I'm Calling This Home When It's Not Even Close [entries|friends|calendar] Emmeline Keddle [ userinfo | greatestjournal userinfo ] [ calendar | greatestjournal calendar ]

as the gentle rain from heaven [06 Sep 2007|05:37pm] At night she dreams of rain falling heavily from three different skies, each one of them home. The first is the barest memory, a small glimmer in her mind of what she thinks she may remember, tied together with bits and pieces of someone else’s memories and the things she’s seen in films. Just clouds, and rain, and cold. ( Skies ) 1 comment|post comment

[26 Jun 2007|11:46am] http://free-form.greatestjournal.com/1158511.html?mode=reply 3 comments|post comment

Waking the Dead [22 May 2007|10:27pm] It had been a very long day. The day itself, so far as Emmeline was concerned, had actually begun over the weekend. It just hadn’t ended quite yet. One, long, terrible day, encompassing sunrises and sunsets and long tedious hours. She wasn’t sure if she had slept at all; she had tried but it seemed as though she’d been suffering an unending consciousness, never able to blink it away to the quiet of dreams, not even for an hour. The viewing for that day was over, leaving Emmeline still in her shop with the stragglers. She’d given her home over to Aidan’s family; his mother and father, an aunt and uncle, and a young cousin who was taking everything very hard. In hushed whispers, the plump blonde that would remain forever ingrained in Emmy’s mind as ‘Ma’ had said the girl, Erica, had slept the previous night in Aidan’s old room at the house and they’d heard her crying through to the morning. The family treated Emmeline as one of their own. In the lucid moments when their grief flit away for just a moment to share a laughing memory and a smile, they spoke to Emmy as though she were family. Now she stood alone at the counter, staring at the coffin. Liam had switched off the lights for the evening, leaving only the shop’s normal dim nighttime lighting on. The coffee still perked beside her and the half-eaten plate of pastry sat next to it, and Emmy stood quietly, hands clasped in front of her on the glass, just staring. Destiny was living a nightmare. Last night's family visitation hadn't gone well for her mentally and waking up the next morning sticking to the floor in her ruined dress wasn't the best way to bring her spirits up. Seeing Aidan's mother for the first time since the memory thing was heart-wrenching, knowing now who she was. She couldn't believe that Aidan's mom knew about her, let alone that she hugged her. Her heart ached that she and his family hadn't met under better circumstances. Part of her didn't want to come back, but today was the official wake. She was wearing a pair of black jeans and a black sweater, so she would look normal for the other mourners. They came in and came out, and soon Aidan's family left for Em's and it was just her and Emmy...and Aidan. Destiny made sure the sign on the door read "Closed", then closed the door and leaned against the door jamb, watching Em. Em was paler than usual, if that was even possible. The usually proper young woman stood with a new tightness and tautness in her stance and Destiny knew she was hurting just as much, if not more. "Em, honey? You okay?" Such a stupid, futile question, but what else could someone say at a time like this? "Hope you're having fun?" ( Recitation ) ( An Honor ) ( Zombie ) ( Keeping Promises ) NOTE: Post contains excerpts from the poem Desert Places by Robert Frost. post comment

Absent Spirit [21 May 2007|08:36pm] I don’t like wakes. I’ve always thought they were a bit morbid and daft. My mother insisted we have one for Bailey, though we had to keep the casket closed. His friends came in, filed past the wooden box and said a prayer as they went. There was bad coffee and stale cookies and the whole place reeked of old potpourri. I had one for Mother as well. That day, it was only me, sitting there in the same cold, reeking room that we’d had for Bay. Ten hours, just sitting, staring at my mother’s corpse. No one came. No one cared. I decided that day, I’d never attend another of these morbid experiments in grief ever again, yet here I am. ( Desert Places ) post comment

