Wiping my hands along my thighs, I left a muddy trail across my already dirt-stained jeans. The morning's work had been more arduous than anticipated. "That took a bit longer than I expected,” I said, my voice carrying a mix of fatigue and satisfaction. The retaining wall had been a stubborn challenge, but one that Chris and I had managed to overcome together.
Chris huffed loudly, a playful note in his exasperation. "We would have been finished half an hour ago if you hadn't been so distracted by those bugs,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with humour.
"They're not bugs!" I retorted bluntly, feeling a familiar surge of passion for my misunderstood little subjects. I almost dared to say more, but I knew Chris was only teasing. He understood my work better than most and often indulged my long-winded explanations about the various species we encountered.
Chris's chuckle, deep and resonant, broke through my thoughts. He glanced at his watch, a practical reminder of the day's schedule. "So when is this friend of yours supposed to be coming around?" he asked, his tone shifting to curiosity.
"I told him to come at nine,” I replied, checking my own watch. Time had slipped away faster than I had realised.
“Well, it's quarter past now,” Chris continued, a hint of concern in his voice.
"You may as well get yourself cleaned up and start cooking breakfast,” I suggested, turning my attention back to the day's remaining tasks.
"You're not going to wait for him?" Chris asked, his surprise evident. He had always been more punctual and perhaps a bit more formal about hosting than I was.
"A tasty duck egg omelette waits for nobody,” I declared stubbornly, a half-smile playing on my lips. There was something deeply satisfying about the idea of enjoying the fruits of our own land, regardless of the delay.
"Okay then,” Chris said, his expression softening with an understanding nod. He headed towards the outdoor washroom, his steps unhurried and relaxed, very much in tune with our laid-back lifestyle here in Collinsvale.
I stood back for a moment, admiring our handiwork on the retaining wall. We had replaced the rotten wood that had been the source of much annoyance, especially during the rainy season. The new wooden slats lay neatly in place, a testament to our hard work. I bent over, taking in a deep breath of the fresh timber scent, a natural perfume that always brought me a sense of accomplishment and peace.
Just then, I noticed a small harlequin beetle crawling up my sleeve. "Hey there, little harlequin,” I murmured, a gentle smile spreading across my face. Carefully, I held out my palm, encouraging the beetle to change course. Its brilliant red and orange markings stood out vividly against the small black body, a tiny splash of colour in the earthy tones of our garden.
"What beautiful colours you have,” I whispered, almost in awe. I lowered my palm to the edge of the garden bed, letting the beetle make its way into the mix of leafy plants. For several minutes, I stood mesmerised, watching as it explored its new environment with an unbothered grace.
A light growl from my stomach broke the spell. “Right," I said to myself, reluctantly tearing my gaze away from the captivating sight of the harlequin. “Time to clean myself up and eat.” The promise of a hearty breakfast, especially after a morning of hard labour, was a welcome thought. As I walked towards the house, the anticipation of a delicious meal mingled with a lingering curiosity about Luke's unexpected visit.
Three sharp knocks echoed through the quiet of the morning, pulling me away from the day's newspaper. Setting it aside, I rose to answer the door, my movements tinged with a mix of curiosity and slight irritation.
"You're late,” I said, opening the door to reveal Luke standing there, his expression apologetic.
"I know. I'm so sorry,” Luke replied, his voice carrying genuine remorse.
Stepping aside, I opened the door wider, a silent gesture of forgiveness and an invitation to enter. "Don't mind the clutter,” I warned him casually as he stepped over the threshold. The house, always brimming with my work, was a chaotic mix of organised disarray. "Most of it is research papers and journals,” I added, almost proudly.
Luke smiled, a gentle, understanding curve of his lips, as he walked down the hallway. His eyes briefly glanced over the short stacks of papers, each pile a testament to the endless hours of study and research that defined my life.
Meanwhile, a discomforting churn in my stomach reminded me of the morning's hearty breakfast. There was something unsettling about that last duck egg, a slight disagreement with my usually resilient digestion.
"Something smells good,” Luke commented, the aroma of the morning's cooking still lingering in the air.
"We ate without you,” I said bluntly, my tone matter-of-fact. "Chris is in the garden. You can cook something for yourself if you like,” I suggested, inwardly advising against the duck eggs.
"Nah. It's all good. But thanks for the offer,” Luke replied, his easygoing nature evident in his response.
"Please sit,” I offered, guiding him towards the kitchen chair nearest the small window. The window framed the magnificent view of the enormous oak tree in our garden, a sight that never failed to bring me a sense of peace and contentment. If I were to choose a favourite, that oak would undoubtedly be it.
"I'll make us some tea,” I announced, turning on the kettle and reaching for two mugs that had almost dried on the kitchen sink. My gaze drifted to the cupboard, filled with an assortment of tea bags. Which tea shall we have? I pondered, glancing over at Luke.
