The Writer and The Artist: The Gateway

Chapter 5: The Gateway

 

THE GATEWAY

 

1

 

She was floating, drifting over purple skies with her arms outstretched. A gentle wind painted across her cheeks as she flew, feeling the texture of soft cushioned clouds between her fingers like hollow silk. It was all so surreal, yet all of Laura’s five senses were entwined by the magnificent atmosphere.

            And yet another sense was growing in her mind, the realisation that she had seen this place before No, wait. That is not entirely true.

            But then she saw the tower.

            Its magnitude was astonishing. It stood upon a large shimmering disc the shade of silver. On the disc in front of the tower was a smaller cylindrical shape – a deep hint of cyan. A portal maybe? It was what first came to Laura’s mind, as her bare feet touched its icy surface.

            She had to crane her neck as far as it would go to see the very top of the tower, where a gigantic crystal was perched as an all-seeing eye. From the very top to the base of the tower was a spiralling stairway that coiled around the tower as a corrugated snake. All the way down the copper outline of the tower were strange markings – symbols that looked, perhaps not coincidentally like letters – P, G, W (or possibly an H), S, L G…but there were some that were unrecognisable, perhaps foreign sounds with hyphens. Laura could make no sense of them; she was more intrigued by the towers glowing crystal, shining a wide beacon of light across the purple horizon.

            With a feeling of promise, Laura ran towards the spiral staircase.

 

2

 

Every step she took lit up with pure glowing light below her chilled, bare feet. Each shone a different bright colour. Surprisingly Laura, at first, did not recognise each particular shade and shine. But then it hit her after a moment of glaring – the painting colours of her acrylics. Smiling, she pressed on.

            She had found the first gateway.

 

3

 

The journey to the tower’s peak should have been long. But every step became several strides towards the gigantic crystal. Laura had first seen the crystal in a shade of green, but now she could see the individual colours from the steps, swirling and wavering within the crystal’s structure like Chinese paper dragons. She was beginning to understand the reason of the tower – its purpose and her reason for her being here. She had not painted this tower.

            But she was going to.

She just needed to know where. The crystal would bare the answer.

            She reached and stood before the crystal, completely taken in. Her skin was inhabited by magnificent colour reflected by the strong brilliant light.

Then she looked behind her, amazed.

 Purple-clouded fog surrounded the entire tower, spiralled towards a distant singular point in the sky, creating a monstrous black void., a gaping hole in the fabric of this fabricated reality.

That was when it struck her.

            The painting…the void…

            She suddenly woke up, knowing exactly what to do.

 

4

 

Feeling completely attentive, she clambered out of bed and staggered quickly down to the view room, taking bare gentle steps against the creaky stairs to avoid waking Ethan.

She flicked the light on. Remembering exactly which one she was after, she went to the first stack of paintings and flicked to the back.

            Painting number one.

A fine place to start.

            ‘Only when you realise where to begin,’ she spoke into the surrounding silence, grinning from ear to ear.

            She took out the first painting, Bad Day, rendering her husband sat behind a desk with many ringing telephones, and those horrifying gargoyles and harpies hovering overhead.

She took the Field of Glory off the floor easel in the middle of the room and put Bad Day in its place. She then staggered through darkness (she avoided turning the light on in the hallway in case the light would shimmer under the living room door) to the kitchen table where all her paints had been left from the morning (Or was it yesterday - what time is it now?) and took them back to the view room.

            She gazed at the painting and saw exactly what she hoped to see, a large black circular void where there was room to paint one final detail.

            She closed the door and flicked the light switch to on.

 

5

 

Minutes after the final stroke of paint, she fell into a deep slumber. Her dreams were as blank as the eye of the void.

The tower was now there forever.

 

6

 

With the morning sun that shone through the gap in the curtains warming her left cheek, Laura opened her eyes and managed a growling yawn as she squinted at her surroundings. Peering at Bad Day - the vortex - brought her senses into focus. She had found the first clue.

            Now it was time for Ethan to play his part.

            She opened the door of the view room and went out into the hallway. She stopped, like a chess player she carefully considered her next move. After a moment of thought she crept toward the open living room door and discretely nudged her head through the gap. Ethan was curled awkwardly on the twin sofa, clutching a blanket desperately that Laura had given him the night before.