Goodnight, Emmy [31 Oct 2006|10:22pm] Emmy had forgotten what it was like the previous year. Small town Halloween could be tough on a business like hers; the few young people found in Searchlight were eager for holiday fun, and there were few other recourses but to visit the strange little shop that had landed in town some years before. Add in a few rentals of The Craft, and Unseen Insight saw a boom in business, beginning on Halloween and often extending into early November. For her part, Emmy was beat. She needed more regular help at the shop; Aidan was a constant no-show, and when he did come in, it was only to fix this or that. Liam worked hard because it was the terms of their bargain, but between the two of them, it just wasn’t enough. Emmy had spent most of the day on her feet, shooing people away from the more specialized or dangerous items and books, or doing Tarot readings on the fly. She had made more money in a single day than she had all month in the physical shop (since the internet version did fairly well) and she was dead on her feet. She opened the door to her silent house and slung her shoulder bag down in a living room chair, sighing softly to herself in the quiet. Her evening plans were simple: a bit of reading and a long sleep. She was just barely hungry, having sent Liam out for sandwiches in the early afternoon and having had nothing since, but too tired to bother with the kitchen. Maybe a cup of tea, or even chocolate later, before bed, but nothing more. Emmy felt tired and lazy, and was quite content to stay that way. ( Behind Closed Doors ) post comment

Gasoline By Starlight [19 Sep 2006|11:00pm] Byron was bored. Unlike his job at the video store in Las Vegas which had a television playing movies all day, the gas station yielded little to no form of entertainment, save for the odd customer who came in every now and then to pay for their gas. It'd been a lull period, later in the evening, and the werewolf sat behind the front counter with his chin propped up on his hand. In the back of the convenience store, an older lady sat shovelling quarters into one of the five never-winning slot machines which lined the back wall. The constant beep-boop-beep cha-ching which followed each pull of the handle was the only noise that Byron could hear, save for the small radio beside him which was only able to get the country music station. But as bored as he was, it wasn't as though Byron had anything better to be doing. He had to remind himself after all, that he had chosen to live in Searchlight. He gave up his job in a busy city of entertainment to live a quiet life in a one-horse town. He could have at least been at home playing his X-box, but that wouldn't exactly pay his rent. The slot machine finally cut out the noise and Byron sighed in relief as the woman stood and got up to leave. "Them machines never pay out," she muttered, "I think Gary had 'em fixed." Byron sat up straight. "Maybe you should stop playing them, then," he suggested with a yawn. "I'm takin' my quarters next door to Terrible's," she said defiantly as she left the store in a huff. Byron rolled his eyes and pushed his glasses back up his nose before he resumed the leaning position. "And I thought I lead a sad life," he muttered to himself. Things had been quiet for Emmy as of late. Quiet at the shop, where customers seemed few and far between and there was precious little work to do. The books were shelved in proper order, new merchandise put where it belonged, and no great looming crisis to be worked upon and worried over. She never thought she’d find herself longing for something to be afraid of, but even that would be a way to pass the time. Quiet at the house, where the only visitor on most days was Sam. And, friendly as he was, the cat just wasn’t much for conversation since Aidan had returned to Searchlight. Aidan himself had been by only the day before, but it was a brief and hurried visit. Liam did stop over on occasion, but Emmy was certain it was only for the food – she’d been keeping both the diminutive demon and his yippy little dog well-fed for some time. The quiet had seeped into Emmy herself, as she realized well into the evening that she hadn’t even spoken to anyone all day long. Hidden away in her office with books to read and a computer to waste time on, she hadn’t greeted a single customer or even given Liam any instruction. All in all, it was depressing. She had finally decided to head home well after dark, and though it wasn’t that pressing, stopped to fill the gas tank on her car. ( Helping Hand ) ( After Dark ) post comment

A Learning Experience [25 Jul 2006|04:32pm] Hands on her hips, Emmeline surveyed the dusty wasteland that should be her garden with pursed lips and a creased brow. She had been doing everything right, just as the books had said. Channeling primal earth was supposed to be one of the easier elements to master; she had already pulled fire which was much more difficult. Of course, she’d been under extreme duress at the time, but that shouldn’t matter. ( Green Thumb ) ( Portent Card ) ( Heritage ) ( Roles ) ***OOC: Italicized portion of Darian's history written by Kate post comment

