A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Fifteen

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The night was not what he'd expected. He'd been dreading the nightmares, the jolts of electricity that wreaked havoc on his nervous system, the pressure on his chest, the terrible sensations of falling. He did have to endure the soulless red eyes burning into him as he fell asleep, but then a gentle breeze lifted him upward, farther and farther and farther still, until he felt completely free and unfettered, detached from all worries and fears and pain. He looked down and watched huge vistas appear in blazing colors. Mountains rose up, rivers wound through green valleys, animals crawled or swam or flew out of oceans and spread over the land. Plants sprouted, grew and morphed into masses of vegetation, from tiny lichens to towering trees. Time lost all meaning. He watched whole civilizations rise and fall in the blink of an eye. Epochs followed one after another, each with new cultures, races, religions, achievements and discoveries. So much knowledge passed before him he was dazzled and overcome.

A barren field drew his attention. He floated towards it and found himself walking on fallow soil. He spread his hands and flowers shot out of his fingertips, each one unique and beautiful. They populated the empty field, their presence drawing insects, birds and other animals. He marveled at his creation, gazing in awe at the majestic sweep of color and movement. He had done all this with a wave of his hand! Now he could bestow names on every plant and animal, give them virtues or vices, habits and habitats, voices, odors, everything down to the tiniest detail. The thought gave him great joy. But some small part of him knew this was only a dream. Or had he died? Was this heaven?

A voice whispered in his head. "Scientist, remember the promise I gave you. You can have all this and much more. It's yours; take it!"

But he couldn't. He wasn't ready for such knowledge or power. This was illusion; like drug-induced euphoria that destroyed the will and left only an empty shell. If he gave himself to the beast he would lose what made him human: his will, his soul, maybe even his spirit. With great sorrow, he turned away and fell back into a dark but familiar place. 

TP woke in his bed, the dream's euphoria quickly fading to grim reality. He felt bereft, but he was still himself. He lay there awhile, pondering the cleverness of the creature inside him, how it had first showed him the hell he faced if he fought it, then the illusion of paradise if he gave in to its wishes. Thankfully he hadn't done so. The feelings inspired by the chimera were entirely different than the ones he'd experienced in the marsh long ago. That had felt real and solid, blissful but imbued with reverence and humility. The chimera's illusion had stroked his ego, making him the center of the picture. Maybe that was the chimera's weakness. It didn't understand reverence, or humility, or love of something higher than oneself.

Tired of thinking, he arose and started the day. Madeline and Harold were up, their voices floating down the hall. He doubted Gladys would make an appearance this morning. She'd seemed truly shattered with guilt and remorse yesterday. Glumly, he supposed he'd have to confront her. He decided to turn over a new leaf starting today: no more dodging difficult conversations. Character flaws must be overcome sooner or later, and the longer one waited, the harder it became to root them out.

In the kitchen, three faces looked at him, one worriedly, one expectantly, the third (Archie's) with its usual mournful hopefulness. He dared not disappoint. Mustering all his resolve, he gave them a dazzling smile. "This morning we're having Eggs a la TP and toast with strawberry crush."

He set Harold to work on crushing the strawberries with a potato masher. Madeline made toast and managed not to burn it while he fixed the eggs. After eating they discussed the day ahead. Evalda was coming around two, so Harold needed to get his gear packed and ready. His main concern was the dump truck, which had to be emptied of its final load and cleaned. He and Archie went to attend those duties while Madeline tidied the kitchen.

"I've got to go speak with Gladys," TP told her. Better do it now before he lost his resolve.

"Be firm with her, TP." she said. "Don't let her off the hook. I'd have strangled her by now, but that's me."

"I'll be resolute." 

He went to the garden and cut three heads of lettuce, snipped dill and parsley and pulled a bunch of green onions. Putting everything into a bag, he headed over to Gladys'. She must have seen him coming, because he hadn't even rung the bell when the door burst open and Gladys threw herself at him, sobbing into his shirt.

"Oh, Thad, I'm so, so sorry! Please, please forgive me if you can. I couldn't bear to think I'd ruined our friendship. It means so much to me."