            But besides his obvious uncomfortable position, his face looked peaceful. A man dreaming in a far away place, perhaps idealising in another place that was not part of this reality.

            Another painting.

            Raising a sweet smile, she grasped the door handle and closed the door until the lock bar bounced against the door frame.

Shower first, she thought, dream-walking later.

Quietly and exhilaratingly she ambled up the stairs towards the bathroom.

 

7

 

Ethan woke up half an hour later.

            His disagreeable position across the twin sofa was felt in his aching back between his shoulder blades. One side of his face was red from the palm of his right hand pressed against it, acting as an alternative pillow to the flat cushions that provided more irritation than comfort.

            Taking a minute to suck in the surroundings to focus, grains of memory slowly filtered into place, like an hour glass of sand.

            Laura’s house.

            Laura.

            He sat up on the sofa and rubbed his eyes, constantly blinking to adjust. He listened intently at the sound of running water coming from upstairs.

            And singing. Such a beautiful voice. It was Laura, no doubt about it. Not only a sign of her beauty, but also a sign of happiness.

            Something had happened last night.

            Ethan smiled.

 

8

 

After showering and changing into new clothes, Laura went back downstairs and found Ethan, standing at the bottom of the stairs by the living room door. He looked content, as though he had something to share like Laura did.

‘Morning.’

‘Morning.’

That was all they said at first. Laura stopped at the bottom of the stairs and they exchanged an overlong glance at each other, trying to work out what was going through the other’s mind.

Ethan was the first to break the surprisingly comfortable (more comfortable than last night’s sleeping arrangements) silence. ‘You seem oddly happy. Something happened?’

Laura smiled, resisting the temptation to explain all. ‘Have a shower first,’ she said. ‘You stink worse than yesterday.’

‘That can wait,’ Ethan laughed and did not argue as he charged up the stairs.

 

9

 

After navigating his way to the bathroom upstairs, Ethan grabbed a quick shower, feeling reborn as his dry skin became smothered with warm, gentle clear water. He closed his eyes as it dripped down his face, wearing a smile as he opened his mouth to breathe.

            He felt his oily bare chest and felt remarkably clean.

            A new start, a new day, he thought, as he turned off the shower and found an unused bath towel hung on a rack by the toilet. Stepping out, his body chilled threefold. Ethan did not mind, taking his time to wrap the towel around him.

            It’s so good to feel alive, he thought, unsure as to why he came to that conclusion.

            Drying himself attentively, he placed the bathrobe back neatly on the rack, only then considering the towel that he used could have in fact been Johns. Ethan sighed.

There was work to be done.

Quickly he changed back into yesterday’s clothes.

 

10

 

Ethan met Laura at the bottom of the stairs. In silence, she led him to the view room.

She pointed towards the centrepiece and Ethan literally gasped

Bad Day. The sight of the tiny tower, in the distance within the purple swirling vortex.

After a minute had passed, Laura talked of what happened during the night: the dream she experienced; the tower and the magnificent colours that made up her selection of acrylics; the crystal at the top of the tower; the swirling balls of colour that swarmed within its hard structure; how she woke up and knew instantly what she had to do.

            ‘This is where we must go.’ Ethan said, more as a statement rather then a question.

            ‘I guess so,’ Laura replied. As she looked upon the colours of the painting, she grimaced. She had used so many dark colours; the purples of the vortex, the black strokes to assimilate the movement of the vortex, the dark grey of the harpies dead-like skin. Even the black phones on the table were a difficult sight. She did not like to use dark colours, for she preferred to use brighter, hopeful colours in her paintings. But this had been John’s first vision and she had had no choice over detail.

            Bad Day. Bad colours.

She then turned to face Ethan, her back to the painting. ‘Is it alive? The painting…what can you see?’

            He examined the paitning more carefully, allowing his gift to swallow him whole. ‘The vortex is spinning at an immense speed,’ he replied, ‘the gargoyles and harpies are dotting about the scene, as though they’re trying to escape…’

            ‘And the tower? Do you see the swirling colours?’

            Ethan found himself squinting, as if there was real depth to the painting. ‘I can just make out some colour, it is more pulsating than swirling. We would have to get closer to see it.’

            ‘So we are going in?’ she said, like a child asking a parent if they were definitely going to Disney Land. She had missed out a definitive part of the painting. ‘What of my husband?’

