt on the bed.

Throwing off the covers, David sat on the side of the bed; feet on the floor, thoughts wandering through blurry memories. He recalled entering the warm house and seeing the old woman who had first welcomed him in. Though it hadn't registered with him at the time, David's memories drew a picture of a bear at the woman's knees. He shook his head to correct the memory, but the vision of a bear remained firm.

Darkness swallowed him, interrupted by sounds and movements he couldn’t explain: muffled sounds of sloshing water, something warm being worked into his mouth, unbalanced movements as if he were being carried. Finally, he was greeted by a steady silence before dreams consumed his subconscious mind.

Where am I? he whispered to himself. Judging by the room, he was in no immediate danger, but what existed beyond the door was unknown.

Before venturing out, David took note of his clothes. He was not normally accustomed to spending much time doing so. He wore boxers that were not his own, a t-shirt that was not his own, and no socks. At the end of the bed, he spotted a few items thrown over the baseboard. He stood slowly, cautiously, evaluating his muscles as he moved. Standing tall, he felt the world whirl slightly, finding support in the bed until some balance was regained. His stomach ached and his muscles struggled under his weight, commonplace after a life of starving and scraping.

Careful to keep his feet beneath him, David worked his way to the end of the bed where he found pants, a button-up shirt, socks, and worn black leather shoes. Without questioning what he should do, he pulled on the clothes and shoes and tied the laces comfortably. Dressed and in fair control of his movements, David left the bed and quietly reached for the door handle. The handle rumbled and squeaked as he turned it and opened the door only a crack.

Peering out, he found himself at the end of a long hallway. Along the left stood a few other doors. At the other end of the hall was another window. Through the curtain, he could make out the form of a light green house. On the right side of the hall, one more door stood nearby the window and beside a staircase leading to the floor below.

The distinctive smell of food wafted up the stairs and met his nose with delight. The delicious scents teased and tempted his stomach. He recalled memories of his first foster mother: her personality wasn’t nearly as attractive as her food. He could never get his fill of her home-cooked meals, though he was never so bold as to ask for more—none of the children were, for fear of punishment. She doled out punishments daily to keep them in line, and asking for more food was one way of earning an extra whack.

David broke away from the security of his secluded room and moved cautiously to the top step. He crept down two steps, turned left and continued down the others. As he descended, he noticed tiny holes in the walls, accompanied only by discolorations in the paint where picture frames would normally be found.

The last few steps turned again toward the left and dropped him in the center of another hallway. This one stretched from the front door, alongside two large rooms accessed by their own archways, and ended at a sunny kitchen. Glancing in the first two rooms, he saw no one. The style of the furniture was clearly dated, but so well cared for it could have been delivered that very day. A large, ornately carved wooden fireplace dominated the room directly across from the staircase. Figurines of people and bird cages sat on top of the mantel. The only pictures in sight were of things and places; not a single face could be found.

There you are! An enthusiastic voice startled David out of his quiet observations. The dark-haired woman approached him, holding a dish towel in one hand, spinning the towel so it smacked periodically into her other hand.

David sorted through the foggy memories, searching for her name. Celestine?

Very good, but you can call me Celeste. She smiled and David noticed a glimmer in her eye, a shimmer of delight. It's about time you made your way down here. Come on and let's get some food in you. She strode away into the kitchen and rounded the corner, out of sight.

David paused until his stomach growled and urged his feet to move forward. He approached the kitchen, hearing voices as he did so. Two he recognized as belonging to the women who had