[18 Jun 2006|08:47pm] An empty plastic pill bottle rolled lazily back and forth in the breeze of an oscillating fan on Emmeline’s night table. The Doriden had been a last resort on her physician’s part some years ago; he had sternly warned that it was rarely prescribed and there was a very good reason for that, but Emmy had been desperate. She didn’t use it nearly as often as she used to, but tonight she needed to sleep. The need for sleep had always been something of a risk for Emmy. Dreams came and went, many absurd and useless, many dark and terrifying. Occasionally, in her sleep, she allowed herself to recall the little things she liked to forget in daylight hours. In her dreams, and only in her dreams, Emmy let herself remember that she was all alone. ( ”April ) *** The memory changed, reflected and rewound as Emmy tossed and turned beneath her blankets. One minute, she sat with her father at his desk, a child of eight years old learning to speak Latin and make the world bend to her will. Seconds passed and it was morning again, sitting in a kitchen chair while her mother swore beneath her breath and yanked a large paddle brush through her wavy hair; the pain was terrible and she screamed and bit at her mother’s hand. But the pain wouldn’t stop, just kept pulling and pulling and pulling… *** ( ”June ) *** Emmy sat upright in bed, eyes wide and staring. She was slick with sweat in spite of the fan and the air conditioner that had been running without a break for days on end. The drug pumped through her system, her heart pounding and her hands shaking, but there would be no more sleeping now. It made sense. Now it made sense. Perhaps she had been tortured with Elfleda’s own weakness. Family had always been the most important thing to Emmy; maybe they’d had something in com post comment

[15 Jun 2006|08:57pm] Some days Emmy thought she should just set up a camp bed in her office and stay at the shop all the time. She'd been home only for a brief sleep, quick shower and even quicker breakfast before going back to begin what might be an epic research adventure among her books. Sam had decided to tag along, and Emmy certainly didn't mind the company. The pudgy grey cat had taken to pouncing Gus at odd intervals during the day, and even Liam had no objections. Both animals were growing so round that it was much needed exercise. Emmy was at an impasse; then new information about Elfleda was spinning around her brain and she was desperate to find a way to exploit it. At the same time, the enigmatic stranger who had provided the information was just as heavy on her mind. He had given his name; she knew it had to be in a book somewhere, but for one of the few times in her life, Emmy had no idea which book to start with. It was information overload and she needed a distraction. She sat at her desk, pulling a battered notebook out of the top drawer. She had kept notes on her experiences with Elfleda, most written well after the horror had lessened and she'd found her faculties again to put into words what she had endured. It was her own small compendium, and she had new information to transcribe. A brief note on Darian would also be entered. Swallowing the last of the coffee she'd bought at the diner, Quinn walked up the steps to Unseen Insight and opened the door to let herself in. The bell jingled cheerfully, and she looked up at it with a mildly balefull expression. She'd been awake all night brooding and pacing, and she didn't think anything had a right to sound so cheerful right now, not even a stupid bell. The shop was quiet because of the hour, and the redhead dropped the empty cup into a wastebasket before moving further into the place. The bookshelves looked tall and imposing, and she eyed them before moving in the direction of the counter. She didn't even know how to begin looking for what she wanted - needed - which meant she'd need knowledgeable assistance. Clearing her throat hesitantly, she rapped lightly on the wooden surface of the counter, then waited in silence. It looked like a case of now or never. ( Bells ) ( Spells ) She glanced at her watch, then let out a small sigh. "I gotta get going," she said, gesturing towards the door. "Thanks for your help. I'm sure you'll see me in here again." Emmy nodded at her. “No problem, and good to meet you,” she called. Her eyes fell on the herb shelves and she frowned. She would really have to do something about that problem. It would, at least, give her something to think about until she decided what to do with her new information. post comment