            Ethan had hoped she would not mention John, sitting helplessly at the desk of ringing phones. He frowned. ‘He looks in disarray. The ringing of the phones, that constant ringing…its driving him to madness. The gargoyles and harpies torment him from time to…’

            ‘Wait a second,’ Laura interrupted, ‘you can hear the phones ringing?’

            ‘This painting is more alive than you think, Laura. There is an abundance of sound within each brush stroke. The gawping void of the vortex sounds like the draining of water down a plug hole. The gargoyles and harpies are screeching with every word they scream. The phones vibrate violently against the surface of the desk…’

            ‘And my husband?’

            Ethan had to hesitate. ‘Put it this way, he’s not exactly happy about it.’ Seeing the despair in Laura’s face, he added. ‘But remember that this John is not the real John, only the part of John from that time. Think of them as mirages – ghosts of John’s past. Nothing more.’

            Laura sighed and nodded. ‘I understand,’ she said.

            Then there stood a silence between them, as both observed the painting with opposite viewpoints: one seeing an atmosphere on canvas brought to life, whilst the other seeing a collection of singular brush strokes pieced together to form an illusion of a three-dimensional image. Laura wondered which viewpoint was more in tune with reality.

            Many seconds passed before one of them spoke, as it dawned on the pair of them that they were about to embark on a surreal journey.

            ‘You ready?’ Ethan asked.

            Laura thought about it. ‘Not really.’ A moment of silence. ‘You?’

            ‘Same answer,’ he said.

            ‘Have you ever done this before?’

            More silence. ‘Nope. But I know how to.’

            ‘But not why?’

            He looked at her. ‘Such is the way of the gift.’

            She looked back at him and smiled. ‘Well let’s not stand here,’ she said. ‘What is the point of a gift if it is never used?’

            Ethan nodded. ‘Let the search begin.’

 

11

 

First came the gust of wind that slammed the view room door shut. Then it was the curtains that drew themselves across the windows, enveloping them into a queer shade.

            Time; space; life: everything outside the view room no longer existed.

            Ethan closed his eyes, as Laura stared on, unable to move an inch of her body. She watched as the white walls of the view room started to brighten and shine. She gawped at the sight of square paintings becoming silhouettes against the background. Black coloured squares against a white canvas. Only one painting remained purely visible amidst the white light; the Bad Day, which started to become animated as the angel-white light spread across each individual spec of paint.

Laura’s viewpoint started to become Ethan’s.

‘This room is your gateway, Laura. All you need is the gate key.’

Ethan smiled.

            First the vortex started to shift and turn like a rotating wheel.

            ‘I am the key…’ he chanted, possessed by undying power.

            The sound of the harpies and gargoyles came to Laura’s ear as their wings peeled away from the shadowy background and flapped organically.

            ‘And you must open the gate…’

            The ringing of over a dozen phones suddenly echoed through the room like an alarm. Laura put her hands over her ears. Had Ethan been hearing these phones the whole time? Oh my goodness.

            But what was most terrifying for Laura.

The screams of her husband.

As he suddenly became animated, tearing free from his manic appearance, he cowered in fear, using the desk as a shield against the creatures surrounding him. They yelled orders and swished their spiky tails at him. He screamed to be let out and escape, yet nobody could hear those screams. Until now.

It had surely been a bad day.

‘Open the gate, Laura.’

She looked at him, wide eyed in a mixture of panic and lure. ‘How?’

‘Like after any door is opened, you must then take the first step…’

She looked back at the painting. She could not exactly step in. But Laura knew what Ethan really meant. She took a step forward and stood between Ethan and the painting. A gust of wind that left the painting now ruffled her cheeks bitterly. Closing her eyes, taking in a hefty breath, she raised her right arm and moved it towards the painting’s lively surface. She started to feel ripples of vibration descending from the tips of her fingers and down to her elbow. At first she flinched, but then accepted it becoming her. The painting was reaching out as Laura was reaching in.

They were one.

The surreal was becoming real. Everything outside this room had become false.

The shock waves emitted from the painting became more violent as her fingertips reached closer to the surface. A sound like an electromagnetic pulse vibrated against her ear drum. Inches away, Laura opened her eyes, wincing through furore. Keeping her hand as steady as possible, as the waves reached up to her bicep, Laura pointed her finger towards the centre of the vortex; the crystal tower.

They made contact and then she was gone.