The Chosen: Chapter 7 - The Message

Mildred was clearly upset, but not nearly as much as she would have been if Harold hadn't called to let her know he would be getting home late.  She didn't like him coming home late. Not one bit.     

Harold could tell that she was upset by the way she was furiously washing the dishes in the sink.  He knew better than to ask her if anything was wrong though.  It was better to just pretend that he hadn't noticed. 

Setting his lunch cooler on the counter, Harold turned to sit at the kitchen table where a cold dinner sat waiting for him.  A generous portion of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy filled the plate, and Harold dug in with enthusiasm.  It didn't even bother him that the food wasn't warm, he was too hungry to care.

"The meatloaf came out really good Mille.  Did you do something different this time?" Harold attempted to break the tension with flattery.  

"Nope, same old recipe.", she said in a flat tone, as she continued to scrub a pan with a scouring pad a little more roughly than usual.  

"Well, it is amazing.", Harold said, shoveling another bite into his mouth. 

As Harold ate, his thoughts began to wander. He couldn't get the image of the message on the storage closet wall out of his head. The message was gone now.  Before he had left work, he had taken a rag dipped in paint thinner and had scrubbed the closet wall clean. All that was left on the wall now was a faint pink smudge. But he could still see the message in his mind, it was burned into his memory.

With every passing minute, Harold's anxiety was growing and he knew that he couldn't let Mildred notice. She just wouldn't understand.  Hell, he didn't even understand.   

Years ago, when Harold had found similar mysterious messages, he had thought someone was playing a prank on him.  He had told Mildred about it, and she hadn't paid much attention.  Not at first.  But when the messages had become more frequent, and Harold had begun to doubt that they were the product of a simple prank, Mildred took notice then. 

When the messages had become more numerous, Harold had become slightly paranoid and delusional.  He had begun to dream up elaborate and wild conspiracy theories regarding the messages' origins and intent.  Mildred had suspected that he was leaving the messages for himself and didn't remember leaving them. She had thought that he was going prematurely senile.  Fearing for his sanity, she had made arrangements for him to see a psychiatrist in town.  

Harold never saw the psychiatrist though, there was no need.  One day the messages just stopped coming, and Harold gradually returned to his former, non-paranoid self.  And that was the end of all that, according to Mildred.  Only it wasn't. 

Harold knew that he couldn't tell Mildred about the message this time.  She would only worry and nag him about seeing a psychiatrist.  He knew that he was perfectly sane and didn't need to see a psychiatrist and he didn't want to worry Mildred unnecessarily. His crazy conspiracy theories were wrong, he knew that now. The only thing he could do this time was to figure out who was leaving the messages for him, and why.  

This time, Harold would have to hide the messages from Mildred.  He hated to have to do that.  Lying to Mildred, or hiding things from her, was something he had always tried very hard not to do.  But there was just no way around it this time.

The thought of attempting to catch the culprit behind the messages, both empowered and terrified Harold.  He felt emboldened by his decision to take charge of the situation and not let it drive him to madness this time, but he also feared the unknown.  He was deeply afraid of what he might discover.  Every nerve in his body felt on edge, and the more he thought about his situation, the more uneasy he felt. The wait for the next message would be unbearable. He knew that there would be more, just as he knew the sun would rise in the morning.

"Harold?  Harold, I was talking to you.", Mildred said in an annoyed tone.

Harold looked up towards Mildred, caught in mid-bite.  His fork was full of food, in the air in front of his face, and his mouth hung open.  He looked at Mildred with a deer in the headlights look.

"Honestly, Harold. Did you even hear a word I just said?", she scolded him.

"Sorry Millie, I was just thinkin'.  I guess I didn't hear you." Harold said sheepishly.

"Thinking about what?  It must have been something pretty important for you to not hear me at all." Her voice had changed from scolding, to inquisitive.

"No, it wasn't important, really.  I guess I just zoned out for a few minutes, that's all.  I'm sorry. I'm just really tired.", Harold hoped that she would buy his excuse.

"Harold, is there something wrong?  You don't seem like yourself tonight.", She studied him with a concerned look on her face.

"No, nothin's wrong.  Like I said, I am just exhausted, that's all.  I'm fine.", he said, praying that his delivery sounded convincing despite the fact that inside he felt far from fine.

"Are you sure?  Your not hiding something from me are you Harold?", The look on her face became suspicious, and her tone accusatory.

"No Millie, I wouldn't do that.  I'm fine, really." He looked her directly in the eyes with the most sincere look he could summon.  Then, afraid that he couldn't hold the facade much longer, he looked down towards his plate and speared another bite of meatloaf with his fork. 