[28 Jan 2006|12:06am] A belated Christmas dinner was still a Christmas dinner, and though most people had, she was certain, removed all of their decorations and lights, Emmy was determined that hers would stand until each present was plucked from beneath the tree. Liam and Gus had accepted theirs quite happily on the holiday itself – if the surly demon could ever be described as ‘happy’ and piddling on the carpet was Gus’ sign of sheer joy. Aidan, it had seemed, had been glad of the small show of affection on Emmy’s part, especially after her repeated threat to fire him should he move out. The house felt full again, and Emmy was glad of it. She had spent many years living alone and had enjoyed the company in the days her Searchlight home teemed with friends. A turkey was far too large a dinner for two people, but Emmy did like to keep things traditional, so a chicken had to suffice. She stuffed it and baked it and followed all of the directions in the cookbook, and it came out fairly decent. Aidan had complimented her cooking, though she knew well enough to know he would have done it if she had burned it to a cinder. The carcass sat atop her stove, cooling enough for her to pick it clean and freeze leftover meat – and of course, bring some over to Sam – but Emmy was tired and, now that Aidan was gone, she had settled on the couch with her a musty old book to read. It can be difficult to convey what an absence of something would feel like. Such things are described by what they aren't; by the qualities which they lack, not what they are, for to do that would be a contradiction in terms. A total and complete nothingness cannot, by virtue of its very nature, be something. Mathematicians could solve that riddle, like so many basic foundations of existence. Where there are positives, so, too, can there be negatives. An empty container still contains air, but what if some dedicated mind were to be asked to quantify a vacuum? What could a total and complete lack of something - anything - be, if somehow vested with intelligence? What is a shadow, if not absence from light? Could individual shadows toy with one another or do they truly become one whole mass? A vast cloud of darkness, without form, texture or means to propel itself, save for those places which the light has not reached and cannot, as of yet, penetrate. Even the brightest light, if swallowed by enough of that which would absorb it, must in itself become nothing, given due time and course. Imagine a being composed of such a thing. Would it not truly be the very antithesis of God? Would that place in which it dwells, forged from its own creation, not be the opposite to heavenly paradise? Would those who hail from it consider damnation a form of blessing? The Great Abyss could only be thought of as the vast, eternal personification of hunger. A timeless tease, forever haunting those who thirst with the promise of water just out of reach. An driving need - a raging passion to consume all which is in its path. There can be no satisfaction in a place like that. Only decay and the overwhelmingly possessive nature of desire without end. Those which it infects, those which its creator have bent to their will, know nothing better than that one single truth. It forces them to reach higher, renew themselves, take what they can, convert and betray and... For just a select few, above all else, corrupt. Something was creeping through cracks and amongst shadows in Emmeline Keddle's home, seeking precisely that. It had touched her, once before and wished to do so now again. Carefully, though, since the game did not always reward impatience and now the time of opportunity had come to present itself. As did the visitor. The first clue came in the form of fading lights. Not a sudden deadening of power, but the slow, draining effect of electrical interference. A slight acrid flavour to the air, but not of any lightbulb's doing. And the angel atop Christmas tree was slowly burning to an inky, jet black... ( Dangerous Routine ) ( Alive ) ( Primitive Fire ) ( Pray ) "Remember me," the lady in black reminded, then leaned forward and whispered something meant only for Emmeline's ears. A smile of curved ebony later and Elfleda stood again, melting away into the shadows, leaving her with nothing but darkness for company. post comment

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year [12 Dec 2005|09:57pm] [ mood | lonely ] [ music | Allison Kraus - Maybe ] A year can bring about change, or utter stalemate. Finding herself firmly entrenched in a comfortable rut, it was strange for Emmy to go through the same motions as the year before. She decorated the house; she had kept all of her mother’s old things, and put them up the year before. Aidan had taken them down and put them away long before she had returned home from her brief sojourn in search of a little personal truth, but she had found them easily, clearly labeled and neatly stacked in the attic. That was Aidan. Ever the handyman. He had even taken a moment to replace a few dead lights and repair broken ornaments before storing them for her. Emmy spent the day unpacking and placing everything where it should be. She felt a bit strange continuing the tradition, after so many years. Her mother hadn’t been all too religious after her father had died. It had been a perfunctory non-secular celebration in her house, which made it all the easier for her to keep it up after discovering how much more existed in the world in the way of spirituality. Christmas was just Christmas; it was trees and lights and cookies and presents, and that was all that mattered to her. And so she decorated. A Christmas tree – plastic, of course, as a real tree in Nevada didn’t seem to be the best idea in the world - with ornaments and lights, garland strung along the bannisters and little ceramic Father Christmas figures and snowmen tucked everywhere. A stocking with her own name written in glitter hung beside another with Aidan’s, and even a smaller one for Sam. They didn’t live there anymore, but Emmy still thought of it as their house too. A few wrapped presents beneath the tree, each one addressed to a face long since seen in Emmy’s lonely house. To Aidan, Love Em; a pair of mittens, in the same horrible olive green yarn his mother had used to make a sweater. It was a joke, mostly, but something she knew he would use when he went home to Chicago for a winter visit, out of pure gratitude if nothing else. It would make him smile. For Will, Love Emmeline; a red scarf, useless in Searchlight, but the thought was supposed to count, wasn’t it? It was her first success at crochet; Aidan’s mother had taught her the art over the phone, after she had mastered knitting. For Sam, Love Emmy; a yellow sweater replete with purple mice in cowboy hats. The pattern had been very cute, though the color scheme had been less than perfect. Still, it would suit him. The desert nights could get cold, after all, and he did a fair amount of wandering. Besides, the animal needed a little humility – let him be embarrassed. To Destiny, Love Em; a little sweater in a cheery shade of peacock blue, with stitching loose enough to be worn on a warm day but definitely requiring something beneath it. She couldn’t recall offhand if Destiny ever had a favorite color, but the bright blue did seem favorable to her complexion. The real question was whether she’d ever receive it. There were others, of course. A pink dog sweater and matching booties for Gus, and a vest for Liam, little trinkets here and there for other friends and acquaintances in Searchlight. Other, more practical gifts as well. All wrapped prettily with red bows and silver paper, tucked on a quilted reindeer tree skirt beneath the plastic branches of her tree, waiting for their intended to come and pluck them out. The house had felt lonely that day. She had hoped the bright and colorful holiday decorations would make it warmer, homier, but it had the reverse effect. The trappings of the season and the reminders of all the loved ones who seemed out of her reach gave a cold, hollow ache. She had meant to put on Christmas music to lift her spirits, but somehow hadn’t gotten passed the melancholy voice of Allison Kraus, drifting off the album she had left in the player. Emmy sat unmoving, curled up on the corner of her couch, staring at the glittering tree lights until well after dark. post comment

