The Nook Over Lake Kalandan

The light waned as shadows pulled taut pushing snowflakes around bended air as wind whistled and whined. Atoms formed molecules to cells to tissues to organs and finally a system. A figure that clicked and coalesced; twitching matter and refracting light. A transmitted man. Solid and intent he braved the snow laden forest wasting nary a second for collecting himself. His footfall was regular and fast as he indented snow before crossing Lake Kalandan. It’s surface was frozen and solid but fissure was impending. The figure sent minute ripples and breaches through the ice. Unseen promises of rupture. The walk was careful but brisk as the lake crunched and cracked beneath steps. A break of stability and change of face that came with the approaching stranger. A stranger who tread in the vast shadow of the looming estate. Never ceasing in his ascent.

___________

The scribbles were manic. Quick, violent scratches that threatened to break through parchment. The inkwell was drying as the last few drops were applied shakily to the pen. Abbot Thompson kept steady his hand. He was ill prepared and duly afraid of the coming night. A heralded night. A night intruded a lifetime ago. A night which had come before and would come again. This date was of fortune. A mocking picture for God himself to smile upon. Man made wicked and witty but condemned by his own hubris. Abbot scribbled his final wishes and added an endearing departure.

Yours dearly,

Abbot Thompson

He folded the letter quickly, sliding it into his coat pocket. Sweat pooled on his withered cheeks as winter raged heavily outside his estate. The fire crackled softly in the corner of his nook as winds whined shrilly against his window. Pushing back his chair he rose from the desk removing his coat. He poked rapidly at the fire while adding logs to the flame. The heat licked his forehead and cheeks as he gazed into its heart hoping for a vision. He looked for an answer in the light but none were forthcoming. Only dancing flames and dying wood. Stowing the poker he moved back to where he sat. Under his desk he reached for a crevice, twisted a knob, and pulled to reveal a drawer. Inside the drawer was a revolver, a cloth, and a bottle of gun oil. Gifts from his father a lifetime ago. Carefully, he unscrewed the bottle and applied oil to the cloth before taking it to the gun. As he did so, the door creaked slowly open casting a shadow across the room before yawning wide to reveal a woman. Short and prim with curly white hair she toted a teapot and glassware on a tray. “Will you take tea for the chill, Mr. Abbot?”

He looked at the woman, softening his expression. “Not tonight, Nadine. I welcome the chill as it accents my fire.” The housemaid furrowed her brow, squinting at the Lord. “Are you healthy, Mr. Abbot?”

“Healthier than I deserve, Nadine.” A pregnant pause ensued as shadows of flame danced across Abbot's face.

“Is there anything you need before I retire, dear?” Nadine inquired.

“Yes, in fact.” Abbot reached for the coat he discarded prior. From it he pulled the letter and pressed it into Nadine's soft hands. He looked deep into her eyes. Her maternal eyes, soft and welcoming.

“I want you to retire to your quarters. The time is quarter after eight. In approximately 30 minutes a man will enter this estate. He knows where I am so there is no need for an escort. He will take no tea. I want you to open this letter at 10 oclock. It is imperative you do so no sooner and no later. Read it thoroughly and read it again.”

The housemaid gazed at the closed letter before turning her attention to the red-faced man and then his gun.

“Mr. Abbot, I fear I’m a tad lost.” She pointed to the firearm “and what in heaven’s name is that for?”

“Nothing, I pray. A rumor born of suspicion and paranoia. Insurance for a meeting with an old friend is all.”

The housemaid’s face remained dumbfounded, eyes wide and brows arched.

“There is nothing to fear, Nadine.” The Lord continued. “You are in good hands, rest assured.” Abbot ushered the old woman out the door. With a face of shock and a brain full of questions she was on her way. Reluctantly but with tinges of trust she retreated to her quarters. Abbot closed the door, sealing himself in. Alone and waiting he checked his pocket watch. 8:30.

Hold fast, Dearest Nadine. I pray this night is kind to your brittle heart. I pray I am merciful when the bell tolls. Abbot walked carefully to the window adjacent the hearth, examining Kalandan as sleet pelted its body. Strong and withstanding but he noticed it withering in the weeks prior. A new season was on the horizon as ripples adorned it’s surface. Spotty tendrils that threatened to sink the ice. An impending change with the shifting climate. He carefully continued cleaning the gun as he studied the wide lake and it’s surrounding forest. A vastness of cold and dark for miles. Land accented with oaks and pines and a menagerie of beasts. Tracks of land unseen by human eyes since before the first settlers. All wrapped around the estate which tucked it nicely into its own remote pocket of light. Abbot was pleased with such. He was always a remote fellow. Simple in his endeavors but elaborate in what he knew. This ethic in his scholarship had allowed him such wealth as to afford an estate but alas, his ambition was both a boon and a curse. He was ambitious but impatient. A most unfortunate quirk he now realized. Ingenuity without prescience. His father would be disappointed. But his reprisal would be swift. He would break the cycle at its roots and be cautious in his excision. He chuckled softly. No matter the method he would look upon the rising sun once more. He studied his pocket watch. 8:46. Time moves swiftly. And so it did as boots began their ascent up the stairwell adjacent his nook. A careful and deliberate climb that ended with a casted shadow. Blocking the light from the other side, throwing the doorway into darkness.

