The Well: Revealing the Hidden Nature of Reality

CHAPTER 1

Empire, Michigan

21st December 2012

The thought of her mother’s words emerged clearly into her mind, as if she were standing there whispering into her ear at that very moment. She turned her head ever so slightly, acknowledging an eerie presence.

“Lilly” she said, “The hardest thing about life is living it. The rest is easy.”

At the time, as an eight-year-old she didn’t really understand what she meant. But now, at this moment 20 years on, she understood perfectly well. In fact, it seemed a silent prophecy.

Lilly returned her focus to the bathroom basin and the flow of blood winding its way in a circular motion towards the abyss of the plug-hole. It mesmerised her. The elixir of her life being offered from the chalice of her body; a sacrifice; a gesture of her surrender to the overwhelming despair that had engulfed her being. The sign of the cross, engraved deeply within the pink flesh of her wrist, was now a visible symbol of the ultimate abandonment by that of her God.

She felt no pain despite the deepness of the wound. Physical pain had been obliterated by the constant emotional numbness that she had felt for months. The release of her blood provided a temporary relief, even if only for minutes until it congealed and ceased to flow; a sign of her body’s innate wisdom to ensure the preservation of her life, despite her deep longing to the contrary.

Lilly placed the blade gently on the edge of the basin, satisfied that the task was complete. She opened the bathroom cabinet in front of her to retrieve a bandage to swathe her bloodied wrist. The multiple bottles and coloured packets of medication stared back at her; their promise of lifting the dark cloud of despair that was her constant shadow had remained unfulfilled. Nothing seemed to help. But then, how do you heal a broken heart, she thought.

She took the soft white bandage from the shelf and closed the cabinet door. The mirror on the cabinet provided a brief opportunity to catch a glimpse of her reflection, as her tired brown

eyes stared back at her, moist from tears. Her long, brown hair draped to her shoulders,

enjoying the freedom from her usual style of wearing it up. Even without make-up, the features

of her face exuded a natural beauty. Her sadness stared back to her as a perfect reflection of her

broken heart; which caused Lilly to quickly look away and return her attention to her bleeding

wound.

She started to wrap her wrist with the soft bandage; the blood was seeping through and

leaving its blotchy, red pattern with each turn until eventually, it was hidden from view. Lilly

turned the faucet on to wash away the blood and return the basin to its pristine white. When

satisfied with its cleanliness, Lilly left the bathroom and moved back down the hallway towards

the living room.

As she reached the blue, panelled door with its gold-coloured door-knob, Lilly paused for a

moment, then opened the door and entered. The little bed with its red racing car bedcover was

perfectly made, guarded over by a vibrant yellow Winnie-the-Pooh bear sitting on the pillow.

Lilly sat down on the bed and picked up the book that lay on the bedside table under the

lamp; the title “Pinocchio” was neatly embossed in silver on the front cover. As she flicked

through the pages, Lilly remembered his beautiful laughter when she had read his favourite book

to him at bedtime. We never did get to finish it, she thought to herself. She clutched the book to

her chest, not wanting to put it down. As she looked around the room she took in the toy box

filled to the brim with colourful toys, the wooden bookcase laden with various books neatly

stacked and the little brown boots standing together as loyal companions.

It was so very quiet and had been like that for a long time. She could still smell him; still feel

him, as if he were an unseen part of her. Lilly finally placed the book back down and with a deep

sigh, stood up. She left the room and gently shut the door; locking the memories in a timeless

vault yet again.

Lilly walked into the living room and stood for a few moments staring out of the large

panoramic window. Her eyes settled on the swing set and slide, lightly covered in snow in the

yard, silent and still. Behind it lay the vista of Lake Michigan in all its expanse and beauty. The

view reminded Lilly of the glorious sunsets that the lake shared each evening; like a blessed,

endless gift, freely given with no thought of return.

Continuing with her reminiscence, she turned her gaze towards the large, jarrah-framed

picture hanging above the stone fireplace. Knowing this would be the last time, she savoured

every last reflection and memory being offered up in this moment. The photo was her

favourite, a moment captured forever in the annals of time. The Point Betsie Lighthouse, with

its fire-red roof, surrounded by icy-white snow mounds, stood proudly in the background. Lilly

looked at the photo of herself, locked in a loving embrace with her young son and husband;

laughter and love etched on their faces. A snowman with stony eyes and stick nose, crowned

with a woollen blue and red beanie, completed the montage.

How quickly life can change she thought. It seemed as if grace had turned on her in apparent

rage. “Why? Why me?” she had asked the heavens. The answer had never come, despite her

desperate prayers. But now it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered to her anymore. It was too late

for answers, even if there were any. With her reminiscing complete, Lilly decided it was time to leave. She moved slowly to the kitchen and collected her car keys and the rope that lay patiently awaiting its purpose on the kitchen table. She took one final look around, satisfied that everything was in its place, left neat and tidy the way she had always preferred.