Dear Diary [05 Feb 2005|08:05pm] [ mood | anxious ] [ music | Nickel Creek - The Lighthouse's Tale ] From Emmy's Private Journal When I was a little girl, I wasn't allowed in my father's study. Eventually he did let me in, but those early years ,when I was too young to understand the horrors hidden within the huge volumes he kept on his desk and shelved all along the room, I simply wasn't allowed to enter. Because of this, I was damn near obsessed with the place. It was a point of fixation. The room and its contents were off limits to me, which made me want them all the more. And fear them as well. I remember, time after time, hovering there just outside the doorway. Father left the door open, and I would stand there on the dividing line, where the deep burgundy plush of the corridor carpet gave way to father's polished hardwood floors. I would stand and peer in, fascinated. I want to go in, but I was so afraid. Not of any retribution from my parents, of course. No, what I feared was intangible; knowing something of great importance and secrecy was held within those four walls drew me in but still kept me at bay. Sometimes I feel as though it had been best that I not know. And knowing what I've just learned... it only drives that home further. I feel it now. That same fear, and curiosity. But instead of standing there in the doorway of my father's study, I stand on the borders of Searchlight. I want to go back. I feel somehow as though I need to be there. But I fear what it holds for me; how things have changed, and how they might have stayed the same. I know my place is there, just as I always knew with each stern glance from my father that someday my place would be in his study, at his side. I belong to Searchlight now. And I need to go back. But something keeps me at bay. Even Las Vegas holds some strange mystique to me now. In little more than a month I have seen the world, and I thought coming back here, the desert would seem ordinary again. But it only seems all the more strange to me, and still... almost alluring. I couldn't bring myself to take a room in Las Vegas again, to try and prepare myself as best I can for the return. I flew into Phoenix from Chicago instead. I've been here two days and I know I need to go back. I just didn't think it could be so hard. post comment

Withdrawal [22 Nov 2004|06:32pm] [ mood | drained ] It wasn't a hangover. Emmy hadn't really been drinking in a few days, so it couldn't be that. A self proclaimed coffee addict, she knew it wasn't an overload of caffeine in her system, and the cigarettes... well falling back into that old habit was simple enough, and it wasn't causing the problem. It should have been a daytrip, that was all. A little fun, a little stay over in Sin City, and then heading home to Searchlight. But while Emmy had kept her never used room at the Venetian, she had called to confirm what she was already sure of - Destiny had already checked out. Which could only mean that she had taken Aidan's car, so Emmy would have to find her own way back. Her head throbbed. Her mouth felt dry, like she'd fallen asleep with a wad of cotton in her mouth and didn't wake up for a week. Water, coffee, juice, tea... none of it was taking away that feeling, but she knew it wouldn't. She knew what she wanted. What she needed. But unfortunately, the little black bottle of mischief that she had been nursing for weeks was in her leather bag, in the backseat of Aidan's car... probably in Searchlight. Duncan was being very nice to her. She could feel in him a sense of remorse, about the time they had spent together. He was, after all, engaged. What was supposed to be a one night stand had turned somehow into a prolonged fling, and he was feeling rather guilty. So much so that he didn't even seem to notice Emmy's hair turning back to its natural black. Funny, the little things people would choose to ignore. If only the headache would go away, just for a little while... she might better explain herself. She had already asked him for a ride back to Searchlight, and he agreed. But not just yet. She didn't want to have to go back and face up to her responsibilities just yet. Maybe wait until her head didn't hurt so much, and she could think straight. post comment

