VIRAGO

Chapter 21

     The world had tipped; I could see no way to rebalance it. Things I believed to be true were nothing more than smoke and mirrors; even Oliva Berkley wasn't who I thought she was, having morphed into a perfectly reasonable human being yesterday. I've lost all motivation to move forward in any direction. The last time I felt this way was at the thought of having to contend with Meghan's demands for contact, an entire experience which left me weak.

People hating and hiding inside a screen. That's what it felt like when I had my first Skype encounter with Meghan, like she'd minimised and was living inside my laptop. Reminiscent of a story told to me by mother, fairies living beneath the toadstools in the wood. It had taken several months for me to consider the scenario, my daughter communicating with me verbally and visually, invading my space. The prospect of panic, the threat of chaos her presence would bring to my orderly life; disturbed, disrupted.

Take a breath Evangeline; let the ship sink then settle before you kick out for the surface, ready to battle through exactly how this might play out.

First; the facts. Meghan last had sight of me when she was sixteen years of age, vast bodies of water have since passed beneath the bridge. Whilst neither one of us had been watching, day by day the bank that formed any common ground between us has eroded. Memories shifted downstream like sand, changing the landscape we'd known for eternity. It had been so many years; would she even recognise me, or I her for that matter?

I got myself into a real pickle, the increased checks consuming my day, leaving me behind in my work schedule and flustered during waking hours. This elevated state affected my nervous system, which provoked the response of kicking my dream reel into overdrive. The images visiting me grew more grotesque, filling every nocturnal hour, I was exhausted before dawn broke. By the time evening returned, I'd be consumed by desperation, sunk by the knowledge that it was about to start all over again. The cyclicality of the ouroboros; day after day, night after night. When the twilight finally released me, my physical challenge had elevated to another level. I was left utterly drained, barely able to perform.

Last night she'd come to haunt me again. I'd been dropped into the outdoors; the scent of pine mixed with trodden leaves invading my nostrils, filling my lungs. A blanket of darkness descended, thick and heavy, like a cloak about me. I was stood by the edge of a lake; water lapping around my feet drew me to an image in the distance. I strained to make out the silhouette of Meghan and one other person on the horizon, the lake a vast ink stain beneath them. Only their upper bodies were visible, seated within a shape that had the curved smile of a row boat. Their lack of movement muddled the image; I asked myself why no one in a rowing boat was rowing? Motionless, the two figures sat facing each other beneath a glitter ball of moonlight. I thought it odd that anyone could sit so still, for such a length of time, particularly in a boat.

I mirrored their stillness, fracturing the picture intermittently to batt away midges, unsettling the damp air kissing my skin. I called out to them; some form of greeting, I felt the words 'stop messing around and come in at once' form in my mouth, a guard against the sense of dread building in my chest. I struggled against something or someone; a set of imagined hands thick with pressure, pinning both upper limbs to my sides. Thick like porridge, my emotions were riddled, conflicting forces threatening to suffocate me. It made speech impossible; the effort, so much effort, trying mentally to reach these two people without the physical means to do so.

Suddenly, Meghan appeared to sense my urgency. She swivelled her head towards me and spoke and the dream puppeteer pressed pause. Her words came at me, straight as an arrow across the lake, with a depth of clarity that defied logic, given the distance between us. Her voice chilled every cell in my organism to freezing point. Flesh turned to goose skin as I asked myself; how can I hear her, when she can't hear me?