"Well, I hope so. You would tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn't you?"

"Yes Millie, I would.", he lied.                

"Good.", she seemed satisfied with his answer, "Now, back to what I was talking about.  Danny called today.  He wants me to come visit this weekend."

"Oh?" Harold replied. 

Harold didn't dare say anything else, afraid of where the conversation might be headed.  Mildred still affectionately called their son "Danny", despite the fact that he was a grown man now with children of his own.  It was as if she refused to let go of the past, and acknowledge the fact that Daniel was no longer a child.  This bothered Harold, but he would never tell her that.

"Yeah, he wants me to come Friday night and stay the weekend.  You should come too." She said in a cheerful voice.                       

And there it was, hanging in the air like a stale fart; the words Harold had feared the moment Mildred had brought up Daniel's name. She simply wouldn't give up trying.  He understood why she couldn't, but he really wished that she would.  

"Oh, I don't know, I am pretty busy this weekend.", Harold quickly made up an excuse, as he used his fork to mix gravy in with his potatoes.

"Oh, Harold.", she said with disdain, her hands on her hips, "You and I both know that's not true."  

"Yes it is, I am extremely busy this weekend."

"Busy with what?", she snapped.

"I've got to tend the garden, mow the field, and fix the storage shed door." Harold knew that the excuse he was providing was a lame one, but it was all he had, so he clung to it desperately.

"Those are all things that can wait."  her tone became somber, "Harold, you haven't seen Danny or the boys in two years.  Don't you think it is about time you made an effort to bury the hatchet, and make amends?" 

Harold couldn't bring himself to answer her.  He watched as Mildred's face changed and her eyes became wet and glossy, and he had to look away.  It tore him up inside to see what it was doing to her, but it couldn't be helped.  He just wasn't ready. And he wasn't sure that he ever would be.

"You are going to regret this, you know that." she said sadly, "Time is going to go by so fast, and then it is going to be too late.  Are you really still so bitter that you are willing to let your grandsons grow up without their grandfather?  They had nothing to do with this, and you know that." 

Mildred's words stung and Harold knew deep down that he deserved it, but he was too stubborn to admit it.  He put his napkin on his plate, pushed his chair away from the table, and stood. There was really nothing that he could say that would make her stop, so he took his plate to the sink and walked out of the room.

"It's late, and I'm tired.  I'm going to go get ready for bed." he said as he left the kitchen, and started climbing the stairs.  The old stair treads creaked and groaned in protest beneath him. 

As Harold reached the bedroom, a wave of remorse washed over him. 

Why couldn't he just give Mildred what she wanted?  Why did he let her suffer like this?  Why couldn't he at least explain to her why he wasn't ready to see Daniel? 

He was flooded with questions that he just couldn't answer.  Guilt twisted in his gut.  Not only had he disappointed her yet again, but he was also hiding something from her now too. 

Way to go Harold. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Husband of the Year award goes to... drum roll please... Harold Barnes.  

Harold stepped into the master bathroom, and stopped short.  Something in the room caught his attention.  His breath caught in his throat, and he could feel the steady thumping of his heart in his chest.

Standing in the bathroom doorway, Harold stared in alarm at the mirror above the sink. He grabbed ahold of the door frame to steady himself, feeling a bit faint. His reflection in the mirror was shocking;  his face ashen, his eyes rimmed with red, and his hair disheveled. But it was not his appearance in his reflection that had stopped him in his tracks.  It was the message that was written on the mirror that had turned his blood cold as ice in his veins.

Written on the mirror with what was most likely Mildred's red lipstick was the simple phrase, You must protect her... 

It wasn’t the fact that he had found another message so soon after the last one, that had him so distressed.  It was that he had never seen this phrase before.

This was a new one.

And there was something about the message that he found deeply disturbing. 

Who was "her"?  And why did he need to protect her?  Was it Mildred?  Was she in danger?  Who needed protection, and from who or what? 

There were so many troubling questions.  Harold's mind raced.  Earlier he had felt so confident that he would figure it all out, but now he felt completely helpless. There were just too many questions that needed answering, and he had no idea how he would ever get to the bottom of it.  He stared at the words on the mirror and a mounting sense of dread built within him.

A noise from the hallway outside the bedroom door drew Harold's attention away from the bathroom mirror.  A familiar creaking sound reached his ears.  Mildred was on her way up the stairs, and from the sound of the creaking, he could tell that she had reached the last few steps.  Panic coursed through his veins, causing all of his senses to ratchet into overdrive.

He couldn't let her see the message. He needed to get rid of it, and quickly.

