The Journey

by Jo-ann McMahon

Riding alone in the brougham I ponder my origins and wonder what course this journey will take me on. The events of my past years are a familiar comfort to me, all the places I have known and I felt secure in. The future I travel to lies within a peculiar uncertain, unfamiliar realm. My unheralded visit here is made available through only the most recent circumstances. Facts were kept from me, unspoken secrets never brought to light, never shared in my brief sixteen years. The years of my youth I keep in my head, like the silent pages of a picture book I peruse over and over again. The story is unfinished, its ending undetermined. But I must face my destiny.

Time races as I stare at my strange surroundings, trying to absorb each towering structure that dances by me. Faces of buildings blur, houses become only slabs of color, the grass is so green, and there are trees abundant with flowers. My fearful journey takes me closer and closer to my destination.

This secret that burns in my head, like a candle flame that will not go out, totally consumes all thoughts and aspirations. I wish to know. I have to know. This quest for knowledge envelops me with disquieting arms, like a fierce wind that has swept me up and driven me in a gale only to deposit me on the shore of the foreign and unknown. As the pace of the horses slow down, I think perhaps I should turn and escape this powerful urge that forces me to plod ahead unannounced.

I open the door to the brougham and as I take my first step, I hear the crunch of small stones under my boots as I try to balance myself. My eyes gaze upward to the structure before me, regal and dignified. This house allows only those with the proper lineage to enter. I move forward with indecisive slowness. My footsteps cannot catch up to my warring fears. Am I there already? I hear myself knock on the door. My hands shake, my lips quiver at the sounds of someone coming. I watch the heavy oak door open slowly and a voice sounds in my head, "Hello, may I help you?"

With the servant's words still echoing oddly in my head, I hear myself speak as if I am somehow detached from the scene. It sounds like my voice...is it? Are these my words? "May I please be presented to the Count?" I offer my card with my strange request, repeating over and over in my head like a game I'm not quite learning.

As I wait the door is left slightly ajar. I hear soft voices, strong voices, laughter and the comforts of a home full of color and warmth. I strain to hear more, and without notice there suddenly stands before me a man of tall stature. His eyes glow. They burn into mine and before he speaks to me, I notice a mask, covering the side of his face that he purposely angles away from me. His stance is powerful, firm, and confident. I imagine the mind behind his watchful eyes wondering: Who is this boy that intrudes on my household. His questioning eyes scan my face, almost verbalizing the question: Who is this blond, blue-eyed young man that looks so familiar? His voice startles me to attention, commanding me to attend to him. He firmly states, "Yes, I am the Count de Chagny, May I help you?"

I throw my words out at this massive being. Somehow I hear nothing that comes forth from my mouth. I see only the questions registering on his face as he hears my wretched words, "Count de Chagny, I am...Raoul Chagny Delacourt, son of Madeline Delacourt. Sixteen years ago you spent precious time with my mother and from that precious time I was born."

READER COMMENTS

Bellissimo! Very intriguing, what happens next?
Etienne

Quite good, easy to follow and opens up a problematic situation for Erik in this case. Let me encourage the person who wrote it to write another installment. I’d be interested in reading more.
G.K. Sinclair