Lilly walked slowly towards the front door and took her jacket from the hall stand. As she opened the door the cold air slapped her face and entered her warm lungs. Putting her jacket on, she left and shut the door behind her. She stood for a moment on the porch looking at the surrounds of her peaceful neighbourhood; scattered leafless maple trees patiently awaiting the return of their green leaves in spring.

Lilly walked down the steps to her Volvo parked in the driveway and lightly covered in snow. She brushed away the snow from the windscreen, feeling the iciness bite into her bare fingers. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she placed the rope on the passenger seat.

As she slowly reversed her car into Lake Michigan Drive she headed back towards the village of Empire. Lilly had lived in the village since childhood; enjoying the adventures of the national parks and sunny days on the beachfront with her family. Her parents had eventually moved to Florida in search of sunshine and her sister, now happily married with children of her own, followed her husband’s new work promotion to Toronto. Despite missing them dearly, Lilly had decided to stay on with intentions to raise her own family here. She hadn’t spoken to them in months as her deep despair took its hold and she withdrew into its dark cave of isolation and solitude.

As she passed the Manning Lighthouse, she contemplated the multitude of lighthouses that dotted the shoreline of the vast Lake Michigan. Each lighthouse was a symbol of an enduring legacy and commitment by its keepers to ensure a safe passage home for the lake’s adventurous seamen. The guiding light illuminated the darkness and revealed the hidden shores. A loss of a single life was considered intolerable.

She pondered the irony of her own situation. Where was her lighthouse? What happens when a soul is so bruised, so lost on the sea of darkness that the light of life can’t be seen through the storm? Who guides the way then, when the will to live is lost? No-one, she thought, no-one. She had never felt more alone than at that moment in her life. A war raged in her mind and the ache in her heart was relentless. Her hand moved to clutch at her chest, clinging tightly to the front of her jacket. How she wished she could reach in and take hold of her heart in her hands and comfort it, to stop it from its constant throbbing of pain. “Please God stop it, please,” she spoke out loud.

She turned her car to drive one last time up Empire’s Front Street. It was quiet. In summer the village was filled with tourists enjoying the beach and the nearby Sleeping Bear Dunes, but in winter the village enjoyed a peaceful solitude. Lilly slowly drove past the market and tavern, then the Secret Garden gallery with its quaint ornaments displayed in the window; everything carried with it a host of memories.

As she drove the image of her husband flooded her mind. The month since he had left had felt like eternity, but the scene replayed clearly in her mind as if it had happened only a few

moments before. He had stood there in front of her in the very room she had just left. With intense rage in his eyes and anger in his voice that seemed to erupt from a hidden place that could suppress it no longer.

“He was our son, for f**k’s sake Lilly.”

“It was your responsibility to keep him safe; was that too hard? Was that so f*****g hard?”

“Richie trusted you to do that for him. He trusted you.”

“The day he died, I died as well. Know that. You lost both of us that day.”

“All I know is that I can’t forgive you; there’s just no place inside me where I can find any forgiveness. There just isn’t.”

“I can’t forgive you. I can’t forgive you.”

Those had been the last words she heard from her husband’s mouth. “I can’t forgive you”. He had then turned from her; picked up the bag he had packed and walked out the door. He might as well have plunged a knife into her heart in that moment; the result would have been the same. His words had inflicted a mortal wound, destroying what little life she had left in her. Already unable to forgive herself for the death of their son, her heart couldn’t endure such a deathly blow and it now propelled her towards an inevitable destiny in search of atonement.

Lilly snapped her attention back to the present, realising she had arrived at her destination. She drove into the car park, relieved there were no other vehicles present, ensuring her the privacy she needed. She turned off the engine and left the keys in the ignition. She gathered the rope off the passenger seat and opened the door; her leather shoes crunching the thin layer of snow underfoot as she stepped out. The white sign declaring Empire Bluff Trail welcomed her. This was a familiar spot, as she had been here many times before to enjoy the trek to the top of the bluff and its spectacular views of the lake. Today though, the surrounding forest of beech maple would serve a different purpose.

As she commenced her slow walk along the trail the silence engulfed her. She began to feel an overwhelming sense of peace, a feeling of being liberated from within. Her awareness expanded at the feeling of being part of all that surrounded her: the trees, the sky, the snow. It was like she had ceased to exist within the boundaries of her own flesh and had become a living part of what she was looking at. For the first time she experienced quietness in her mind, free from the constant barrage of thoughts ebbing and flowing like relentless waves crashing on to the shore.

After a short walk she reached the number two marker and turned to look back at where she had come. Her single shoe prints left in the snow seemed a symbolic gesture of her aloneness. She turned away to her right, making her way into the forest off the trail. Two old, rusted wagon wheels revealed their presence above the snow on the ground next to her. She touched them, knowing that they were a historic reminder of the past when this area was used as a farming district.

With the rope in her hand, she continued to walk. Just a little further from the trail, she thought. As she moved she looked ahead, quietly surveying the trees to find the right one.

As she took the next step onto the soft snow underfoot, the solidity she expected disappeared as the ground gave way beneath her; plunging her down into darkness.