Stepping out of the doorway and into the bathroom, Harold shut the door swiftly behind him and locked it. He quickly grabbed the hand towel off of the towel ring and started rubbing frantically at the message that stretched in a downward arc from one side of the mirror to the other like a clown's sinister grin.  At first all his efforts did was smear the lipstick on the glass.

Outside the bathroom door, Harold could now hear Mildred moving around in the bedroom, and opening and closing dresser drawers. His panic intensified. He began rubbing at the mirror more vigorously, pressing with more force.  This seemed to be doing the trick, as the lipstick began to lift off of the glass and stick to the towel. Thankfully the towel was dark in color and the lipstick was barely visible on it. 

Suddenly the doorknob jiggled, and Harold immediately stopped wiping the mirror. He held his breath and stared at the door. Then he jumped slightly at a soft knocking on the door.

"Harold?" Mildred's muffled voice called from the other side of the door, "Are you in there?"

Mildred sounded somewhat confused, and Harold knew why.  They never locked the master bathroom door.  Neither of them were very private by nature, and they didn't mind sharing the bathroom with one another.

"Yes." Harold called out, hoping he sounded natural.

"Why did you lock the door Harold?"

"I... Um... I'm not feeling well." he blurted out.  It was all that he could come up with quickly.

"What's wrong?" Mildred asked, sounding concerned.

"My stomach.  It's not feeling right.  I'll spare you the details."

"I knew something was wrong. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'll be fine."

"Ok, then.  I'm going back downstairs to watch some TV.  Just let me know if you need anything, OK?" she said through the closed door.

"Thanks Millie."

Harold put his ear to the door and listened. After a few moments, he could hear squeaking treads as Mildred descended the stairs. He went back to scrubbing the mirror and didn't stop until there was no sign of any lipstick left on the glass. Opening the lid to the hamper, he threw the towel inside, grabbed a fresh towel from the linen cabinet and hung it neatly on the towel ring.  He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the bedroom, glad to be away from where the last message had been left for him. 

The recent message had effected Harold more than any of the other messages ever had.  It left him severely rattled. He sat on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees, and stared vacantly into space.  He couldn't erase the image of the message from his mind, like he had been able to scrub it from the mirror.  It was still there, haunting him...

You must protect her.

It's funny how a seemingly innocent phrase, which normally would not have such a startling effect on someone, can be terrifying when found on a bathroom mirror. 

Harold struggled to get his fear under control. He knew that he had to stop panicking, and start thinking.  Then it suddenly hit him.  He realized that in order to figure out who was leaving the messages, he needed to first figure out how they were leaving the messages.  Figuring out the answer to the second question, would likely lead him to the answer to the first one.  He needed to figure out how someone had been able to enter the house unnoticed, and leave the message without being discovered. 

The message had not been there before Harold had left for work, and Mildred had been home all day cleaning.  Somehow, someone had come into the house, gone upstairs, left the message, then come back downstairs and left the house; all without Mildred noticing. 

How was that possible? 

Mildred was a very observant person, and not much got past her.  And unlike Harold, she had excellent hearing. 

How had someone managed to do all that without her noticing?

Then it suddenly seemed completely obvious to him.

The bedroom window.

It was not the most likely, or the easiest mode of entry, but it was not impossible.  If someone had a ladder, and they had been extremely quiet, then it would have been entirely possible for them to leave the message without being detected by Mildred while she was cleaning downstairs.

Harold stood, and walked swiftly across the bedroom towards the room's single window at the back of the house.

When he reached the window, the first thing he did was check the lock.  As he had suspected, it was unlocked.  Then he examined the wooden sill closely, checking the window frame carefully for any noticeable signs of disturbance. He didn't see anything unusual, and he was about to give up on his theory, when he noticed a series of small scratches in the white paint on the sill. Bare wood peaked out from beneath the white lacquer.     

Harold had no idea if the scratches had been there before or not, but there was the possibility that they had been left by someone pulling themselves in through the window.  And if they had left marks on the window sill, then there was a good chance that they had also left footprints or impressions in the flower bed beneath the window. 

He needed to know.  And he needed to know tonight.

Mildred was downstairs watching TV, and if Harold was lucky, she had probably fallen asleep on the couch as she often did.  If she was asleep, he could sneak past her downstairs, and take a flashlight outside to examine the flower bed.  

It was time for some answers.  

Slowly taking one step at a time, Harold gingerly moved down the stairs, carefully avoiding spots that he knew from experience were squeaky.  Mildred was a light sleeper, and one creak from the old staircase would surely wake her.  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he peaked into the living room. 

Mildred lay on the couch, and Harold watched her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm that indicated sleep. The TV was still on, and a late night infomercial droned in the dark room, as if someone cared.  All of the downstairs lights were off, so the flashing from the TV was the only source of light. 

