A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Eleven

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

TP had to meditate before entering the lab to dispel the anxiety caused by Mel's words. He kept thinking about the people he'd injured, hoping they'd all fully recover. It was an impossible situation for him. If he went to the authorities and told the truth, they'd think he was mentally ill. They'd give him a psychiatric evaluation, then he'd either be committed to an asylum or tried and convicted. One of the women had had an expensive watch stolen. TP was almost certain he hadn't taken it, but he couldn't prove it, and theft of over $1,000 was a felony in Maryland, punishable by up to ten years in prison. Then there was the weird twist of the drug found in all but one of the victims' systems. Surely he was not responsible for that. So how did it get there? But he had to clear all the questions and anxiety away for now. He must focus on the job at hand: getting the formula for the vegetable stone completed and in the furnace for its 40 day firing. He would not think about how long 40 days was, and how he could survive that long.

"Breathe, focus, breathe."

It was hard to be calm with a crashing thunderstorm going on outside, but he couldn't waste this valuable time. He unlocked the lab, turned on the lights, donned his clean white lab coat, and began to work. He wasn't quite satisfied with the distillation of the final preparation. Hollandus hadn't specified how many distillations were required, only to distill until the residue was as white as snow. Was his? He scrutinized it carefully. The glass it was in altered the color a bit. He decided to distill one final time, as it wouldn't hurt anything, and might be helpful.

The lights flickered as a bolt of lightning struck nearby. Rain slashed against the windows. All he needed now was a power outage. Should he wait for the storm to pass? He thought a moment and decided to go ahead with work.

Meticulously he set up his still and began to heat the precious liquid, watching steam swirl into the tubing. Good grief, it was dark outside. An eerie green glow filled the lab and his neck began to prickle. The words in his manual danced on the page.

"Scientist."

His head shot up. The sound of that hissing voice inside his head sent an electric jolt through him. Slowly he turned around, peering into the corners of the room.

Something stirred behind the small furnace he used for firing. A dark shape appeared, lit up by two fiery red eyes. A head formed, dissipated, formed again.

"Scientist, surely you're not surprised to see me. We've been together a long while now, haven't we? I've spent the past months quietly learning the workings of your mind and body. You knew I was there, didn't you?"

"Not at first," TP whispered. "I thought you were gone."

"I had to overcome your own doppelganger, the one you were born with. Pah, a weak and puny thing! I had no trouble subduing it. But now I know all your secrets! I've sifted through all your thoughts and memories, lingering over the ones that intrigue me. I know what drives you, what brings you excitement, fear, desire. It's given me hours and hours of entertainment. Such a learned man! I've read through all the papers and articles you've published throughout your career. Very impressive. Very commendable."

TP sank onto his lab stool, his eyes following the billowing shapes forming and dissolving in the corner. 

"You want to know why I'm here, don't you. Why I'm communicating with you in this way. You still want to get rid of me, but once I reveal certain things to you, you may very well change your mind."

"What things?" TP asked.

The chimera laughed, a huffing, unpleasant sound. "Here's the thing," it said, coiling itself around the stove pipe. "I admire you so much I've decided to give you a choice. It will make matters more interesting. I mean to stay with you to the end of your days, either with your permission or not. If you rebuff me, I'll be forced to stay in your subconscious and you will go mad. But if you agree to let me abide with you consciously, willingly, you and I can benefit beyond measure."

"I'll never agree to that."

"Oh, but wait till you hear my offer! I know what you desire most in the world, Scientist, and I can give it to you. You're not a man who craves power or wealth. Those things don't attract you in the least. No, it's knowledge you crave, isn't it? Remember that day in the marsh when you saw the Lord of the Dance? Remember the feeling of bliss you experienced when your eyes were opened? I can give you that permanently. You'll know all the workings of spirit in nature; you'll have the wisdom of the old alchemists plus much more. The secrets of the sun and moon, the stars and planets, what energies pulse through the deepest layers of the earth and how to harness them. You'll know the workings of creation on this plane, you'll be able to command the elements to make any formulas, any medicines and elixirs you want. What do you think of that?"

 TP was mesmerized. He could actually picture it as the chimera spoke. His fingertips tingled, his heart swelled with joy. But a part of him resisted. He struggled to think clearly. 

"The choice is yours. I will have you either way. A mad man is better than no man at all. You have no idea the pleasure I get from the sensation of eating and drinking, of experiencing life in a physical body. Even a mad man has to eat, and he still feels fear, anger, lust, confusion. I can have great pleasure in orchestrating these things in him, and in the people he comes in contact with. But if you allow me to merge myself with you willingly, I can experience physical life in the deepest of ways. You and I will grow tremendously strong, tremendously wise! There are large groups of beings we can work with to bring about monumental changes to the earth!" 

TP sat silent a moment, digesting all this information. Then he spoke. "It seems to me I have a third choice."

"And what is that?" asked the chimera dragon.

"I can produce the vegetable stone, the Quinta Essentia, and drive you away with it."

Now the chimera was silent, save for emitting small puffs of sound - laughter or anger? When it spoke, it's voice in his head was low and raspy. "You're being stupid. I thought you were an intelligent man, Scientist. Do you really think you can produce a vegetable stone in your paltry little laboratory? You haven't the wisdom, nor the equipment, nor the intuition to do such work. You'll fail, and in your heart you know it."

TP felt the weight of those words pressing down on him like a mountain of iron. But he couldn't let it crush him. 

"We'll see, won't we?" he said. "We'll just see."

A big clap of thunder rattled the windows; the chimera rushed at him and he fell off his stool, crumpling to the floor and passing out.

When he awoke, he was lying facedown on the rubber mat he stood on when working. His forehead ached from the fall but there was no blood that he could see. He lay there awhile, drifting. It wasn't unduly uncomfortable, lying on the mat. The storm had passed; all was quiet except for a faint humming noise drifting through the wall. Up and down the humming went, expanding into a warble now and then. It sounded like an off-key rendition of My Darling Clementine. Could a strange bird have flown in during the storm? A Clementine bird. This struck TP as hilarious. He guffawed into the mat, wheezing and gasping, nearly suffocating until he turned his head to the side. A wave of dizziness followed and he closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass. More sounds followed. Thumps, voices. Harold and Madeline must have returned from the aquarium. He heard small footsteps running down the hall and Archie's excited woof of greeting.

Then Madeline's voice rang out from across the hall. She sounded angry.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Cleaning, obviously." Gladys. He realized she was the Clementine bird.

"You have no business being in this bathroom! Does TP even know you're here?"

"He's busy in the lab. And I have every right to be here. Thad and I have an arrangement."

"What sort of arrangement?"

"Well, I hardly think that's any of your business."

"Whatever your arrangement is, it stops in the kitchen. The guest rooms and bathroom are off limits, at least as long as I'm here, is that clear? Take your things and get out."

