Beyond Bedrock

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Ten Days Prior

As she sat at her kitchen table with the notes laid out before her, she considered how today’s meeting with Lydia had gone. Not terrible. But not great either. Probably about as well as one might have expected. All things considered.

God, she needed a drink. She’d kill for a drink. Given her current predicament, she realized that probably wasn’t the best analogy. But still. Something to take the edge off would be nice. Sobriety seemed to be a double-edge sword in times like these. Knowing there was only one vice left these days she could rely on, she picked up the coffee she’d poured, placed her lips to the cup and stared out the window. The coffee, still too hot to drink, taunted her. She blew into the mug and then took a small sip, knowing it would burn her. Just the way Lydia Hammons would. If she let her. She understood she’d need to be careful, if she were going to proceed down this road. Lydia Hammons’ therapist had gone so far as to warn her personally. She couldn’t advise her specifically, but she could suggest the visits cease. And she had.

She sat that way for a while, mug pressed to her lips, not drinking, not doing much of anything. She was thinking. Waiting. So much of their lives amounted to nothing more than waiting these days.

Even still, she wasn’t sure she could keep going. Maybe the therapist was right. Maybe it was pointless. It was certainly risky. To keep reading, to keep searching was putting herself in jeopardy. How much she didn’t quite know. She only knew she had to keep going. She was tired. Hence the coffee in the middle of the day. Already, their meetings had taken a toll on her, given everything she’d been through. Now, the stakes were higher. There were lives at risk. If she weren’t careful, trying to get to the bottom of this, trying to get this story just might kill her.

Eventually, she gave up on waiting for the fix she so desperately needed to cool, placed the mug back on the table and turned her attention back to the letter. Coffee, life, everything would have to wait.

As she turned the pages over in her hands, she let the words replay in her mind. She’d known Lydia to be crazy right from the start—that was no secret. But she hadn’t exactly predicted she’d be so cunning. And definitely, not this clever.

She eyed the words on the page, sighed, and pushed the letter away. What was laid out before her was hard to read and even more difficult to make sense of. Still, if there were an answer to be found that would save the people she loved, a plan, anything—a rhyme or reason to it all, she would be the one to find it. She had to.

She was on a mission.

She would pull herself together.

She would fix this.

She would get inside the mind of Lydia Hammons.

Even if it killed her.

She was determined.

And so, she finished her coffee and she read.

The Story of Us.

By Lydia H.

I knew I loved him from the first moment I saw him. I wore black as sure and as dark as night. It wasn’t like you’d think… He didn’t smile and take my hand the way I imagined. Our coming together actually wasn’t like that at all. It was an ordinary morning, early spring, the sun bright and yet still further away than one knew it soon would be. Soon the heat would be all consuming, soon it would sear your skin, burn your eyes. Our love would burn just the same. That’s the funny thing about it all. Isn’t it? Everything shifts eventually. Everything.

Speaking of love, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I didn’t believe in love at first sight, at least not before. I do now. I can still recall the moment it all changed. It’s as though it happened just yesterday. I was brushing my teeth—half-listening to the morning news and half dreading going to the office. I hated the office. Mostly, I hated people. I brushed harder and watched the blood drip onto the porcelain as the crushing weight of the anxiety set in. I felt the familiar buzz; the low hum of noise that always precedes a full-blown panic attack. And then, all at once, I heard his voice and something inside me shook, something shifted in the world. This was what I’d been waiting for. He was what I’d been waiting for. The antidote to all life’s conundrums. And when I heard that familiar voice, I knew. As he spoke, the buzzing stopped and there was clarity and crispness to the day, to my life, like I’d never known. At once, my vision for the future became focused and sharp.

Sure, I knew his name. Who wouldn’t, given all that had happened? I’d even gone so far as to make plans for us to meet. I just hadn’t acted on them yet. I’d avoided him and anything even closely resembling what had once been—just like I avoided germs and crowds full of people. Crowds of people are overwhelming, (not to mention germ-infested) they’re intimidating, foreign, and unknowing.

And until that moment, so was William Hartman.