Harold stepped carefully across the entryway and into the kitchen, looking back to make sure Mildred was still asleep. She was. As soon as his eyes had adjusted to the dark kitchen, he found the flashlight in the drawer next to the refrigerator, and headed back towards the front door.

Harold stepped out onto the front porch and shut the front door behind him as slowly and quietly as he could.  He turned on the flashlight and a shaft of light cut through the night.  It was foggy outside and moisture appeared as small white clouds that hung in the beam of light.

Making his way towards the back of the house, Harold periodically shone the beam of light downwards, and inspected the ground in front of him as he walked.  He wasn't exactly sure what he was actually looking for, but he didn't want to miss anything that might provide a clue as to who was leaving the messages.  So far he had seen nothing unusual. 

The backyard was much darker than the front had been.  The feeble yellow light cast by the lamp post in the front yard didn't reach the back of the house.  The flashlight lit his way in the pitch-black darkness and shadows raced in front of him like demons morphing from the blackness.

Directly below the master bedroom window was a large patch of perennials, bordered on both sides by two small boxwood shrubs.  The flower gardens were Mildred's pride and joy and they were meticulously maintained.  Harold swept the flashlight beam slowly back and forth over the large patch of brightly colored flowers.  The plants didn't seem to be disturbed in any way, and he could not see anything that looked like a footprint in the earth or mulch surrounding the flowers. 

If someone had used a ladder to reach the second story window, they would have had to place the ladder among the plantings, and it would have crushed some of the flowers, or at least left behind some indentations in the mulch.  But Harold could find no such indications that a ladder had been placed in the flower bed. 

How could that be?  

Harold had been so sure that he was going to find some evidence in the flower bed.  The fact that he hadn't found anything had him utterly perplexed.

He was leaning over, parting the flowers with a hand, investigating the ground between them, when an abrupt noise from behind him drew his attention away from the flower bed.

Turning around quickly, Harold shone the flashlight in the direction the noise had come from.  His pulse quickened and his ears picked up the steady thudding of his heart. 

He swept the beam of light back and forth.  He was expecting to see a nocturnal animal skulking through the backyard, or perhaps even the individual behind the messages. What he wasn't expecting to see was Mildred.

The flashlight beam shone directly in her eyes, and she brought her hands up in front of her face to shield her eyes from the blinding light.  She squinted in response to the sudden brilliance, and her expression was one of complete bewilderment.

"Harold?  What in the world are you doing out here?" She said, and the inflection in her voice  when she said the word doing, suggested that his behavior was utterly shocking to her.   

The possibility that Mildred might wake up and find him outside hadn't even crossed Harold's mind, so he had no idea how to respond.  He hadn't had time to prepare an excuse, so he said the first thing that came to mind. 

"I heard something out here, so I came to investigate."  Harold said, and diverted the flashlight away from Mildred's face.                  

"Heard what?"

"A noise."

"What kind of noise?"

"It sounded like there might be a burglar out here." He said.

Harold knew it was a complete stretch, but he had already started digging a hole for himself, so all he could do now was keep on digging and hope that his hole would lead somewhere.

"And you expected to find the burglar hiding in the flower bed?"  Mildred said, her voice skeptical.

"Well, no... I... I just..." Harold was at a loss for words, and decided that he should just stop talking before he buried himself in the hole he had dug for himself.

"Harold, you really have me worried.  You were acting strange at dinner, then you locked yourself in the bathroom, and now you are outside in the middle of the night looking for a burglar in the petunias." She said, her voice conveying genuine concern.  

"I'm sorry Millie.  I didn't mean to worry you.  I just thought I heard something out here, that's all.  There's no need to worry." Harold said, hoping that she would just accept his apology, and not press him any further.

"Well, come inside now before you catch a cold.  It's chilly out here." She commanded.

Mildred was convinced that being exposed to temperatures below 70 degrees without a sweater or jacket was guaranteed to cause illness.  Harold couldn't convince her otherwise, so all he could do in situations like this was to humor her.

"Ok, I'm coming." Harold said, and he began following Mildred around the side of the house.

As Harold headed back into the house with Mildred, he began to sink into complete despair. He felt utterly defeated.  His plan to take charge of the situation and get to the bottom of the messages had failed miserably. 

What was he supposed to do now?

Find her..., his mind whispered, as if in response.       

The sudden and random thought filled Harold's mind, and he stopped midstride. It was as if the thought did not belong to him;  as if someone had spoken the words in his ear.  Fear gripped his heart.  The strange thought caused an image of the message on the bathroom mirror to surface again within his mind - You must protect her. 