More thumps, and the sound of water sloshing. "We'll just see what Thad has to say about this. You're overstepping your bounds, young lady. Though you're hardly a lady."

TP thought he'd better intervene before they killed each other. Slowly he stood, using the table to pull himself up. Still a bit dizzy, and his head hurt but otherwise in one piece. 

The distillation was complete. He disengaged the tubing and capped the flask. Tomorrow he would mix in the purified white residue, seal it up in a flame proof mold and cast it into the furnace. Then, in forty days' time and by the grace of God, he'd have his Quinta Essentia, and salvation from the beast.

Madeline was across the hall in the library where she was temporarily sleeping, rummaging through her bags and boxes. Gladys had apparently left. The clock beside the couch read 4:10. He'd been knocked out a long time.

"Did you know she was here?" Madeline asked. "I swear, if she's been going through my things I'll - what happened to your forehead?"

"It's a long story," said TP, glancing at Harold, who stood beside the library door. "I'll tell you later. How was your trip, Harold? Did you have a good time?"

Harold treated him to a long tale about his new friends, Sadie and Pete, about the creatures he'd seen at the aquarium, where they'd eaten lunch, how they'd gotten caught in the storm and had to pull off the road.

After the story, Harold and TP took Archie for a walk, checking out the fallen leaves and branches from the storm. Harold tested the depth of the puddles with a stick, and Archie splashed through them happily.

Gladys didn't show up with supper that evening, so TP fixed towering, messy sandwiches that squirted out everywhere and had to be eaten with a fork. Afterwards they had strawberries and cream for dessert.

When Harold had gone to bed, Madeline wanted to hear what had happened in the lab. 

"What a nightmare," she said, her face strained and white after he'd told her everything. "Are you sure you're all right, other than that knot on your head?"

"I feel surprisingly well, actually, now that the dizziness has passed. And I have a feeling I got the dragon rattled by talking about the vegetable stone. Maybe I'm wrong, but I sensed agitation in its voice."

"Did it give you any indication of how long before...you know."

"Before I go mad? No. I'm doing everything I can to resist it, and to figure out how the dragon operates. If the beast can learn all my secrets, maybe I can learn its secrets too. Maybe it has an Achilles tendon, so to speak, a vulnerable spot."

Madeline smiled. "Now you're talking, TP."

  

 

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Ten

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

Madeline took Harold and Archie for a drive around the neighborhood in the green beetle.

"It's got a lever that makes the back of the seat shoot up," Harold explained to TP when they returned. "I worked the lever and Archie rode in the back. Madeline, do you want to see my dump truck?"

They played in the yard until dusk, when TP called Harold in to take his bath.

"Make sure you scrub your legs good," he said. Harold's knees were dark brown from scooting his truck along the dirt road he'd constructed between the lettuce and tomato beds.

Madeline and TP stayed up late, talking. They had much to catch up on, and new things to discuss.

TP had to get one thing off his mind. "That remark you made to Gladys was totally uncalled for, Madeline. Really over the top. Especially since Harold was sitting right there. And don't give me that innocent look. You know perfectly well what remark I'm talking about."

"You weren't supposed to hear it," she said, and put her face in her hands. "I admit it was horrible. Sometimes when I get irritated I just blurt things out without thinking. But you know that."

They shared a smile.

"I'm sorry. Especially about Harold hearing."

"It's Gladys you should apologize to."

"Well, she owes me an apology as well. Implying that my presence is making you sick. Of all the nerve."

"Rise above it, Madeline. She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Exactly, so she should keep her trap shut." She grimaced. "It would help if she didn't sound like a screeching parrot."

They both laughed.

"I called Todd," Madeline said. "We're taking his niece and nephew to the aquarium tomorrow, so Harold can come too. Todd's sister's kids are about Harold's age, five and seven. That way you can work in the lab without interruptions."

TP tried to give her money for the tickets, which weren't cheap, but she wouldn't let him. "Todd's sister's husband is a lawyer and makes scads of money. Sarah gave us a wad of money. She's thrilled to get the kids out of her hair for a day. What's that you're drinking?"

"A spagyric formula I've come up with. Chamomile, lemon balm, valerian, passionflower and catnip, with Chinese skullcap for the melatonin."

"Holy cow, that should knock you out cold. Is it bad, falling asleep?"

TP shrugged. "I've been managing. Be sure and lock the deadbolt, and don't open it till morning."

"Got it, TP. Hope you can sleep."

It was not a pleasant night. He jerked awake over and over again, once catching himself standing by the door, trying to open it. The chimera was not pleased.

"Scientist," it hissed in his ear. "Get up, get up, get up."

Bad dreams plagued him: twisted shapes, distorted landscapes, hideous faces.

In the morning, bleary-eyed and headachy, he heard the dead bolt click and dragged himself out of bed. After a long, hot-and-cold shower he shaved, dressed and wandered down the hall. Madeline and Gladys were already going at it. His footsteps slowed even more, listening to their bickering.

"So how long will you be here?"

"As long as I feel like staying."

"I guess free room and board is a big incentive. But shouldn't you be working?"

"I will be."

"Oh? Doing what?"

"None of your business. What's this?"

"Lemon blueberry three grain porridge with toasted pecans. But let's get one thing straight. I cook for Harold and Thad. You can take care of yourself."

"Suits me."

Harold's voice broke in. "You can have some of mine."

Madeline laughed. "That's ok, Harold. Eat up. We've got a big day planned."

Todd came by to pick them up. TP had met Todd several times and thought him a pleasant enough fellow. Not outstanding in any way. Medium height, about an inch or so taller than Madeline, who was five-eight-and-a-half. Medium brown hair and eyes, medium build, regular features. Friendly, easy going. He was a business major, just through his junior year. The tennis type. 

Was that what slightly irked him, TP wondered. Madeline was on a community rowing team, which somehow made tennis seem wimpy. Which was utterly ridiculous, of course. Look at Serena Williams. Every sport had its merits. Was he being snobbish, stereotyping someone because he played tennis? Was it the little white shorts and shoes, the knit shirts with monograms on the pockets? Todd just seemed so...civilized. Even his name was ho-hum. Todd Smith. What kind of name was Todd? It had no oomph to it. A person would need to have a sparkling personality to overcome being a Todd. Which Todd Smith did not. Or maybe subconsciously he was comparing Todd to Madeline's first love, whom she'd met in Minglemist. Well, whatever, it was no use going down that road. Madeline could make her own decisions. 

As they were leaving, TP handed Madeline a large black umbrella. "Take this," he said, "it looks like rain." 

He hoped for a good soaker. Then he wouldn't have to water the garden for awhile.

"So, what are your plans for the day, Thad?"