I spat the last of the blood into the sink and dropped the toothbrush onto the counter like the omen that it was. Then I turned my full attention back to the television where it belonged and wondered how it was possible anything on this earth could be so utterly perfect. I was aware I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Of course, I was. I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel that sort of attraction. Given what he’d taken from me, that is. But there he stood, in his crisp white shirt, suit, and tie, the whole of him—filling up so much space. As he spoke, he touched his tie and in one single movement sucked the air right out of the room, and with it, the air from my lungs. It was astonishing. Such a tiny fluctuation on his part, given what I knew he was capable of. But suddenly he set everything right in my world, and I wondered, why now? He was speaking on the Gleason merger, I remember it all so clearly. He might as well have been speaking gibberish for all I cared, but I knew then we would become close. It was remarkable. It was meant to be. I didn’t know when or how, but I knew I’d find a way. My father taught me that ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way!’—one of the few good things he’d ever imparted upon me—if we’re being honest here, and we are.

I watched as he wrapped up the interview, so capable, so in control, and I no longer felt panicked or unease. I felt lighter and thinner.

Just like the black I wore.

Finally, I had a purpose.

And that purpose was meeting him.

* * *

Her mood was red hot like the shirt she wore. On the day of their first visit, Lydia knew she was on fire. She was on a role. She was playing a role. She’d ace this thing. She smiled, considering how long it had been since they’d last seen one another. Too long, she thought, picking at a faded thread which hung from the borrowed shirt she wore. She smoothed the shirt across her sunken belly, reveling in what the day had in store for her. Lydia fingered the thread, smiled, and caught the end of it. She twirled and twisted it between her thumb and forefinger, watching as it unraveled—not unlike she herself had done. She pulled a little more marveling at the irony of it all. That’s how it happens. One teensy snag and suddenly, a pull this way or that way, and it becomes a whole other matter altogether. It amused her a great deal that one simple analogy pretty much summed up the entirety of her life. But that was a story for another day.

For now, she’d decided she’d gained what she’d been after—finally. A visitor!

It wasn’t polite to withhold information, she knew that. But it was smart. That’s why Lydia decided to wait her out. She studied the thread she’d wrapped around her pinky and pulled tighter until her finger went from pink to purple to a beautiful shade of blue. Still, she pulled tighter. She always had liked that shade of blue.

Somewhere far off, she heard an unknown tune hummed, and she attempted to match it with the whirl of the ceiling fan above. She turned her ear ever so slightly toward the music, but the one thing she didn’t do was look at the woman adjacent to her. She didn’t need to. It was enough she felt the woman’s gaze burning into her skin. She could feel things, she could feel everything which made visuals unnecessary in times like these. She was on fire. She knew who the woman was and why she’d come and the rest was history.

Lydia cleared her throat and pulled tighter at the string. Later, she would come to realize that such a thing was her meal ticket. She had work to do, still, so she released the thread just a little and spoke slowly without looking at the woman directly. “I know why you’re here,” she said, losing at her own game. She waited for a response and when none came, she shrugged nonchalantly. “You want answers… I get it.”

“I do want answers,” the woman replied slowly.

Lydia raised her brow. She did meet her adversary’s eye. “I’m only going to agree to tell you my side of the story, which is what you want, isn’t it—if you agree to let me do the telling,” she said, tilting her head.

“Why else would I be here?”

“You see,” Lydia said. “That’s the thing—I’ve worked it out already, and I’ve decided I’m going to go ahead and let you in—in order to share our story. His and mine, that is. But first, you should know, despite any preconceptions you might have, that this is about love. What I will share with you is the truth as I know it, and I won’t allow you or anyone else to deny me that.”

The woman glanced at her expensive, over-priced shoes and then looked up at Lydia.

Lydia smiled. “And if we are going to do this—and it seems we are, or you wouldn’t be here, then we’re either going to do it my way… or not at all.”

“What does that mean to you?”

“It means that I will teach you the rules of the game, and you will listen. We will play together. Because only then will you understand, there are many sides to the truth. And no one wins a game of this kind. Not really.”

The woman exhaled slowly. Already, she was listening. She narrowed her eyes. “What makes you think I want to play your games?”

Because you’re here.