It's All in the Cards [22 Aug 2004|01:32pm] [ mood | good ] "Now you're sure you want to do this?" Emmy asked, an eyebrow raised as she regarded Aidan, sitting across from her at the small card table they'd set up in the store. He smiled. "Sure. Why not?" Emmy watched him carefully for a moment before responding. "Because sometimes the cards give answers we don't want to hear." Aidan chuckled. "I can handle, it Em. Honest." "Ok..." she said slowly, not quite believing them. She herself had been upset by an answer from the cards. She didn't know how Aidan would react to bad news. "I have several decks, which would you prefer?" Aidan glanced over the brightly colored boxes containing Tarot decks, before picking one that seemed to suit his fancy. "This one is good." Emmy nodded. "The Rider Waite deck. Very popular. Now, what is your question?" She removed the chosen deck from its box and began to shuffled the cards slowly. Aidan seemed startled. "I have to ask it out loud?" "Well, no," Emmy said with a chuckle. "But if you could at least give me an idea, I could choose the spread to best suit it." "Oh, ok, good," Aidan said, a bit too quickly to seem at all at ease. "Well, it's about... a person." Emmy blinked, then smiled. "Oh, all right then. A relationship spread." She stopped her shuffling and laid the deck on the tabletop. "Concentrate on your question, and cut the deck." Aidan did as he was told, and Emmy began to lay the spread, seven cards in the shape of the letter H. "All right," she began. "The first card represents how you see yourself. Four of Wands... completion. The start of a deep friendship, or romance. Spiritual or material rewards. A good card." Aidan's cheeks twitched into a smile. "Cool." "The second," Emmy went on, "Is how you see this other person. King of Cups. Someone with great maturity, patience... tendency to use a quiet word to solve conflicts, and easily understand the hearts of others." "Sounds good so far," Aidan said, shrugging. "This third card, the Ace of Wands... that's how you feel about this person," Emmy told him. "An innate and primal force released. It could suggest a surge of vitality, creativity, or fertility that can set new events into motion." Aidan nodded but did not speak, so Emmy continued. "The center card is what stands between you... the obstacles you and your friend will face. The Ten of Pentacles. The base meaning is wealth and financial security but it could also mean safety... which, given the times we're living in here, I would put my money on." Aidan chuckled. "Yeah. Money is not so much a problem as the big bad evil out there." Emmy smiled but continued. "This bottom left is how the person sees you. Strength. That one's pretty obvious... health, power... recovery. Above that is the Hanged Man, how this person feels about you. This is a... tricky card. It represents a surrender to a new experience. Reflection. Letting go of the past and growing beyond them. Your friend may have been hurt in the past, which would make it much more understandable. This person wants to surrender but is afraid." Aidan nodded. The cards were oddly astute. "Sound about right," he said. "The final card is the present challenge of the relationship," Emmy said. "The Four of Cups, which is luxury, but reversed. In this position, it means new and unusual relationships and opportunities. The reawakening of your appetite for life or love. So all in all, not a bad reading. You just have to help this girl get over whatever's bothering her... it is a girl, isn't it?" Aidan laughed. "Yeah, Em. You did good. I think this is a good idea, doing readings in the shop. Since I'm your test case and it worked out so well, I'm thinking you'll do fine." Emmy smiled. "Perfect," she said, nodding. "I was hoping it would turn out well." She gathered up the cards and began reshuffling them for storage back in their box. "I'm glad it did," Aidan agreed amiably, standing up. "I'm gonna get back to work on that new shelving you want, ok?" "Yes, thanks," Emmy called after him. "Oh, and Aidan?" "Yeah?" he asked, pausing mid-step. "I hope it works out well for you, with this girl," she told him. Aidan grinned. "Yeah. Me too. Thanks, Em." 5 comments|post comment