Gladys had lingered, fussing around the kitchen in a crisp white apron over a yellow dress smattered with daisies and twining greenery. The colors made an interesting contrast with her red hair shade, which TP was pretty sure came from a bottle. At least she hadn't dyed it platinum blond like so many older women did, presumably to hide their grey. Dyed platinum hair looked like melting cotton candy, he thought, dull and lifeless.

"Oh, I have some things to do," he said vaguely.

"You should take the day off and do something fun," Gladys said. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy! My niece gave me tickets to Six Flags; she works there. What do you say we make a day of it and go see the sights?"

She batted her big brown eyes at him hopefully.

He groaned inwardly. Could she possibly not know how irritating her endless cliches were? Six Flags was the last place on earth he would visit. "It's going to rain. And I really have things to do."

Her coral-tinted lips pouted. "I suppose you'll be working in your lab. I can't imagine what's so interesting in there that keeps you so busy. Remember, you promised me a tour." Another hopeful look.

He'd done nothing of the kind. Clearing his throat, he began sorting through some bills on the table, hoping she'd get the message.

"And I guess what's-her-name will be assisting you."

"Madeline. Yes."

A sigh. "Will you be traveling this summer, Thad, like you did last year?"

"Ah, no. I've got plenty to do around here right now."

"Well, you really need to take some time for socializing, and I mean to see that you do! The supper party will be a start. I've been thinking about dates - how does Saturday after next sound?"

"Fine," he said.

"All right then. We'll have to get together and do some planning. So long for now, Thad."

Finally. He wrote some checks, sealed and stamped envelopes and walked out to the mailbox. The wind was picking up, and he heard a rumble of thunder.

Mel was in his driveway, looking at the sky. "Looks like we're finally going to get rain." He pointed up at the dark clouds gathering.

"Looks that way," TP said.

"Hey, have you been hearing about Dr. Demento?"

TP froze. "Oh?" He cast a glance at Mel, certain his guilt must show. 

"Yeah, Dr. Demento, like that old radio show out of California, remember? Marge was on duty at the hospital when they brought some of those folks in. She said she's never seen people so freaked out. That one poor man had chest pains and everything. Can you imagine? I sure hope they catch that maniac." He shook his head and shuddered. "Gives me the creeps."

"Yeah," TP said, hoping Mel didn't notice the tremble in his voice.

"Well, I'm off to show some property. Don't go walking late at night."

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Nine

 (for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

He'd been pruning in his garden and had tripped and fallen through a hole in the wax myrtle hedge; a hole that hadn't been there the day before. As he fell he was fuming, thinking that Gladys had cut the hole so she could spy on him. But instead of landing in Gladys' back yard, he'd found himself on a shaded lane with unfamiliar trees overhead, their limbs draped with moss. A sign beside the lane read Welcome to Minglemist. Underneath those words were two arrows pointing in opposite directions, one towards Barleytown, the other towards Boggy Meadow. After standing there a long while, befuddled and bemused, he'd turned and gone back through the hedge into his own back yard. Several times he'd gone back and forth through the hedge, always with the same results. 

Over the coming days and weeks, he'd ventured further and further into Minglemist, growing more enchanted each time by the unusual plants and animals, the quaint towns, the intriguing people. 

Madeline had been working for him at the time, staying in his guest room, and he could hardly avoid telling her about his experiences, but at first he'd refused to let her come with him.

"It's too risky. I don't know the rules of the place: why it's there or how long it will remain. And some of the creatures are dangerous."

But another huge reason prevented him from taking her with him on his excursions, one he dared not mention. He thought it was quite possible he'd gone mad. If Madeline went through the hedge and didn't see anything, it would be proof he'd lost his marbles. 

But Madeline begged and pleaded and pouted and shouted and threatened until he gave in. They went through the hedge together, he going first and pulling her through, keeping hold of her hand and waiting with baited breath for her response.

"Good grief," she said, "is that a lizard with wings or a butterfly with a tail?"

She became just as enamored with Minglemist as he was. They were giddy with excitement, spending more and more time exploring the strange new land. At first they told no one, but eventually TP couldn't refrain from talking to a few former colleagues in the science department.

They thought he was nuts. He saw their pitying glances, their barely concealed ridicule, the subtle eye rolls and head shakes they gave one another. But that would change soon enough! He arranged an excursion, bursting with anticipation. He couldn't wait to see their faces when they first glimpsed a lollywon tree or a waspish stingle, or tasted barnicance juice. 

But TP was in for a terrible shock. None of his colleagues could see Minglemist. When they went through the wax myrtle hedge they were in Gladys' back yard. TP disappeared from their view, but they were convinced he was simply hiding.

Humiliated, confused, despondent, TP tried in vain to redeem himself, to make them see. He and Madeline tried taking pictures, but cameras and cell phones didn't work in Minglemist. He tried bringing specimens home, carefully collected in jars or nets, but once through the hedge, the containers were empty. It seemed Minglemist wanted no one but him and Madeline to cross its borders.

A week of the doldrums followed. TP felt like a deflated balloon. He moped around the house, brewing endless cups of tea which he didn't drink, staring sightlessly out the window or lying on the couch with his long legs draped over the end, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. Finally Madeline coaxed and prodded him into going through the hedge with her again, and once back in Minglemist, TP felt the fire of enthusiasm return.

He rented a cottage on a country lane near Barleytown and he and Madeline spent most of the summer there, studying the flora and fauna. He made copious notes and Madeline drew diagrams, pictures and maps. He told family and friends he and Madeline were traveling, collecting material for a possible book. After all, that was why he'd taken early retirement in the first place. His colleagues looked relieved, patting him heartily on the back and applauding him for taking some time "off". Off from what they didn't say, but TP would not let their disbelief stop him.

One day in late summer TP journeyed to a wild, hilly area of Minglemist he'd not seen before. He'd taken a steam train to a small town bordering the wilderness, then set out on foot to explore. Old mining caves riddled the hillsides and the ground was strewn with boulders and thorny vegetation. Not a picturesque spot, but TP was hoping for a glimpse of a rare reptile he'd heard about that lived in the caves.

Much to his embarrassment, he'd gotten lost, even though he had a map and a compass. When twilight came, he built a little fire and resigned himself to an uncomfortable night on the ground. He wasn't overly concerned; there was food and water in his backpack and he was certain he could find his way back to town in the morning.

But it seemed the reptiles he sought weren't the only creatures living in the old mines. TP was accosted by a chimera dragon, the most dangerous of all creatures in Minglemist. Chimeras had bodies of nothing more than black smoke with burning red eyes. They were highly intelligent and able to communicate telepathically, traveling by night, seeking human hosts so they could experience life on the physical plane. They fed on human beings' lower passions, influencing their hosts through the subconscious to spread terror, hatred and greed. If a chimera dragon became too deeply imbedded in its host, madness was the result.