A sudden realization took hold; If he was going to protect her, he would have to find her first.

"Harold?" The sound of Mildred's voice pulled Harold back from his thoughts, and he realized that he had stopped walking and was staring blankly ahead.

"Harold, are you ok?"  Mildred studied his face closely.

"Oh... I'm fine.  I just need to get some sleep." he lied, and trudged up the stairs ahead of Mildred. If she hadn't bought his answer, she kept that fact to herself.                            

Harold was filled with so many different battling emotions that he felt as if he were being pulled apart. 

The fact that he had to find "her" in order to protect her, meant that it was not Mildred who needed protecting.  It was someone else who required his protection, and this knowledge filled him with immense relief.  However, part of him was also disturbed by the fact that he was not only finding mysterious messages, but he was also hearing voices now too. 

But deep down Harold knew that he wasn't going crazy.  As impossible as it seemed, he knew that he was being lead somehow by some force and that it was speaking to him;  calling out to him.  He knew that he wasn't losing his mind.  In fact, he felt as though the opposite was happening.  It felt as if his mind was being awakened for the very first time, and he was able to see things more clearly now than ever before. And he felt strangely liberated.  Yet at the same time, the knowledge of what he had been tasked with frightened him terribly. 

How could he find her, if he didn't even know who she was?  And what did she need protecting from?  Who was leaving the messages for him and why?

All of the unknowns were simply frightening.  There were just too many possible terrifying answers.

Despite his trepidation, Harold knew that he had to heed the call.  He needed to try and find her, whoever she was, and protect her, no matter what that took. No matter the cost. He couldn't explain why he felt the urgent need to do this, but he did.

Harold just wished he had some idea how he was going to do this

Reviews

[matrixmark]

Have to say, I was hoping harold was coming up. I liked him. Made me laught when Harold came home and Mildred wasin a bit of a stop - taking it out on the dishes.But because of character build up/laying the foundations which you have done ever sowell (as I have talked about previously) it felt like such a natural thing like this to happen and you really can imagine the scene which you painted. And to top it off you added anther little detail by sayng Harolds dinner was 'cold' - (all in the small details)
I like how you have delved into their past a little bit and showed that harold hid the messages from mildred. also how she tried to forcehim to go and see a phychiatrist but he refused - this in turn gives the picture of a caring wife,but a stubborn man. Also you showed that he was always on edge about receiving the next message which in turn shows the reader that Mildred must have picked up on this but kept quiet about it - almost as if a dark cloud was hovering over their lives waiting to strike its lightning at any given time. It also beggars the question of how many sleepless nights did either of them have but yet refused to talk about - fearing that if they talked, then something bad would happen.
So, then we have 'Danny' and you plant into the mind of the reader that Harold and Danny have issues. By adding this, you did it with some substance behind it becuase you have the reader asking the question 'Whats the score between Harold and Danny' and why is Mildred not upset and only Harold. Questions, questions. - Nice touch.
Then you do your thought process thing again, and those thoughts which harold was having would be the natual ones of anybody if they were by themselves but, struggle to admit them to anyone else. (Way to go Harold, drum roll....lol)
I LOVE IT - The message came via the lipstick - I have to admit, I knew it was coming BUT i didn't think it would come like that - Shocking but brilliant use of the imagination. (I love these messages)
Little details....the way in which the message was scrubbed off and how it started to look was totally awesome in the way it was done. It was like - who will win - Mildred getting to the top of the stairs or Harold getting the message completely cleaned off the mirror - Awesome tension.
He needed to know. And he needed to know tonight - Good, good line to put in, perfectly place for all what was going on around him.
Little details...the tv was flashing in the room - adds to the realism again - I these kind of details. You really have a keen eye for them too. The way in which Harold was creeping around at this time in the story really had me going, thinking to myself that Mildred was going to wake up and she would be like WTF are you doing Harold and then he would be a little stuck for words.
Great descriptions of him outside in the garden and then Mildred is awake and literally right behind him! Harold is so funny 'I heard a noise' and 'I thought it was a burglar' - I don't think so Harold!!...lol
Mildred - 'A burglar hiding in the flower bed' - I was in hysterics when I read that. But you see it's all because your writing is so good and I have become so involved with this piece that it really does feel that I am there watching all of this going on.
And the comes 'Find her' - another brilliant placement of words. I really am getting teased by these messages but,still a joy to read.
Brilliantly done once again and yes I shall be continuing with the story.
I NEED TO KNOW WHATS COMING NEXT.

A riveting read and I feel like I have had great time with Harold and Mildred.

Thank you so much for sharing

Mark.