Homecoming. [27 Jul 2004|06:44pm] [ mood | indescribable ] The house was bigger than she'd expected. Two main stories, plus an open third floor attic. The siding was dirty blue and ramshackle, the yard a dusty scattering of stones and spiky weeds that Emmeline could not name. But it would suit her very well. The owner, a portly, balding man named Jim, was not what she had expected. His voice had been very aged on the telephone - but then, anyone might sound that way at half past eleven at night - but he looked to be no more than thirty or so years old. The house, he had explained, had been a surprise inheritance from a great-aunt he had never known. "Been trying to sell it for three years," he explained, shrugging. "People just aren't buying in this area. I didn't really expect anyone to want to rent it, but I had to try. Just want enough to cover the property taxes until some corporation or resort rolls through the area and makes it a new tourist spot." Emmeline gave him a smile. "It's a good price, and a nice place. I'm glad I was first to inquire about it." Jim laughed. "Ms. Keddle, I'm pretty sure you'll be the only one to inquire about it, even though the ad runs for another week. I'm glad about it, too. It's a pain to drive in from Phoenix to show the damn thing." Emmeline's smile grew. "I'm sorry to say it, Jim, but I believe you may get several more inquiries before the week is through. Searchlight is becoming rather popular." "I'll believe THAT when I see it," Jim said, shaking his head. "Well, I think that's all you need. Here are the keys," he told her, handing her a set of keys on a keychain from a Vegas resort. "Front, back and garage doors. The utilities have all been turned on, I had them put on again before I placed the ad so whoever might want the place could move right in. You'll just need to get a phone put in. Any problems, you know how to get a hold of me." He waved over his shoulder as he headed for the Chevy truck parked at the curb. Well, now I have a place to stay, and a furnished house at that. It will make things much easier for me. I suppose all that's really left for me to do is bring my things inside, open a few windows to air the place out, and take a better look at the town. It's not a large place, so I think I'll give myself a short walking tour. Besides, I don't think the Cavalier can take another drive today. The hour in from Las Vegas just about killed it. In less than a half hour, Emmeline was set to wander about her new hometown. She made a mental note to be back behind closed doors before sundown. post comment

Don't Fall Asleep To Dream. [26 Jul 2004|11:42pm] [ mood | awake ] Of course I can't sleep now that I've decided to spend another night here in Vegas. Truth be told, this city gives me the creeps. I must have read too much Stephen King as a child. The Stand has forever soured me on Sin City, I suppose. Silly, as I know that much scarier things exist outside the world of fiction, but still. Luckily my extremely overpriced room here at the Excalibur has internet access. There were a surprising number of hits on my search on Searchlight, Nevada. For a forgotten little mining town, there are certainly a lot of people talking abou the place lately. I was able to find a listing fora newspaper, and in the classified ads there was a listing for a house rental that I had to find out more about. Three bedrooms, two bath, two car garage and only $950 a month. I can swing that on my own for a few months but I'll have to find a room mate sooner or later. Given the sudden influx of people, I'm sure it won't be too difficult. The ad said call anytime, so I did, and arranged to move in tomorrow. It's funny. The man on the line didn't even care to see a reference or even meet me before allowing me to rent this house. I'm meeting him there at noon. He said to look for the dark blue two-story on Hill Street off of Lincoln. He'll be waiting on the porch. With this sudden insomnia keeping me up, I've had ample time to research my new hometown and try to think of what I will be doing to earn my keep, so to speak. I had an e-mail from Crystal that I wondered about for a while before I realized what she was trying to tell me. ( email ) The idea certainly appeals to me. And if what Crystal thinks is correct, as I suspect it is, just given the few characters I've seen passing through the casinos here, Searchlight will soon be crawling with the exact sort of people who might be needing books like the Everburning Codex or Blood Rites and Sacrifices. For the first time since I made the decision to leave Chicago, I feel like I'm actually doing the right thing. 2 comments|post comment

Layover? [26 Jul 2004|07:42pm] [ mood | pensive ] It is an odd sensation. It isn't easy to describe. My only thought is that it can be likened to a concert or a club where huge speakers pound out heavy base. I feel it as I draw closer to Searchlight, a steading thrumming pulse, beating inside my chest, heavier than my heartbeat. It's what I felt when I realized it was time to leave. I feel it now, worse than before. It's almost hard to breathe. In Chicago, it was barely there. Just an occasional pulse, beating just beneath the surface. It grew steadily stronger as I made my way towards it. A heavier beat in Nebraska, a throb in Denver. Now it is all I can feel, and it scares me. Whatever is there is powerful and dangerous. And yet I keep heading towards it. I made it to Las Vegas last night and I decided to stay. Searchlight, from all the information I've been able to gather, is a small, quiet town. Sudden arrivals in the middle of the night might raise a few local eyebrows, though I doubt it will be anything but a regular occurrence these days, and that's another reason to hold off. Whatever is calling to me is calling to many others. Crystal felt it, stronger than I did, back in Chicago. When I told her where I was headed she only smiled sadly and nodded, saying she would follow if she wasn't as old as she is. The town will be full of strangers by now, those of us who walk in daylight right along with those who shun the sun. I have to be careful now. It's going to be tough. I have enough money put away to live comfortably for a few months, but I'm going to need a source of income and a place to stay. Motels aren't really that safe, I'll have to look for an apartment or house to rent. But I won't arrive after dark. I'll wait til morning before I head out. post comment