TP had spent the most horrifying night of his life wrestling with the creature. Finally, exhausted and faint, he had passed out when the chimera pounced on him, engulfing him in thick, dark smoke. He was found the next day wandering along the road, nearly blind, hardly able to speak. Madeline had come to fetch him and taken him home. Slowly he'd regained his sight and his strength, and came to believe the chimera dragon had left him.

A short time later, for reasons unknown, the hole in the hedge had closed up. Minglemist was apparently finished with them. Or was it? 

"So what are we getting here," Madeline asked when they entered the hardware store.

"Deadbolt. The strongest they have. Madeline, could you stay for a bit?" He hated asking her.

"Of course," she said. "For as long as you need me to. I've been living with my friend Amy since school let out, but it's kind of awkward. I'd like to get my own place if I can afford it. And I need to look for a job."

"You could work for me."

"Doing what?"

"Locking me in my room at night." That one little action would be worth more to him than any amount of money. 

"Oh, geez," she said.

"Plus I could use some help in the lab. My notes need organizing and there are a lot of tinctures to bottle up."

"TP, you're already helping me with school expenses. If anything, I owe you."

"No! Believe me, I can use another hand."

He couldn't be alone, and there was no one else he could call on; no one else who would understand the situation. Evalda would have him in the psych ward in no time flat. And maybe that's where he'd end up, eventually. But not yet! As for money, he had enough. He'd made some good investments over the years, plus he had his pension, and soon he'd start drawing social security. He could afford to pay Madeline a decent salary. She would be doing him a tremendous service. Ah, he hated depending on her! She should be out enjoying life with her friends, not caretaking a demented old man. But he would do everything he could to help her, to pay her back. She had no family of her own, and in a way they had adopted each other.

"We'll figure it out later. I'll sleep in the library till Harold leaves."

TP's library was a renovated pantry behind the kitchen. He'd put in floor-to-ceiling shelves, a little table and chair and a comfortable couch along the back wall. The guest bathroom was between it and the room Harold was in, so he and Madeline could share.

They went by Amy's apartment and picked up Madeline's things. There wasn't much. Most of her meagre possessions were stored in the hall closet at TP's.

When they got home, Harold and Gladys were eating apple crumb pie topped with lemon mousse.

"Sit down, Thad. I've set you a place."

TP eyed the feast. Shrimp salad with cucumbers, tomatoes and croutons, a fluffy potato casserole, green beans.

Gladys looked at Madeline. "Oh, are you staying? I didn't set an extra place. I don't know if I made enough..."

"Actually, Madeline can have my place," TP said. "I have some things to do, and I'm not very hungry."

Gladys looked so crestfallen he added, "I'm a little under the weather this evening. But thanks for your efforts. It looks...magnificent."

"I'll save you a plate, Thad. Hope you're feeling better soon."

He waved and started down the hall, Gladys' shrill voice trailing along behind him.

"Funny," she was saying, presumably to Madeline. "Thad was feeling fine until you came."

"Yeah, I had to tell him I was pregnant with his child."

TP winced, then heard a gasp and the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, followed by Madeline's laughter. "Just kidding."

Gladys huffed loudly. "I'm not listening to any more of this filth."

Thumps and clashes followed, then the door slammed.

TP shook his head, trying to dispel Madeline's words. That girl! He'd have to have a talk with her. 

Back to the job at hand, he attached the dead bolt to the outside of his door. That should end his midnight sprees of terror.

"Is that big lock for keeping the dark thing away, Uncle TP?" 

TP looked down at Harold in shock. "What dark thing are you talking about?"

"The one that sits on the end of your bed at night."

Good Lord! He squatted down beside Harold.

"When did you see this thing?"

"Last night. I had to get up to pee, and I looked in your room."

Shaken to the core, TP asked, "Did it frighten you, Harold?"

"At first. I ran and got under the covers. But then the Duke blew the magic horn, and Richard the Lionheart defeated the enemy. He's a powerful warrior."

"Is that why you put Richard and the Duke outside my door?"

Harold nodded. "They'll protect you. The dark thing is no match for them. They'll smite it."

"Listen to me, Harold. I promise I won't let any dark things harm you. Do you understand?"

"And we won't let anything harm you either, Uncle TP. Me and Richard and the Duke and Archie." Harold threw his arms around his uncle, and TP gripped him tightly, awestruck by the boy's bravery.

   

 

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Eight

(for previous chapters click on the chapter links on the left sidebar)

 A deep heaviness settled over TP. His chest felt so constricted he could barely breathe. His whole body felt wooden and stiff. He stood up, dropped the paper and dragged himself down the hall to his bedroom.

In his closet were the leather slip-on shoes he wore around the house in the evenings. Never outside. With dread he picked one up and stared at the sole, covered in mud and bits of grass. The sides were damp.

A small sound escaped him and he fell to his knees and bowed his head, afraid he might pass out.

"What have I done?" he whispered. "What have I done?"

A minute passed, two, three, as he struggled to absorb what could no longer be denied. He had been walking in his sleep. He had assaulted people, terrified them, caused them great harm. He was Dr. Demento!

He stood and picked up his cell phone from the night stand. There was only one number he could call. He had thought about calling many times recently, but had resisted, determined not to involve her. But things were now so dire he had no choice.

She answered on the first ring.

"TP! I've been wanting to call or stop by - how are you?"

"Madeline - " his voice came out like a frog's. "Madeline, I need - can you?"

Bless her, she didn't hesitate an instant, didn't question. She knew him so well. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

The weight on his chest eased fractionally; he gulped in a big breath of air.

The back door opened and closed. "Uncle TP, I'm hungry."

He fixed Harold some bread and nut butter, cutting it in triangles as instructed, "And I want strawberries on top", all the while thinking, thinking what he needed to do.

Gladys was supposed to bring something for supper, that would solve one issue. What else? Ah, God, his mind was in turmoil. When he heard Madeline's rumbly Volkswagen pull into the drive, he rushed to the door.

She was untangling her gangly legs from the seat of her 1998 beetle, painted electric yellow-green, which she'd gotten for a song from another student. It had close to 200,000 miles of use, and probably needed all kinds of work done, but it was her first car and she was very proud of it. TP had worried about her safety driving the decrepit old thing, but she'd brushed off his concerns with her usual panache.

"It's not like I'm taking long road trips or anything," she'd told him. "It's just for bopping around town. Todd has a decent car if I need it." Todd was the new boyfriend.

He was ridiculously glad to see her. She'd worked for him for a year and a half before starting college. He'd hired her at 18 years of age, straight out of an orphanage; an awkward, prickly and highly intelligent girl who had captured him with her fierce blue eyes and direct manner. He'd needed an assistant for various things: research for a book he'd been attempting to write, some light housework, a little help in the lab. She'd tried her hand at cooking, but the results had been mediocre at best. Then last summer had happened, the book was forgotten, the course of their lives changed forever. 

