The Recluse Storyteller Read Online Free Page A

his daughter, breaking through his psychological gridlock, her hand resting on his wrist.
    “‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m being pulled in all directions.’
    “At that moment, he sprinted twenty yards up the side of the ridge and stood hunched over staring down below. He lifted up his phantom rifle and pointed it downward. He saw the figment, the shadow, the boy intent on killing him. He yelled in a rage which frightened his daughter terribly. She had never witnessed her mild-mannered, jovial father so intensely express himself. He clicked the trigger over and over and in his mind heard the shot echo again and again like a church bell reverberating for an empty village.
    “‘Daddy!’”
     
    * * *
     
    Margaret jolted forward. She had been sitting on the couch for quite some time thinking and talking when a loud knock at the door had startled her. It was nearly five a.m. Only one person ever came to the door at this hour.
     
    * * *
     
    “Janice backed away from the light as far as she could. Her back rested on the observatory glass behind her. A calm inevitability spread over her whole body as she prepared herself to willingly release her being into the light’s charge.”
     
    * * *
     
    “Margaret,” a voice from the hallway whispered. “Open up.”
    Margaret rubbed her face and slowly dragged her feet across the floor as if a member of the chain gang not too eager to start working.
    “The light was so bright,” Margaret said aloud.
    “Margaret. Please let me in.”
    Margaret opened the door widely—not at all how she treated Mrs. Trumble’s many intrusions. She barely looked at the visitor at all, but turned around with the door wide open, walked back to the couch, and sat down.
    Janice, Margaret’s aunt, walked in, closing the door behind her. She had been charged with doing her best to make sure that Margaret was taking care of herself in a satisfactory manner. She would visit every couple of weeks, always stopping by in the wee hours of the morning, knowing for sure that Margaret would be home and awake. Janice was in her early 60s, about twenty years older than Margaret.
    “Your groceries. You didn’t put them away yet. I’ll do it.”
    Margaret shook her head, jumped up, and grabbed the two bags which continued to sit on the floor next to the door. She carried them to the small kitchen counter and started to put each item in its place. Janice watched, wanting to help but knowing not to try. She walked around the apartment and noticed the stack of letters on the desk all with the return address of Reverend Davies.
    “Margaret. All of these are from Reverend Davies, and they are unopened. What is all this?”
    Margaret quickly lunged towards the desk.
    “Some of these are dating back years.”
    Margaret scooped them all into a neat stack in her hand and put them away inside the drawer, closing it with a bang.
    “Margaret, why don’t you open those letters?”
    She didn’t respond and turned back towards the kitchen counter.
    “Reverend Davies is a good man. He helped your mother through many hardships. You don’t need to shut him out.”
    Janice moved over to the kitchen bar.
    “You don’t need to shut me out either. Why won’t you talk to me? You can be whomever you want to be, but you can still have friends. It’s just you and I. There is no other family. Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
    No response. Margaret just wanted her to leave. Part of Margaret didn’t really understand why she wouldn’t talk to her aunt. A pinch of stubbornness, mixed with fear and years of isolation, left her an unchartered island, and that’s the way she wanted to keep it. She tolerated Janice’s occasional intrusions, but she welcomed no one else into her home.
    “Are you still working for Hartford Corporation?”
    Margaret nodded, a virtual novel of expression.
    “Mr. Tomsey still your contact?”
    Another nod, adding in an epilogue.
    “All right then. You know my number if you need