He dropped his sack and patted her back awkwardly, then pried her hands loose from his collar and pushed her gently but firmly away. She stood there hiccupping and sniffling and wiping her eyes with her apron while he cringed inside, wishing himself a thousand miles away. He couldn't stand it when women cried.

"Gladys," he said, "If we're to renew our friendship, it has to be under certain terms. You're never to go into my lab, period. And you're never to enter my house unless I'm home and have invited you in. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her watery eyes round and contrite.

"It's not entirely your fault," he told her. "I should have expressed myself more clearly from the start. And I do appreciate your help in caring for Harold."

"I'd do anything for you, Thad. I admire you so much, and I've loved cooking for you and Harold. Has he left yet?"

"No, my sister's coming for him at two o'clock."

"Oh, then he'll be needing lunch. Could we still have a little party for him?"

She looked up at him tremulously, hopefully, her voice wobbling.

"I'm sure he'd like that."

"Wonderful!" 

He winced. The screechy voice was back full force. She drew a huge, shaky breath, clasping her hands together and beaming at him. "I'll fix something special and come over about 12:30. Oh, Thad, I can't tell you how happy I am that you've forgiven me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

He mumbled something, thrust the sack of produce at her and fled before she could launch herself at him again.

Harold was packed and ready by noon. TP had told him Gladys was bringing lunch, so he sat by the window watching for her.

"Here she comes!" he shouted. "She's got balloons and a giant picnic basket." He ran out to meet her.

Though she'd caused him more grief than she would ever know, TP had to laugh when he saw her lurching up the sidewalk with her load, a bunch of red helium balloons tied to one wrist and a cluster of party hats dangling from the other. She wore a ruffled blouse with a gold vest and an ankle length multi-colored skirt. On her head was a jaunty pink hat covered with silk flowers.

"The gypsies have arrived," Madeline said, standing beside TP.

Harold manfully grasped one handle of the basket which caused it to tip precariously, but they managed to deliver the goods unscathed. Gladys had to make one more trip next door, and Harold went along to help.

Good grief, how had she managed all this in a few short hours," TP wondered, watching as the kitchen was festooned with streamers and balloons, the table set with paper plates and party napkins. 

"I love napkins," Gladys said, doling them out beside the plates. "They add just the right touch to a party." 

She had brought a variety of delicacies from the gourmet deli she cooked for: tiny tea sandwiches, tartlets, vegetable roll-ups sliced to look like pinwheels, fig and feta canapes, crab cakes, and Harold's favorite - beggar's purses - chicken salad inside crisp wonton wraps gathered at the top and tied with a chive stem. For dessert there were mini lime cheesecakes and bird's nests made from drizzled chocolate, filled with chocolate mousse.

TP dutifully wore his party hat, feeling foolish as Madeline made him smile for the camera. He was hoping Gladys would leave before Evalda arrived, but at one forty-five the party was still going on and he couldn't very well shoo her out the door. She had gone to such efforts, even bringing Harold a present of building blocks wrapped up in a box with a bow. She and Madeline were being quite civil to each other, Gladys deigning to give Madeline pointers on cooking. But there was no telling what she might blurt out in Evalda's presence, and he didn't want his sister getting any ideas. She couldn't stand it that he was single and nagged him constantly, trying to hook him up with her acquaintances. He'd tried pointing out that she was single as well, her husband having died seven or eight years ago. Why didn't she date? But she had a life, and apparently he didn't. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy women's company. He dated occasionally, but only women of his choosing. Blind dates were almost always a disaster; he avoided them like the plague.

Ah, well, it was too late now. Evalda's car had pulled up to the curb. She breezed into the kitchen wearing a tailored grey suit with red pumps and matching scarf, a large black purse over one arm and a trail of L'air du Temps following her. She eyed the balloons and streamers, the party hats, the remnants of the feast, Gladys in her colorful costume. "It seems I'm interrupting something."

"We had a party," Harold told her. She greeted him with hugs and kisses, gave Madeline, whom she'd met before, a smile and a handshake, then turned her attention to Gladys. TP introduced them.

"I've been hearing about your cooking. It seems you're quite the gourmet."

Gladys waved a hand modestly. "It's what I enjoy. But sit down, Evalda. There's still plenty of food left. We gave Harold a little going-away party. Can I get you some coffee?"