She'd matured a great deal since then, gaining hard-won self confidence through a series of earth-shaking experiences they'd shared. Her mettle had been tested in many ways, her heart had been broken, but she had weathered the storms with courage and determination.

Her face showed concern as she walked towards him. Wide jawline, well-shaped chin, full lips and straight nose; it was a strong and beautiful face, full of character. She wore raveling cut-off jeans, a sleeveless blue cotton shirt with silver buttons open at the top to reveal the polished green stone on a chain she kept around her neck. Her long brown ponytail was stuck through the back of a black baseball cap, and on her feet were woven leather sandals.

They stood scrutinizing each other and much passed between them unspoken.

"Come in," said TP, leading the way.

Harold stood by the door, chewing on his snack and eyeing Madeline curiously.

"Madeline, this is my great-nephew, Harold Web, Marnie's boy. He's staying with me for a bit."

"Hi, Harold Web. It's nice to meet you. I'm Madeline Brown." She shook his grubby little hand, not minding the sticky bits of nut butter.

"You have a nice car," he said.

She laughed. "Well, thanks, Harold. I like it too. Maybe I'll take you for a spin in it later. Would you like that?"

He nodded.

Archie pushed his way onto the porch and sniffed Madeline's shoes, licked her hands and wagged furiously.

"This is Archie," Harold said.

"He's a very fine dog, aren't you, Archie?" Madeline fussed over him, scratching his ears until he collapsed blissfully and rolled over onto his back.

They'd barely gotten in the door when Gladys appeared carrying a picnic basket, dressed in turquoise capris pants, matching beaded mules and a loose-fitting top that fell in swirls of purple, green and rose around her hips.

"Hellooo, Thad, I see you have company. I hope I'm not -" She broke off when her eye fell on Madeline.

"Oh, it's you."

"Hello to you, too, Gladys."

The two couldn't stand each other. 

"Gladys," TP said, "I wonder if you might stay with Harold while I run a couple of errands? Just for an hour or so. He's hungry; maybe you could - " He gestured at the picnic basket, which she'd set on the table.

"What about her?" Gladys' chin pointed at Madeline.

"Madeline will be coming with me."

"Oh, I see." Her bow lips pouted, then she rallied. "Well, Harold and I will have a picnic by ourselves, won't we?"

Harold eyed the basket. "What did you bring?"

TP thanked her, then motioned to Madeline to follow him. 

"What's going on?" she hissed. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Get in," he said, opening the door of his Subaru, "I'll tell you on the way."

"Where are we going?"

"Hardware store, for one." He thrust today's newspaper at her as he pulled out of the drive. "Read that." His finger pointed.

"Dr. Demento. People have been talking about this."

"I'm him."

"What?"

TP threw her a grim look. "It's true. I've been walking in my sleep."

Her face registered shock, then, in a moment, understanding.

"Oh my God, it's the chimera dragon, isn't it? TP, how long have you known?

"It never left me," he told her. "I thought it was gone when we came back from Minglemist, but no, only dormant for a time. Now it's growing stronger by the day."

Madeline sat silent a moment and TP could see the wheels spinning. Finally she said, "There's got to be a way to get rid of it."

He told her about the vegetable stone. "But lately, with Harold staying, I haven't been able to work on it."

"Why're you keeping him? I know you wouldn't have invited him with all this going on."

He told her how it had come about.

"He's adorable. But what bad timing! How much is left to do in the lab?"

"The elements have been separated, purified and recombined. I'm nearly ready to fire it in the furnace and melt the resulting powder to make the stone. Only a portion as big as a grain of wheat should be sufficient to drive out the dragon."

"Then there you go!"

"But it takes forty days to fire! I don't know if I can hold out that long. And then, what if I've made a mistake? What if it fails?"

"Then we'll try again, or find another way."

"I don't have much time. Even now, it may be too late."

"We'll get through this," Madeline said firmly. "But I think I should know the process. Just in case."

He looked at her. "In case I turn into a raving lunatic and have to be chained to the bed."

They had reached the hardware store, but neither made a move to get out of the car. They were both lost in thought. TP was remembering the day he'd discovered Minglemist...

 

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Seven

 (for previous chapters, click the chapter links on the left sidebar)

Before turning in for the night TP looked in on Harold, whose bedroom was right across the hall from his own, at the back of the house. Harold's pajamas were a riot of parrots, zebras, giraffes and elephants - really, how could one sleep in such a jungle? Shubert, the teddy bear (who'd been put through the wash on delicate cycle and had only lost a tablespoon or so of stuffing), shared the bed with a small green octopus and a multi-colored snake Harold had brought with him. King Richard and the Duke stood on guard on the desk, and Archie guarded the floor. With such a fortress, Harold could rest in peace.

TP had had his herbal tea, a spagyric tincture of sedative herbs he'd made in the lab, and Brahms was playing softly on the CD player. Nothing left to do but fall asleep, the hardest thing he did all day, when it should have been the easiest. He took off his shoes, threw his shirt in the hamper and hung his pants firmly on the bathroom door hook. The last thing he remembered was maniacal laughter and those horrible red eyes boring into his head.

TP overslept again. What was making him so tired? Did he really want to know? He looked at the bathroom door and breathed in relief. His pants were where they should be, on the hook.

No need for a shower, he'd bathed last night after a day in the marsh. Voices and the smell of coffee wafted down the hall. Gladys was here again. How did he feel about this? On one hand it saved him from fixing Harold's breakfast, and it was nice having coffee waiting. But morning was a time for quiet introspection, going over yesterday, planning the day ahead, transitioning slowly from the silent world of sleep to full consciousness. And when you were tired and foggy-headed, the last thing you wanted to hear was Gladys' shrill voice. Well, once Harold left things would get back to normal.

As he left his bedroom, TP looked down and blinked in surprise. King Richard and the Duke stood on either side of the door, facing outward. Harold must have been playing with them early this morning, and TP, usually a very light sleeper, had been oblivious. Especially odd because he'd been leaving his bedroom door open in case Harold should need him in the night. He'd question Harold about it later.

His second surprise came when he entered the kitchen. Harold was in his usual seat at the table, Archie beside him, ever hopeful for a fallen morsel. Gladys was standing on a chair, her backside to him, vigorously scrubbing out one of the cupboards. Pots, pans and serving bowls were stacked on the counter, along with a bucket of sudsy water, cleaning rags and towels. Some sort of hand held vacuum device with teeth was plugged in beside the toaster, grinning at him ominously.

"What are you doing?" he said, none too gently.

Gladys shrieked and whirled around, losing her balance and tumbling off the chair. TP caught her and staggered as they both nearly fell to the floor, she clutching at him in her sopping rubber gloves.

"Goodness, you startled me, Thad! She took off the gloves and smoothed her hair, laughing breathlessly.

TP glanced at Harold, who was watching the show wide-eyed while eating breakfast.

