The Painting

#33 Heaven - Neamh

They resembled miniature stalagmites, or was it stalactites? Wearily I reached my hand toward them but to my dismay they were further away than I perceived. I continued to stare straight upwards as my mind collected itself, they weren't stalactites – or whatever they are called. White - was I in heaven? No - I doubt I would have constructed a heaven with bumpy plastered ceiling.

I took a moment to consider what my heaven would look like. Wide open sky I decided, with pancakes every morning and a good pencil sharpener so I could draw all day. Who would be there? Grace of course, maybe my co-workers, Tony too? Would Grace want to be in my heaven, surely she'd want her own too. Maybe she wouldn't visit everyday, and that would be fine I enjoyed my time alone.

Would my mother be there? A sickly feeling crawled into my gut, though I did not know where or how it originated. Was she there already, waiting for me?

My hand ran across the material on which I lay. Rough with small ridges, I definitely was not outside. Squirming I felt the object with my entire body, a couch. I was laying on a couch in a room presumably in a home.

But whose?

With great effort I turned my head to the side. Someone sat a few feet from me. Laboriously my eyes traveled up the jean clad legs to the bare forearms that rested on the knees of my visitor.

Lyle.

I stared in wonder at the girl I thought I left behind. She watched me attentively as she always did, though this time there was worry lining the crinkles by her eyes.

Why was she here? And moreover where exactly was here?

My head, like the rest of my body felt fuzzy. Light poured in behind me illuminating Lyle's hunched figure as she reached out to take my hand. Worry was evident in her touch as she gently ran her fingers across my palm, but why? Why was she upset, shouldn't she be angry that I left her high and dry?

The freckles in her eyes caught the sunlight making them appear almost three dimensional with golden outlines that extended from the soft green of the iris. I closed my eyes in an effort to reign in my memory.

Rain. I was wet from running in the rain, but then it subsided. No I found cover, I was on the train going to meet someone and -.

I flinched as the details came back to me. My mother's journal hidden behind the intricately decorated canvas, my feet carrying me swiftly into Monroe's office to accuse him. My doubt. My heart sunk as I recalled how easily I was duped into believing my mother was a conniving stalker. Then the ride on the elevator and the cufflink I recognized from one of my mother's old photos.

Without thinking I rubbed my arms where darkening bruises formed from Smith and Jones abrasive hands. Every word of Monroe's twisted explanation replayed without warning as if I'd inadvertently hit a button on a recording that I couldn't switch off.

He wanted Mo Soileireacht so he could destroy it, and me.

"Mo Soileireacht," I murmured sharply I turned to look at Lyle with wide eyes. "I need to get it before they do, they want to-"

"I have it." Lyle responded quietly brushing a strand of hair out of my face, but I didn't seem to hear her.

"Monroe wants it, he thinks it stands between him and taking over the company." I paused her words finally dawning on me. "You have it?"

"Yes." The faded cloth chair squeaked as she picked it up to sit closer to me.

The seat of her chair was higher than the couch and I stared at the grain of her jeans in silence. Mo Soileireacht was safe, I was safe, but my mother... I couldn't finish the thought.

"What happened?" I whispered after a moment.

"We can talk later."

"How did you find me?" I made an effort to sit up but my muscles were still weak and issued a poor effort so I gave in to settling back down. "How did you know I'd be at Monroe's building?"

"That's what I would do," She ruffled her hand through her loose waves. "I guess we aren't that different."

I opened my mouth to ask something more but Lyle shushed me. "I know you have a million questions, but I've got a million more. Get some sleep and we'll talk." She patted my hand and leaned back in her chair. 

- 

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