CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Mike
The small box sat on the kitchen island, reminding me that I had three hours to make a decision. I paced back and forth in the kitchen, stepping through the open French doors and staring at the dark backyard while I pondered my sanity.
“She was losing it,” I whispered, turning to face the kitchen.
I’d cleaned the place top to bottom. I’d wanted the house to be perfectly clean in case I went to the other side and if there was a replacement who would want to sell.
“I’m not doing this,” I muttered, still fighting a desire to keep my sanity intact.
Again I turned and stared into the yard, the darkness offering no argument to support why I should do as I’d promised.
Mom would never know either way. I wanted to call Brandt again and ask him if he still thought I should go through with mom’s crazy plan, but he texted an hour ago encouraging me to keep my promise and reminded me to take a picture for proof.
I walked to the island and stared at the envelope on the box. Mom’s handwriting said to read before opening the box. I held the envelope in my hand, my heart racing.
She was crazy.
I was crazy.
Her idea was fantastically crazy.
You can’t do this, I heard my inner voice speak. And you don’t have to, Mike. She’s gone.
I felt a chill run up my spine like I was being watched by someone, the unnerving feeling causing me to jerk around.
The black cat was sitting in the open doorway watching me intently, judging me.
I should have jumped out of my skin with fright but I didn’t.
The animal kept studying me without moving a single hair on its body.
I set the envelope down and walked to the sink for some water, pretending that I wasn’t surprised by the strange beast. With my back to the feline, I bent over and took a long drink directly from the faucet.
I didn’t want to dirty a glass after all the work I just did.
When I turned back toward the French doors, the cat was walking past me toward the hallway.
I followed the animal down the hall and into Mom’s bedroom.
The cat jumped onto the dresser and sat beside the picture of Mom and Dad on the Oregon coast; the one where Mom had the mysterious halo of light around her head.
I stepped closer to the photo carefully, aware that the cat might leap off the dresser. I jumped back, almost tripping on the throw rug near the foot of the bed. “What the . . .?” My pulse quickened and I felt as if I might pass out. “No fucking way.”
When I stepped forward again, the cat jumped off the dresser and waited at the doorway. I picked up the photo and studied the picture. Both Mom and Dad’s heads were surrounded by circles of light. The halos were as real as the Pacific Ocean behind them.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the dresser and then slowly turned the picture to face it. There were no halos in the reflection of the picture, but there was one around my own head. “Jesus Christ!” I yelped, dropping the frame on the dresser top.
The cat was gone when I backed out of the room, feeling like a million little spiders were crawling all over me. I was freaking out and struggling to catch my breath.
I was losing my marbles. The self-diagnosis would be hereditary lunacy.
There was no way that what I just saw could be real. But hadn’t the cat led me to the bedroom? The mystical creature somehow knew. Where was the little fucker now? I rushed down the hall and turned the corner to the kitchen.
The cat sat on the kitchen island next to the small box and the envelope.
“For fuck’s sake, I’m gonna,” I said.
The sleek-coated creature leapt from the island and sauntered out the French doors then stopped next to a planter full of marigolds.
“I will,” I insisted.
The feline disappeared into the darkness.
I took cautious steps toward the envelope. I will keep my promise.
The envelope held the final letter from Mom. She told me that the letter was the step-by-step instructions and to keep an open mind. I carefully read it:
My Dearest Son,
So, you’ve opened the letter. That’s a good sign that you will let your mother try her best to give her child one final gift: the gift of love.
I’ve always understood that Cooper held your heart.
To me, his death extinguished your zest for life.
I want to correct the injustice of his premature death because a mother’s love knows no boundaries, even those between universes.
I believe that I can remedy that pain and find you the one resolution that will offer you an opportunity to truly live and love again.
Of course, I understand that my idea seems impossible, but when a person fortifies love with sincere desire, all things are possible.
Why not take the risk and humor me? I want to see you happy and living life again.
So, maybe I am crazy, but in our billions of universes, crazier things have occurred, so why not this?
The following instructions are direct and simple–the exact way that your scientific mind works. Take the chance. Suspend reality for once and dream with me.
I love you to infinity and maybe even further,
Mom
1 – Take the vial in your bedroom before midnight on the seventh day, but not a minute past.
2 – Remove the calendar from your bedroom wall that is still open to August 2013.
3 – Choose a month in the calendar that’s at least thirty days to six months before the day of Cooper’s death, and then hang the calendar where it was with the month you chose displayed.
4 – Mix the contents of the vial with water and place it on your nightstand.
5 – Strip off all of your clothes and lie on your bed.
6 – There is a mild, all-natural sedative in the ingredients.
7 – This will only work if you can truly convince yourself that you want this. You have to want to see Cooper again. The desire must come from the deepest part of your heart. You must envision being with him again in a universe where he is alive.
8 – Drink the potion.
9 – If you wake up the next day and nothing has happened, thank you for trying and trusting my wish for you. If this works, have an amazing journey. I loved you in this universe and will always be with you no matter where you dwell. Look for me, son. You’ll know.
The time was 10:15. An hour and forty-five minutes to go. Now that I knew Mom expected to send me to a time before Cooper drowned, it was time to send an email and then to open the small box.