"I'd like to talk to you a moment, if you don't mind." TP jerked his head towards the living room entryway, opposite the kitchen.

She followed him, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking loudly on the linoleum floor.

"Gladys, you don't need to be doing all this!" He looked around the room and saw she'd been busy in here as well. His papers, books and magazines were stacked neatly on the coffee table and things were rearranged on his desktop. Had she gone through the drawers as well? This had to stop. Now.

"Oh, Thad, your check was so generous I felt I owed you! It's no trouble at all, and I know having Harold here means extra work. You being a bachelor can certainly stand to have a woman's touch around the house now and then. Just think of me as your little guardian angel, making your day brighter!"

TP rubbed his head. "The thing is, Gladys, I really like quiet in the morning. I appreciate you fixing breakfast for Harold, but the cleaning is just not necessary." Or wanted.

"And there's one other matter. Mel said you're planning a party?"

"Yes! I thought a summer party would be a nice way to get the neighbors together, and a few friends and family. A supper party, with twinkling lights and music. Maybe some poetry readings."

"And, ah, where were you planning on having this party, Gladys?"

She cocked her head and put a polished fingernail to her chin as if deep in thought.

"It's got to be outside, of course, for the proper atmosphere. I thought about renting the pavilion at the park, but it's very expensive. Of course, there's my back yard but it's awfully small, and cluttered, what with my lawn furniture and flamingo yard ornaments. And Merle's boat. I never could bring myself to get rid of it. Do you know anyplace that might work, Thad?"

Her brown eyes gazed at him guilelessly. Oh, heaven help him. Everything in him resisted the idea of offering his own back yard. But he did need to at least go through the motions of socializing once in awhile. Plus there would be good food.

Hoping he wouldn't regret it, he said, "You could have it here."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you! Your backyard is a lot bigger. We could put a small pop up tent next to your flower garden, and string the hedge with lights. I could bring my gazing ball over, it would be just the right touch."

He could see she'd already planned the whole thing out.

"One of my nephews is taking saxophone lessons, and he has a little band with a drummer and a clarinet player, so the music is taken care of."

"Why don't you let me provide the music," TP heard himself say. Anything to avoid a screeching amateur jazz band. "I have a friend in the music department at the university. She plays cello. Such an elegant instrument, don't you think? Sophisticated, yet subtle. I'm sure I could arrange something with her."

She fell for it, thank God. "That sounds perfect, Thad. I guess cello is more...appropriate for dinner music. Romantic, too." She smiled dreamily.

"And about the cleaning issue, that's easy to fix. I'll just come in to tidy up a bit later in the day while you're out and about. I know where you keep your house key, so even if you're gone, I can get in."

He took a breath to respond, but she cut him off. 

"I won't take no for an answer, Thad! If you leave your laundry on the washing machine I'll be glad to run it through. I'll be back later with a special dinner. I'm so glad we have this little arrangement. I love testing new recipes, and it's no fun cooking for one."

TP watched her apron strings bounce as she retreated to the kitchen, humming to herself.

Why was he was so incompetent at defending his territory? Every time he tried to loosen her clutches, she tightened the noose. When he heard her leave, he wandered back into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Harold. What are we having for breakfast today?"

"Cloud Egg Croque Madam a la Gladys."

"That's quite a mouthful." He looked at his plate, resplendent with a fluffy concoction of meringue holding an egg yolk in the center which oozed down onto a toasted sandwich of some sort, all sprinkled with fresh chives.

For this, he could endure much.

The day passed pleasantly enough. TP did his laundry - no way would he let Gladys rifle through his clothes, looking in all the pockets, folding his underwear.

Afterward he and Harold took a drive to Brownie's Beach, a prime spot for finding fossils and shells. The beach was closed to the public, but TP had an in with a former teaching colleague who lived on the bluffs not far from the beach.

They collected shark's teeth and fossilized bone fragments, and Harold got a lesson on the Miocene era.

"Uncle TP, look at this. Is it a fossil?" Harold held a lumpy brown rock in his palm.

TP studied it. "I believe you've found a coprolite."

"What's a coprolite?"

"Petrified poop."

Harold wrinkled his nose. "That's what it looks like. It doesn't stink, though."

"No, it's all turned to stone."

"I like it. I'm going to look for more."  

Two more coprolites joined the first, then Harold collected bits of sea glass for his mother. Grandma Evie was to get a sharks' tooth and a coprolite.

Interesting choices, TP thought.

When they got home, a package was waiting for Harold by the front door. The postmark read Paris.

"It's from your mom," TP said.

Harold opened it excitedly. Inside was a red dump truck big enough for King Richard, the Duke and the small green octopus to ride in. Also included was a wooden puzzle of a Paris flower market and a set of oil pastels with special paper to use them on. Harold put the puzzle and art supplies on his desk, then he and Archie went outside to try out the new dump truck.

TP was very tired. He needed a nap, but settled for a cup of coffee and the newspaper. The front page held the usual uplifting stories - extreme weather, war, political bickering. He scanned through the articles and turned the page.

Dr. Demento of Cheswolde Strikes Again

Yesterday the Baltimore Sun reported that three citizens of Cheswolde were accosted Wednesday night by a frightening man now dubbed Dr. Demento who seemed to have hypnotic powers. Last night another victim had a similar experience. Marsha Trueblood was walking home from a neighbor's house around 11:30 pm when she felt an odd tingling in her shoulder. Turning around, she came face to face with "a hulking beast of a man with glowing eyes, so frightening I screamed and passed out". When she regained consciousness, the man was gone and so was her $1500 watch. "I believe he drugged me," said Ms. Trueblood. "I have a red spot on my shoulder, like a needle mark, and I haven't felt right since". Blood drawn from Ms. Trueblood revealed traces of a rare experimental psychiatric drug called Gogetamine being trialed on a small number of patients at Johns Hopkins hospital. Oddly, blood samples from two of the other three victims also contained traces of Gogetamine, but the third did not. Law officials suspect the assaulter is a doctor or health professional working at Johns Hopkins. The only place this drug could be obtained is at the hospital. Close watch is being kept on the patients receiving Gogetamine, and all doses are accounted for. Residents of Cheswolde are being cautioned not to be outside on foot after dark.

  

  

A Twist in the Mist - Chapter Six

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"The troubadours wore hats with feathers."

They were on their way home after visiting the butterfly garden and indoor displays at the nature center. Harold was playing with a duck feather he'd found, running it back and forth across Archie's back as the dog straddled his lap, front paws on the arm rest, nose stuck out the open window, tail thumping rhythmically against TP's leg.

"Did they, now?" TP said.

"Richard the Lionheart was the bravest troubadour there ever was."

Also pretty ruthless, according to some accounts. But if Harold needed a hero, TP guessed he could do worse than Richard.

"He can keep all the bad, dark things away."

TP looked at Harold sharply. "What sort of dark things?"