The woman pressed her lips to one another. “Haven’t you considered that I’ve had enough? That maybe we all have…”

“You want the story. I know you do,” Lydia told her, c*****g her head. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

Lydia had expected a response. Instead she watched as the woman stood and walked to the door, opening it hesitantly. She turned and paused just inside the frame. “I want answers; you’re right about that much, at least,” she said looking back over her shoulder. She shook her head slightly. “But you see, it takes two people to play a game, Lydia. And only one of us here is playing.”

Lydia offered the woman a smile even though both knew this was no smiling matter. Still, it was a pleasant smile. The kind that welcomed one in and invited them to stay awhile. Paradoxically, Lydia shook her head. “That’s where you are wrong.”

* * *

1:33 PM

Dear William,

Today marks my second day here and the first visit from her.

I have already decided that I will help her.

But she doesn’t know that yet.

I will tell her what she wants to hear.

And likely a few things she doesn’t.

I think that in order to truly help her—to help us all; I have to take it back to the beginning. When we were all happy.

I see a pattern evolving here. I think you can see it, too. This is my specialty—seeing patterns—finding similarities. It is one reason you have come to love me, as I know you do. But then, you already know this. It was my knack for seeing the possibility, even back then, on that very first day as I watched you on the news. I listened to your words ring aloud in my head, and from that, I understood the magnificence of timing and the reason it all played out just like magic.

Ironically, though, and sadly to her detriment, it would be your wife who loved me first.

But if it is any consolation, I will tell you this—in a perfect world, my dreams sometimes still include Addison. There are days I picture us as one big happy family. Of course, you love me more (and will always) because your love for me is in direct proportion to my love for you. Unlike Addison, my feelings for you are so wide and so deep that few people, aside from the two of us, can grasp what exactly it is that means. Or the lengths we would go to for one another. Just like what you did by placing me in here. It’s extreme, but that’s us, William. Always has been, always will be.

Also, since I’m wearing blue like your eyes and well, because blue signifies honesty, I have to admit it’s only on the good days that I imagine your wife being a part of our plan. Most days, I face the unfortunate reality of the situation (even more so now that I’m in here!). I know as long as she’s in the picture, the more I realize she will only ever come between us. Oh, how she likes to get in the way.

Also, she makes you upset, William.

She provokes you and changes your mood. She sucks your energy away. She takes everything. She does the same to me. It’s her fault the highs are so high and the lows are much too low.

Addison is black magic. She does things to people. I know… I’ve seen it firsthand.

It happened the first time I ever met her.

Which, as hard as it is to believe, was six months ago now.

I guess it is as they say, time flies when you’re having fun.

And I like to think we are.

Kisses,

L

P.S. I wrote a poem for you. I hope you like it.

There are so many parts and pieces

to the both of us.

Just think⁠—

Of what we might amount to

if we put them all together.

* * *

Lydia showed up prepared for their second visit. She’d carefully prepped herself, choosing her attire wisely, managing her appearance to have the greatest effect. She understood how important these things were which is why she wore a green sweater— to match the plants she tended and to signify harmony. Also growth. That’s what this visit was to be about. Everything had a purpose.

Lydia looked on as her opponent picked up the papers before her and studied them.

For now, they were enemies—but it wouldn’t always be this way. Soon, there would be harmony between them as sure as the color green she wore. That was the goal. She wanted this. She wanted her. She wanted her to be on her side.

Lydia studied the intricacies of the hardened expression the woman wore as she read the words that had been carefully crafted just for her. Well, for William truthfully—but she couldn’t—or rather shouldn’t say as much now. Lydia noticed the way her opponent’s nose curved a little, clearly broken once, a long time ago. She noted the way her eyebrows were meticulously over groomed. Maybe Lydia would do this to her own. Like the color green one wore to blend in. These were the little nuances she studied. Soon enough she would memorize them by heart. That’s where she’d write them, tuck them away for safekeeping.

Understanding the art of war, Lydia spoke first. “We’re going to write the story together.”

The woman glanced up and drew a long breath. “Is that so?”

Lydia wasn’t put off by her rudeness, by her lack of commitment to the cause. She understood the woman needed her more than she wanted to admit.

They always did.

Things may have looked grim on her side of the table from where the other woman sat, but Lydia knew better. Everything would work out just as it should.

She would pull herself together.

She would fix this.

She would make everything right again.

Even if it killed her.

Or more likely, someone else.

Which is why on that day, for the record, she wore green, just like envy.

* * *