Wings Of a Raven

Part 3

Michael awoke suddenly, nervously sitting up. He didn't know whether he was awakened by a sound or woke up from a nightmare himself. Exactly, was it a nightmare? The memory of Roger and Parkin was not a bad thing, quite the contrary, but fiend, was that part of the nightmare? And why, on his very first day at the mansion, was he dreaming of an event from so long ago? He had the feeling that the house itself had that effect on him.

"Fuck." he muttered while wiping his face with his hand, he was sleepy, but he was used to sudden awakenings so it shouldn't affect him terribly.

"That bad?" asked Coleman entering the living room with a tray in his hands.

"The first night and I already want to leave this place. Do you know what time it is?" he asked after which he impetuously laid back down.

"Five o'clock in the morning. I had a feeling you wouldn't sleep well on the couch, so I had already prepared breakfast." Coleman walked over to the table and set down a plate from the tray, a cup and a coffee pot from which steam was coming out. "Tea, or..."

"Coffee," interjected Stern, "Thanks Coleman."

"That's what I thought. As always at your service." The butler bowed slightly and smiled in Michael's direction, then left. The man lay under the blanket for a while longer, then sat down and poured coffee from the coffee pot into a cup. As he drank, he looked around the room slowly. At night, even with the light on, he didn't notice how rundown the room looked. The furniture looked fine, but the walls and ceiling definitely needed a refresh. The books in the bookcases were definitely missing, after all, they were what gave the place its charm.

"I wonder, from the library, did you throw them all away, too?" He muttered while putting down his teacup. He got up from the couch and walked over to the large window. He leaned on the windowsill and looked out over the garden. There should be a white gazebo covered with vines on this side of the mansion, but now he could only see an overgrown platform standing next to a huge tree. He sighed and returned back to the couch. He poured another cup of coffee and stretched out closing his eyes.

"It's Monday, so I'm yet to go shopping, For now you'll have to be satisfied with scrambled eggs." Coleman once again brought in a tray, this time with a large plate of scrambled eggs and cutlery.

"It should be enough, I'm used to skipping breakfast."

"And this is where you make a mistake." He looked at Michael, who didn't even pay attention to what he said "Help with anything else?" he asked.

"For now, no. I have to jump somewhere else, and when I get back I have to look around the mansion. I need to see what needs to be fixed after the old man."

"As you wish. Prepare the car?"

"No. I can manage without. Thanks." He smiled at the butler and began layering himself with scrambled eggs. Coleman nodded and left the living room.

After eating breakfast, Michael dressed in something outgoing, put on his coat and left the residence. He set off along the same path that he had come, but instead of crossing the bridge he went down into the woods. He walked deeper and deeper following the stream until he came to a large clearing with a huge oak tree in the middle. Walking through the woods, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him from afar, but once he reached the glade, he was sure that no one was around.

He stopped by a huge oak, approached the tree and dragged his hand along the trunk. As a child he liked to sit under it, an ordinary tree to him after all, it always seemed special. Every time he touched it he felt something he could never explain, a calm, slow heartbeat piercing through the old, twisted bark of the oak. He looked up at the tree's crown, colorful strips of light pierced through the reddened leaves changing colors and position with every blink, as if they were dancing in the sky. He closed his eyes allowing the sun to illuminate his face with a warm glow, he felt again like that kid sitting at the foot of the tree with a book imagining thousands of stories in which he is the hero. A light, dried leaf fell on his face, he pulled it off, sat down under the tree turning the leaf in his hands, He look at the deers standing nearby at the glade. One of them watched him closely as the rest calmly ate the green grass glistening from the sun. He looked at the leaf, which he continued to turn, raised it to the height of his head, closed one eye and, trying to fit it between the trees with the other eye, tried to imagine a leaf-shaped building identical to the one in one of the library books from the mansion that he had read as a child in the same place, under the same tree, in the same weather, in the same way. He closed his other eye and let go of the red leaf, allowing the light wind to take him to a place known only to it. He put his hands on his knees and completely surrendered to the feeling of peace provided by the gentle gusts of wind and the warm rays of the sun running over his head and hands. He felt a slight poke on his shoulder and gently turned his head, opening his eyes. The doe, who had been looking at him earlier, was standing next to him with her head lowered low, poking him lightly on the right shoulder. She raised her head a tad higher and turned it toward the glade where the herd of deer had previously stood, and where now stood a small brown brick building with a rounded triangular-shaped roof, from which green sprouts spread downward around a circular window, falling all the way to the ground. The deers that had previously eaten the grass there continued their meal next to the hut, the one that stood next to him bent down on her long legs and, as if bowing, lowered her head low. Michael put his hand on its head and ran it lightly over its neck, the animal allowed him to do so and when he finished it calmly walked away in the direction of the herd, also beginning to chew on the grass. Stern stood up, shrugged his pants off the ground and shook off the tattered autumn leaves from his coat. With a slow step, he moved toward the hut. He approached the stone steps in front of a wooden door that ended in an arch. The door was ajar, he pushed it open slightly illuminating the interior of the hut. He walked slowly up the steps inside and stood on the creaking plank floor. The interior of the hut was filled with dark wood furniture, plants, books and various sized jars and round vials. Inside there was the scent of autumn. Michael looked around looking for something among the leather books and jars filled with substances in various shades of green.Stern wasn't even sure what he is loking for. He approached a small table against the wall, creaking the boards under his every step. On the table lay various plants, several books, glass vials, wooden cups and folded, yellowed papers. On one of the books was a red rose resembling the memory rose his mother kept by her bedside. He picked up the rose, and it began to change color. The blood-red petals began to fade into orange, and then brightened into yellow, darkening the tips of the petals into bright red.