"Never touch the stuff," said Evalda, perching on a chair and fending Archie off, who was delighted to see her. "Is there tea?"

Gladys bustled around heating water in the kettle and measuring tea leaves, and TP watched Evalda's eyes follow her every move, no doubt assessing her familiarity with the kitchen.

"So, Evalda, TP said, trying to distract her, "what brings you to Baltimore today, other than picking up Harold?"

"The OPAA is thinking of opening another shelter here. We have three in Philly, but the need is so great. People have been bringing animals in from all over, and a shelter here would help ease the pressure. I've been looking at possible buildings, but the most affordable ones are in bad neighborhoods. Safety is a priority, especially because I'm trying to get Marnie to run this one." She glanced at Harold, who was playing with his blocks, and lowered her voice. "My daughter needs to quit traveling so much and start being a proper mother. She could use her writing skills in better ways, like promoting the OPAA's cause. But don't get me started."

She sipped her tea and took a tiny nibble of cheesecake.

"If you do open a shelter in this area, I'd be happy to volunteer now and then," Madeline said.

"Wonderful!" Evalda took a business card out of her purse. "Here's our web address. Have a look, and I'll email you more information when you're ready. We can put your artistic talent to good use."  

"I'd like a card too," said Gladys. "And I have a suggestion. Thad and I are hosting a little get-together Saturday after next. We'd love to have you and Harold come, wouldn't we, Thad? You could meet some people and make some connections. One of our neighbors is in real estate."

Evalda raised an eyebrow. "That's very kind of you Gladys, and Thad." She smirked at him, knowing full well he hated his name. Thaddeus was pompous and pretentious, Thad was almost as bad as Todd.

"I'll check my schedule and let you know."

It happened in an instant. TP had almost forgotten about the chimera, sitting in the kitchen, eating and drinking and conversing like ordinary people do. So far the beast hadn't troubled him much in the daytime, and his guard was down. But suddenly his brain was on fire and a surge of rage swept through him. The people around him became enemies. He hated them; they were weak and despicable. He wanted them cowering and whimpering at his feet. He itched to smash the dishes, upend the table, roar and howl until they fled from him in terror. One small part of him knew this was all wrong. He lurched to his feet and strode from the room, running to the bathroom and slamming the door. He stuck his head under the faucet and let the cold water dampen the blaze. After a moment it all passed, leaving him shaken to the core. What would he tell them? He had to act normal. Evalda was sharp as a tack; she already suspected something was off with him. And Gladys! He could just picture her blabbing about his strange behavior to Marge, who thought he was using drugs. Quickly he toweled off his hair, ran a comb through it and went back to the kitchen.

They were talking about him.

"I hope it wasn't the food. It came on so suddenly."

"Believe me, Gladys, it wasn't the food. TP has a cast iron stomach. You wouldn't believe some of the things he eats. Though maybe you know, since you seem so familiar with his kitchen."

TP strode back into the room. "Sorry," he said, "I got something in my eye and had to get it out."

"I'm so glad you're not sick, Thad. I was worried."

"Everything's fine. Let's get your car packed up, Evalda, you've got a long drive ahead." 

She didn't believe him, but waited till they were outside to say anything. "When was your last physical, TP? Do you even have a doctor? I'll book an appointment for you with my physician. He's very good at diagnostics."

"Leave it alone, Evalda. I'll get a check up soon."

"Make sure you do. Gladys seems nice."

Here we go, he thought.

"She's not very intellectual, and I can't quite picture her tramping through the swamps with you, but you're sixty-two years old, for heaven's sake. You need some companionship for your golden years."

Luckily they were interrupted when Madeline and Harold came out. TP practically slung Archie into the back seat, gave Harold a hug, and waved them on their way.

Madeline looked at him closely, questions brimming in her bright blue eyes.

"I believe I'll go out to the hedge," he told her. 

"Wait," she said, running back to the house. She came back out with a party streamer. "If you get through, leave this tied to the shrubs, so I'll know where you are. And please be home by dark. I'll get rid of Gladys."

Seconds later he found a slim opening in the wax myrtles that hadn't been there yesterday. Winding the streamer around a twig, he plunged through the hole.