Harold shrugged. "You know, dragons and sea monsters."

"It takes a very brave man to face a dragon," TP said half to himself.

Harold nodded in agreement. His eyes were beginning to droop. "This was the best day of my life," he said, and fell asleep.

A warm sensation filled TP's chest. The babysitting was going much better than he'd anticipated. Small children, in his limited experience, were whiny, demanding, noisy creatures who always did exactly what they shouldn't. It was exhausting just being in the same room with them. But Harold was different.  Quiet, agreeable, able to entertain himself. So far anyway. He might turn into an obnoxious brat in a day or two, but TP didn't think so. No, he and Harold were in sync. Maybe it was a genetic thing, who knew? But Evalda had been right. Harold was special, and he'd already wormed his way into TP's affections. He hoped neither one of them would disappoint the other.

When they got home the land line phone was ringing.

"Uncle TP, it's Marnie, calling to check up on Harold. How are things going?"

"Fine, fine. We've just gotten home from an outing. Where are you?"

"I'm still in Paris and may be delayed another week. I'm doing an article on a fashion designer and my camera crew had some technical issues. Then yesterday we were supposed to do a shoot with horses on the beach but one of the models got thrown and broke her leg, so now she's got to be replaced. Anyway, that's life in the fast lane." She laughed. "Put Harold on, would you?"

While Harold talked, TP went to retrieve the daily newspaper from the sidewalk. 

"We had a field trip, but it wasn't to a field," he heard Harold say as he went out the door. 

His neighbor to the east, Melvin Turner, was on his front porch. Mel worked part time as a realtor and his wife Marge was a nurse at Johns Hopkins hospital. Mel had tried several times to get TP to play tennis with him, but TP always found an excuse. Mel was a pleasant enough fellow, congenial and easy going, but TP wasn't a tennis sort of person. It seemed boring and pointless, batting a ball back and forth over a net. He'd rather get his exercise exploring the outdoors where there were interesting things to delight the senses. And he always felt ridiculous in shorts. His legs were all knobs and bones.

"What's up, TP," Mel called. He was wearing plaid shorts that hung below his knees, flip flops and no shirt. TP tried not to look at his belly. It sagged, despite the tennis. Too much beer.

"Hey, Marge said she saw you at the laundromat last night. She waved and said hello but you didn't hear her."

"Wasn't me," said TP.

"That's what I told Marge. I said she'd better get her glasses checked, because TP would be the last person on earth to hang out at the laundromat at 11:30. She was coming home from her late shift. So I guess it's her glasses, unless you have a doppelganger." He laughed.

A doppelganger. TP smiled weakly. He started to go inside, but Mel wasn't finished.

"I hear there's a party in the works."

"What sort of party?"

"I got the impression it was your idea. Yours and Gladys'. Gladys has been telling Marge all about it. Some kind of gala outdoor supper with a jazz trio? In your backyard."

"This is the first I've heard of it," TP said uneasily.

"Uh-oh, somebody's in trouble. Probably me. But hey, I hear you and Gladys are..." he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Are what?" TP's face grew hot.

"Oh, maybe I misinterpreted. You know women. They speak a foreign language." He laughed again, but threw TP a curious look as he went inside.

Harold was still on the phone. "Blooming spring fritters, and lots of strawberries," he was saying.

TP went right to his desk and made a hefty check out to Gladys...what was her last name? Oh yes, Quizzenberry. He snorted. It suited her to a T. Should he enclose a note? He needed to put her in her place somehow, but didn't want to appear churlish. He settled on "Enclosed is payment for the meals you've thoughtfully provided. They've been much appreciated, but I don't want to take advantage of your generosity. TP." That should do it. He put the check and note in an envelope and stuck it in her mailbox, feeling relieved. There was still this party rumor to investigate; he'd have to confront Gladys about it before things got out of hand. A jazz trio!

TP was anxious to get back into his lab, but it would have to wait until tonight when Harold was in bed. He couldn't risk any interruptions. Harold had raced out the back door with Archie on his heels, charged up after his nap and a long talk with his mom.

TP browsed through the paper, his mind wandering to other topics. The lettuce needed weeding, Archie needed a bath after wallowing in the marsh, the canoe had to be unloaded, the unsettling conversation with Mel. 

His eye fell on a headline that grabbed his attention: 

Three People Assaulted in Cheswolde

A bizarre set of circumstances in Cheswolde sent two women and a man to the hospital last night. The victims were reportedly accosted by a tall man who frightened them so badly they needed medical attention. Mr. A. Kiggens was found lying on the sidewalk near his home on Sulgrave Avenue hyperventilating, clutching his chest and babbling about a tall demon who had "messed with his head". He was taken by ambulance to Johns Hopkins Hospital for evaluation. 

The other two victims, Vicki Short and Amelia Rainier, were walking home from a party on Glen Avenue when a man jumped out at them from behind some bushes. "He just stood there, laughing this horrible laugh," said Ms. Rainier. "We screamed and tried to run away, but it was like he hypnotized us or something, and we couldn't move. I don't really remember what happened next. I was so scared I think I blacked out." The two women were found wandering along the street by a patrolman, who took them to the hospital. Ms. Rainier is being treated for extreme anxiety and Ms. Short, who has not spoken since the incident, is also hospitalized.

TP put the paper aside and got himself a drink of water. His hands were shaking.  "It means nothing," he muttered. "Some college student with a twisted sense of humor. Probably on drugs."

He heard noises and looked out the side kitchen window. Harold and Archie were having a tug of war using - good grief, was that his Aunt Freda's hand crocheted afghan that had been draped over his sofa for decades? Oh well, he'd never liked it anyway. Let it die a useful death. Archie was handily winning the contest. He probably outweighed Harold by a good ten pounds and was surprisingly strong, especially when he resisted going somewhere you wanted him to.

Doppelganger. The word kept bugging him. There were several meanings he'd come across over the years, the most superficial one being that everyone has a twin, or double, walking around somewhere on earth. But he remembered reading something about the doppelganger awhile back that had given him goose bumps. He rummaged through the clutter on his coffee table and found the book he wanted. Ah, yes, here it was: "the geographical doppelganger is an actual entity that dwells in the nervous systems of all human beings, providing the basis for electrical currents needed to process and coordinate sensory perceptions and react to them". That was quite a mouthful. Clear as mud, actually. The book further stated that this being was the cause of all organic illnesses, and that the geography of a place determined the power of these electrical currents used by the doppelganger to do its mischief. They had some sort of secret agenda, these beings, and could work through peoples' subconscious mind to manipulate them. This was the creepy part. Supposedly these creatures entered the fetus shortly before birth and left the body right before death. Nothing was said about how to defeat a doppelganger, only that it was humanity's task in this age to overcome them, and that the best weapon against them was knowledge. Knowledge of their existence and where they originated, knowledge of what their goals were and what they were capable of.

