Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 16

[Enjoy the video of Christian Burns singing, "This Light Between Us!" Other than the rather strange dancers in strange costumes onstage, I thought Christian was a pretty good approximation of Gunnar! And even stranger, Armin van Buuren is a pretty good approximation of Shawn! but no, those two would definitely not be friends, as we shall see in the next chapter....]

It was a crazy spin through town on a motorcycle in a snowstorm. The roads were empty, the shops shut, and not a pedestrian was in sight. Elisabeth alternated between abject terror and an adrenaline rush that made her feel as if she were flying. She would have screamed, except that she knew she'd be screaming right into Gunnar's ear, so she merely clung tight to him and wondered what had happened to her ordinary life. She knew Gunnar would not let anything happen to her, but she also knew that he was making fun of her. He clearly felt that there was something lacking in her universe, something fundamental, something basic, and instead of wasting the time and the words to try to persuade her to live on the edge, he'd decided to show her.

She suspected he was right, that something was missing in the world she knew, but a high-speed motorcycle journey through Greenleigh at night in the middle of freezing temperatures and snow would not have been the way that she would have chosen to test out that thesis. She'd known him for all of an hour, but she'd already entrusted him with her life. That wasn't the Elisabeth Burnham that she thought she knew so well.

"That was fun. But now you're all wet," Elisabeth said. She was walking across the front room, holding two steaming mugs, as Gunnar turned away from inspecting the framed photographs propped up on the mantelpiece.

"So are you," he said, taking the mugs from her. He put them down on the coffee table as she walked away to switch on another lamp. There was no overhead light, in typical old-house style, and the lamp bulbs were very dim.

"Yes, but at least I took off my coat. My clothes aren't too bad, it's just my hair that's wet. Let me take your jacket."

Gunnar shed his jacket obligingly, and she went up to take it from him. She paused, admiring the tattoos running up and down the length of both arms.

"Can I be blunt? Those are beautiful. Do you have any others? No—don't take off your clothes!" she laughed as he started to lift up his shirt. "Just tell me." She walked away to hang up his jacket.

"Better if I showed you," he teased. He eased his shirt back down his torso. "Nah. Just kidding. I think you'd faint if I showed you."

"Why?" Elisabeth countered. She returned, folding her arms and eyeing him speculatively. "I'm not such a wimp. Are they naked ladies? Or the grim reaper? Some kind of monster?"

"I only do joyful art. So no monsters."

"But wait, you have an exploding phoenix on that arm. Can I?" Elisabeth came up to look closely at his arm; he held it up for her. She put her hand on his arm gently, then led him over to a lamp to get a better look. "Okay, that's not exactly joyful. It's terrifying, actually."

"It's not terrifying. He's just doing what he does. He's a phoenix, so his job is to make a statement. He wouldn't be a very successful phoenix if he just stood there."

"But you said you only do joyful art. And he's not joyful," Elisabeth said.

"How do you know? Maybe that's how phoenixes act joyful. It's art, right? I'm the artist. I get to decide what joy looks like."

"Right. I suppose so," Elisabeth said. She took a couple of steps back and leaned her head to one side. "You have a rather—violent interpretation of joyful. So you don't do unicorns and rainbows then."

"Ugh. No way. That's not joyful, that's saccharin."

"And an exploding phoenix is more joyful than a unicorn?"