He sat there, staring at the table, his fingers interlocking and then quickly switching direction. Luke's odd mannerisms, though familiar, sometimes puzzled me. Despite our lengthy conversations on the bus, conversations that revealed his intelligence and depth, he remained an enigma.
Peppermint tea seemed like a good choice. Dropping a teabag into each mug, I waited for the kettle to boil, stealing another glance at Luke. His fidgeting was becoming increasingly noticeable. A soft chuckle escaped my lips as I recalled Jane's initial encounter with Luke. Her excitement in making a new friend had been infectious, leading to our own unique friendship with him. Jane's text message from that day still resonated with me: I did it! I made contact! Without her, I doubted I would have ever engaged with Luke, given my own tendency to keep to myself.
Turning sixty soon, I found Luke's boundless enthusiasm for life quite refreshing, a contrast to my own reserved nature. But that constant fidgeting...
"Would you stop fidgeting!" I exclaimed, my patience finally giving way.
Luke's reaction was immediate. He pressed his palms flat on the table, a clear sign of his attempt to restrain himself. “Sorry,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and compliance.
The kettle whistled, breaking the brief tension, and I poured the hot water into our mugs, the steam rising and mingling with the morning light that filtered through the kitchen window.
The moment of casual enthusiasm abruptly ended as a sense of purpose took hold of me. "Why are you here?" I asked Luke directly, my tone firm. There was an unusual tension in the air, a departure from the typical easy-going nature of our previous encounters. "You've only come here once before and that was only because Jane brought you along.”
Luke's response was a throat-clearing that sounded both rough and awkward, heightening the sense of unease that had begun to settle over the room.
"Is there something you want?" I pressed on, placing a steaming cup of peppermint tea in front of him. I then pushed aside a few piles of books to take a seat across from him, my movements deliberate, echoing the seriousness of my question.
Luke leaned over his cup, taking a deep breath. "Mmm peppermint,” he commented, but his evasion of my question did nothing to ease my growing curiosity and concern.
I watched him over the rim of my cup as I sipped the hot tea. His avoidance was becoming more apparent, and it left me with a sense of frustration. He still hasn't answered my question.
Unexpectedly, Luke stood and moved toward the living room. His actions were abrupt, almost erratic.
"Where are you going? Is everything okay? The bathroom is down the hall and to the right, if that's what you're looking for,” I called after him, my voice laced with a mix of confusion and irritation. I remained seated, unwilling to indulge in what seemed like an unnecessary drama.
The sound of magazines being shuffled reached my ears, deepening my frown. What in the world is he up to? I wondered, the mystery of Luke's behaviour growing by the second.
“Karen," Luke called from the living room, his voice croaky. "Come here for a minute.”
Reluctantly, I stood up, the chair scraping against the dining room floor. "Everything okay?" I asked, making my way into the living room, my tone dry with exasperation.
"Just watch,” Luke instructed, his demeanour serious and intense.
"What am I looking for?" I asked, my frustration evident. Luke's cryptic behaviour was beginning to grate on me. His presence, usually a source of intriguing conversation, was now a cause for a headache.
Then, Luke pulled a small object from his pocket and aimed it at the closed living room door. The door, a mundane fixture in our home, was about to become the centre of an inexplicable phenomenon.
A small ball of light shot from the object in Luke's hand, bursting into a kaleidoscope of vibrant colours that sprawled across the door's surface. I gasped, my initial shock giving way to awe. "That's incredible,” I murmured, my irritation replaced by a sudden, inexplicable calm.
"I know,” Luke replied, his voice holding a hint of pride.
I stepped closer to the door, mesmerised by the collision of colours that sent sparks flying through the air. "Can I touch it?" I asked, my hand instinctively reaching out towards the beautiful display.
"Not yet,” Luke cautioned. "Don't touch it yet.”
I turned to him, my confusion and stubbornness merging. "Why the hell not?" I demanded. This is my house, after all. I should be able to touch anything I pleased.
"Because..." Luke began, but he was cut off.
"Karen!" Chris's voice rang out as he entered through the back door.
"In here, Chris,” I called back, my attention divided between the extraordinary scene before me and my husband's arrival.
As the living room door opened, Chris began to speak, but his words were lost in the sudden onslaught of bright blue and rainbow flashes that filled my vision. My body felt like it was being pulled apart, a sensation both terrifying and surreal. "Chris!" I screamed, reaching out for him in desperation.
"Karen!" Chris yelled back, his hand grasping mine.
The feeling of his hand in mine was fleeting, torn away as the colours shifted to reveal a clear blue sky. Then, a voice spoke, not audibly, but directly into my mind. Welcome to Clivilius, Karen Owen, it said, its words resonating within me, marking the beginning of something entirely unknown and utterly bewildering.