TP sighed. Yes, knowledge was always good. He could read books, but it wasn't enough to give him what he needed right now. How did he turn knowledge into the wisdom of experience?  He wished he could go back in time and talk with the old alchemists. They'd lived in an age before science and philosophy had been ripped apart. They'd understood the invisible powers that control nature. They could see the Dance and even orchestrate its movements. The vegetable stone had been their crowning glory, a mastery over all the elements. 

But one could never go back. One could only find the way forward from the present moment. Surely a path existed somewhere to lead him out of his predicament, and alchemy seemed like the best one available. The Dance was still going on, and always would. He must have courage, and hope. Feeling somewhat comforted, TP went out to his garden.

A Twist in the Mist, Chapter Five

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 Marshy Point Nature Center was a short drive east from Baltimore. A quiet little park in Middle River, it was situated on a peninsula between Dundee and Saltpeter Creeks. There was a convenient canoe and kayak launch on the Dundee side that TP often used, and that's where he was headed with Harold.

They'd stopped at a store along the way to outfit Harold with tall rubber boots, a child sized life jacket and a small pair of binoculars. Archie got a life vest as well. 

"This is going to be a really good field trip," said Harold, delighted with his new gear and all the interesting things they were bringing.

The back of the pickup held TP's canoe, two buckets, specimen jars and some small nets, plus an ice chest with a hastily packed lunch.

Harold was fascinated with TP's field kit. Inside a rolled up canvas cloth were compartments holding tweezers, tiny scissors, vials, eye droppers, labels, magnifying glasses and glassine envelopes.

As they were leaving the outfitter store, Harold stopped to look in the window of a small shop next to it. Back Then Antiques read the sign over the door. The display window held a hodgepodge of dishes, faded clothing, books and toys from years past: hoops and sticks, marbles, china dolls and tin soldiers. In one corner of the window, a small group of medieval figures clashed with swords and shields. One wore a crown and held aloft a cross.

"That looks like Richard the Lionheart, doesn't it," said TP.

Harold nodded. "And there's the Duke."

Sure enough, a fellow in tunic and tights held a horn to his lips.

"Let's go in," said TP, opening the door.

Ten minutes later they emerged, Harold clutching a small brown sack containing Richard and the Duke. TP had winced at the price, but when was the last time he'd bought a gift for anyone, let alone his only great nephew? And the look on Harold's face was well worth the cost. It was the right time and the right gift, and that was that.

Paddling along the banks of Dundee Creek was one of TP's favorite pastimes. Each season held its treasure trove of scents, sounds and colors. In spring and fall, scores of migrating shore birds visited the shallows to fuel up on crustaceans, fish, insects and aquatic grasses. Osprey, eagles, herons, cranes, geese and ducks, rails, plovers, willets, coots, gulls and terns - so many species one could be dazzled by them all on any given day. 

Spring peepers were deafening in the swamps in spring and the redwings warbled their watery notes in the rushes. Later, bullfrogs chug-a-rummed and the trees vibrated with the rasp of cicadas and katydids.

In summer, too, turtles and snakes sunned themselves on logs, and ducklings jetted along behind their mothers, bobbing for tiny crabs and periwinkle snails, snacking on widgeon grass, coontail, wild celery and milfoil. Warm, still evenings brought the high pitched whine of hungry mosquitoes and an occasional owl's call.

In winter when the grasses turned russet-brown and cream and silver-grey and rattled in the wind, one could hike the trails, listening for the many calls of ducks and geese, and spot swans, mergansers, buffleheads, gadwalls and soaring eagles. In wooded areas there were fungi and lichens to hunt for, and after a rain followed by a hard freeze delicate frost flowers bloomed around the base of ironweed and dittany, looking for all the world like swirls of icing on a fancy cake.

Today was a fine day for a paddle. A good stiff breeze would help keep the biting insects away, the sky was clear and the sun was warm but not overly so. The only glitch was getting Archie into the canoe and keeping him there, but once they'd launched, the old dog sat still with his quivering nose in the air, breathing in exciting new smells and watching the ducks dive with focused intent. 

After a half hour or so of paddling, TP pulled the canoe into a small inlet and banked on a sandy spot where a fallen tree made a handy bench. TP showed Harold how to use his net, and they scooped up tadpoles, immature crabs, jewel- toned pumpkinseed fry and little mummichogs, the mud minnows, one of which could eat up to 2,000 mosquito larva in a day. They put their catches into jars to study up close, then released them. 

With magnifying glasses they looked at daphnia, cyclops, mosquito wrigglers, tubifex worms and fairy shrimp, TP explaining the importance of these miniscule creatures in the food chain.

He told Harold the names of the aquatic grasses - curly pondweed, starwort, water stargrass, widgeon grass and wild celery, necessary as food and shelter for many small creatures. He pointed out the rushes and reeds and how they stabilized the banks, preventing erosion.

After awhile they rested on the sand, drank limeade and ate their lunch from the ice chest. Archie had finally gotten tired of hunting frogs and lay snoozing in the shade.

Harold would not remember all the names or the facts recited to him, TP mused as he watched the boy sail King Richard and the Duke through the shallows in a bark boat. But he would remember the day, and hopefully TP had planted a seed or two in him that might blossom later in life. A wave of melancholy came over him. He may never have another day like this with Harold. One day was not enough, but it would have to do.

He'd been on countless field trips with his students over the years, all up and down the bay. He'd taught them as much as he could, trying to instill a sense of reverence for the magnificence of this place and the vital importance of preserving it. But the most important thing of all he couldn't teach them. They would have to find it for themselves. Many, maybe most of them never would. He was lucky enough to have found it when he was a young man. He'd been crouched down in a marsh, looking at something in the water, when a heron flew up nearby, cronking loudly. He'd stood up quickly, squinting into the late-afternoon sun as it sparkled on the water. The air was filled with darting dragonflies, their wings glinting as they dipped and turned, and suddenly he fancied they were all flying in an intricate, predesigned pattern, weaving an invisible tapestry. 

There were no words to describe what had happened next. It was not a thing you could explain. One instant he was TP Dunlap, college graduate about to take his first teaching job, standing alone in shallow water watching dragonflies, and the next instant he was staring into the face of the Lord of the Dance. He was surrounded and filled with Presence. There was no separation of anything, anywhere. He knew, in that moment, that the entire universe was a conscious, living being, filling everything, even chaos, with meaning and purpose.

He'd tried to explain the experience to a few other people; his parents, his girlfriend at the time. But he could tell they didn't understand. Words were not enough. He didn't know why this wisdom had come to him, only that it had been a gift, and it was the most precious thing he possessed.

It certainly didn't make him any better than anyone else. He was still the same gangly, socially awkward, self-absorbed introvert he'd always been. But it gave him a certain strength when he needed it. And now he needed all the inner strength he could muster to meet the terrible challenge facing him.