“May I enter?” The voice was familiar as it called softly to Abbot. He pushed in the cylinder of the revolver, still facing the lake as he carefully cocked its hammer. Turning with a methodical calmness he pointed the gun to the door. “You may.” He finally replied. The door creaked open. Light cast wide it’s berth as shadows were lifted to reveal the guest. He too toted a gun at his hip. A revolver. Same make and model with the same weathering and nicks. The same inscription on the trigger guard and identical pattern on the handle. It also was a gift from the wielder’s father. The wielder himself was a reflection of Abbot with no glass between the two. An identical figure of the man at the window but younger in but a few areas. His mustache was spotted with less grey than Abbots. His cheeks held less bags and wrinkled skin and his hair was more pepper than salt. “It seems my endeavor is successful come the close of this night. Seeing as you’re alive and well. Or am I the first? No that can’t be. Your eyes speak plainly the past you’ve writ. You’ve been here before.” Mr. Thompson stepped carefully through the door, his eyes and gun held steady at Abbot.

“Indeed. But the cycle can be broken. What you seek here is a shortcut now but long in it’s retaliation. You will walk this circle until oblivion.” Abbot held steady the pistol.

Mr. Thompson was long in his reply. “Not me though. And not you. But a clone, a copy. A flesh and blood man who knows us true but will never share our thoughts. We will walk together in oblivion as they quarrel. As we are here. Right now.” He smiled, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

“You are intent, I see that clear.” Abbot replied. “But the machine will fail you. It will not close the paths you’ve created. The schematics are faulty lest I’d be long gone now. Away from this confrontation.”

The guest chuckled mockingly. “I said we were clones, dear abbot. I was speaking foolishly. Each of us bears the same name and physicality but oh how different we are.“

“STOP THIS. You must be better than this. If you wish to see the years to come you must do as I say.”

“As you say? You have failed, it is plainly clear. Take your failure to the grave and accept this bullet with dignity. Your scholarship is a lie and the machine is not yours but MINE.”

Abbot started, dumbfounded. “Your hubris is beyond you, I fear. Go back the way you came. Bloodshed will solve nothing. Each cycle will continue until the world is dust. Do not succumb to what I have.”

“No. You can walk Lake Kalandan with blistered feet and snow bitten hands into the maw of darkness. I will not. I have come to claim what I have built and if you cannot accept that then I will tolerate NO usurpation.” Mr. Thompson cocked his revolver aiming it squarely at Abbot who did the same. “Steady yourself, boy.” The older man growled. “Killing me will set the cycle in motion do you not see? Coexistence can occur, we must be thoughtful.”

“Nay. You stink of desperation. You have done what I have, this is true but I will succeed where you have not.”

My furtiveness is futile in this place. Abbot thought. My ambition is far too wide. I feel kindred to that Grecian of old. With wings of wax, I plummet. The sun burns close in this winter storm. A soft breath and shift of weight. An ease of pressure and silence unwound. A frozen moment where winds caught breath and gripped two hearts. Two fingers steadied by two shaking hands. Two men with deliberate eyes and demanding gazes. One shifts his weight. His boot indents wood. The floorboard creaks. A trigger is pulled. The other answers. A deafening roar from one as the other utters a resounding click. A body falls. It is Abbot Thompson. A hole passed cleanly through his heart, smoking and charred. Life excised. Impunity denied by his own hand.

_____

The time is 10 oclock. The gunshot has panicked Nadine to the point of dumbfounded shaking and illiterate stuttering. She tears open the letter in a rush of frenzied fingers. Spreading it wide she begins to read.

Dearest Nadine,

I know with some certainty that I will not see the rising sun tomorrow. Yet from this night I will rise again to greet you for tea. I hope it is I that graces you on the morrow. This is what I hope. This is the miracle. The modicum of mercy I cling so desperately too. Yet there are two sides to every story and infinite outcomes at the break of day. You have never been a pawn in this cycle. I should have never included you. I have damned myself and caught you in the wake. For this I deserve oblivion. But maybe you will break this monotonous hell. Should I rise as the aggressor, a reddened devil of a man, then it is my wish that you depart. As swiftly as possible. Godspeed, old friend.

Yours dearly,

Abbot Thompson

There was a knock. She lowered the letter. Her knees wobbled as she tentatively approached the door. With shaking hands she twisted the knob and pulled. Abbot stood at the door, out of breath. His coat was disheveled and eyes sunken and bloodshot. He looked tired and near collapse. He smiled wanly at Nadine as his focus shifted to the letter.

“Good. I see you followed my instructions. Will you join me by the hearth downstairs?” He retreated before she could answer, descending the steps to the main floor.

Nadine shifted, unsure of the man before her. Her mind was abound with questions that frightened her. She wanted no answers but needed them all the same. Eventually, she acquiesced. Following in his wake. She had worked here as long as she could remember. It felt like each year was the same. A constant loop of calm and chaos that repeated itself. Mr. Thompson was a man of fortitude and ambition that kept his age like no other. But he seemed different each year. A new man almost. Displaying minor quirks that were new in their genesis. But she hoped to help him however she could. He was a distressed man. But even through the exhaustion and fatigue he had seemed relieved when standing at the door. Maybe even younger if you studied his face long enough. Like an old man born anew.

______

Outside, winter rages. It assaults the lake with sleet and snow, continuing the war against its surface. A war of attrition that the lake will yield in due time. A man watches from inside. He sits beside a raging hearth embracing it’s warmth. The window is open, the chill accompanying the fire. He watches with intent. Breathing slowly, icy air escapes his mouth in wisps. And a single fracture spreads slowly across the lake's surface.