[22 Jul 2004|08:17pm] The open road stretched out before her. An acrid smell of something burning had started to seep into her car's air vents and Emmeline was too lost in thought to notice. She'd been driving more than eight hours, now on the I-80, and was inching closer and closer to Lincoln, Nebraska. She wasn't sure if she'd stop for the night or not. With no destination in mind, it might be a good idea. I'm starting to think that this was not the best idea I've ever had. I try to rely on my intuition, and I keep an eye peeled for any signs the universe may throw me, but this just isn't shaping up the way I thought it would. I've been driving for a whole day and I still haven't a definite destination. I know for sure that it isn't Las Vegas. The casino chip was only a hint towards a direction, not the X marking the spot. In truth, something about traveling out west has always intrigued me. The landscape is so different than any I've known and I've heard many stories about what lay in wait out in the deserts of the North American continent. Even my father was intrigued by it; that much, I can remember. "There are things out west, Emmy, that you and I have only dreamt of - and only in our darkest nightmares." He wanted to keep away from it, and keep my away from it as well. Strange that so soon after his death, mother brought Baily and I to the very place father wanted to avoid. But I shouldn't even think of that now; dwelling on the dead does nothing for my state of mind. Best to forget about Baily and our parents, at least for a little while. There are more important things at hand. I suppose I could just go to Vegas and see where the road takes me from there. I can't just keep driving towards nowhere. I wish I had another sign, anything. A homing beacon or a searchlight to lead me to the right place. But of course, that would be too easy. The universe isn't happy unless if keeps you guessing. What is that smoke? Great. That would something in my car burning. Probably the oil again. Piece of rubbish. It was well after dark on the deserted strip of the interstate, but the gas station just off of the rest area was open. Emmeline pulled in with a sign, choking on the biting scent of burning oil as she got out of the car and headed inside to the small mini-mart. The kid behind the counter was tall and gawky, face pock-marked with the remnants of puberty. If it hadn't been so late, she would have thought him a high school student or younger. Probably just graduated. "Having problems?" the kid asked, glancing out the store's plate glass window at the cloud of smoke that had yet to dissipate from around the hood of Emmeline's ‘85 Cavalier. "Just a little oil leak," Emmeline replied, picking two bottles of WD-40 oil off of the shelf. The kid snorted. "If you keep letting it burn out like that..." "I know, I know," she replied, cutting him off with a hint of exasperation in her voice. Every man and boy in every service or gas station between Chicago and Lincoln had been lecturing her on proper car maintenance and it was getting irritating. "I've managed to deal with it for five years now, I think I can stand a few more. Do you have maps in this place?" The kid nodded. "State maps or like an atlas?" Emmeline stopped herself from rolling her eyes as she plunked the oil bottles down on the counter. "Like an atlas." The kid nodded again, pulling a large dusty atlas out from behind the counter and setting it down in front of her, paging to Nebraska. "It's not for sale, though," he told her. "We just keep it under the counter for people who are lost." He accentuated the word ‘lost' with a large, greasy smirk, and Emmeline didn't stop herself from rolling her eyes that time. "You can't be lost when you don't know where you're going," she muttered to herself, just out of his range of hearing. The kid didn't notice, but watched silently as she flipped past the Nebraska road maps and settled on a state view of Nevada. "Oh, are you going to Searchlight?" he asked. Emmeline felt her heart flutter. Startled, she look up. "Where?" she asked. "Searchlight," he repeated nonchalantly. "Some people came through last night, looking for directions to the place. Little town in Nevada, I guess. I never heard of it but they found it on the map." He spun the atlas around to face himself, studied it a moment and pointed to an empty area on the map. "Somewhere around here. Guess it's too small to have a dot or anything, but it's there. Might want to check one of the Nevada maps, on the rack in the back. But you can't just open those and look, you have to buy them." Searchlight? post comment

[19 Jul 2004|06:00pm] [ mood | awake ] testing, testing, one two three... post comment

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