Giddeon (Silver Strand Series)

Giddeon

The Silver Strand

Book II

G.B.
Brulte

Copyright © 2012 by G.B.
Brulte
. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction.
 
Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
 
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
 
All rights reserved.
 
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the author.

Title ID:
4042500

ISBN-13:
978-1480206236

Dedicated to Curt, Chris, Chuck, Shannon, Conrad and Brenda.

My name is Giddeon.

It’s spelled with two
d’s
because I was only five years old when I named myself.
 
I heard the name when Greg was in church, and I liked it… I just wasn’t very good at spelling back then.
 

I’m much better, now.
 

I remember when Greg would look in the mirror and I would see his reflection.
 
I knew it wasn’t me.
 
He had dark hair… I was pretty sure mine was light brown.
 
When he was getting ready to go somewhere, and he was brushing his teeth or trying to comb his cowlick down, I would attempt to look inside of his pupils there in the silvered glass.
 
I thought maybe the round black circles were windows into his head.
 
I figured that if I caught just the right angle and just the right light, I would be able to see myself peering out… peering out like an animal in a cave.

It never worked, but I did finally get out of that cave.
 

I couldn’t stay outside long… at least not at first.
 
And, I couldn’t get very far away.
 
It was almost as if there was an unseen tether holding us together.
 
An unseen tether that bound us to each other as surely as the strongest rope.
 
I didn’t mind being on a short leash.
 
Being outside was a little scary, anyway.
 

I used to have terrible dreams.
 
Dreams that I was trapped outside and couldn’t get back in.
 
I couldn’t get back in, and monstrous things could see me and were trying to catch me… and even though their claws and teeth would just go right through my body, it was horrifying for a five year old.
 
Greg would wake up crying and go to his parents’ bedroom.
 
They would try to calm him down; sometimes, they would let him sleep between them.
 
His mother would scratch his back and tell him it was just a dream.
 
His dad would
pat
him on the head and tell him he wouldn’t let anything get him.

I would pretend they were my parents, and that they were saying those things to me.

I still feel bad about causing so much trouble during those early days… it’s just that I didn’t really have anyone to talk to.
 
Greg couldn’t hear me, but he could almost see me, sometimes.
 
He knew I was there.
 
I’m sure his mom and dad were concerned about his imaginary friend; however, since it’s fairly common for young children to have such companions, they weren’t terribly worried.
 
After a year, or so, he grew out of it… or rather, I did.

“Why did you want to talk to us?” asked the therapist.

On the videotape, I pushed my hair back from glassy eyes.
 
Giddeon answered,

“
Because, there’s a great big asteroid headed our way
.”

*****

It was Melody that figured it out.
 
How to talk to Giddeon, that is.
 
My wife and I had been married for three years, and when I went to my boat one day, I found the door open and unlocked.
 
That happened, periodically, so I just told Gid ‘hello’ as I went about my business.
 
The next time I stopped by the boat, there the door was, open, again.
 
I figured he must have been bored and took it in stride.
 
But, it kept happening.
 
Every time I checked on the boat, the door was open.
 
This went on for the better part of four weeks.
 
I finally told Melody about it, and she instantly was alarmed.
 
She knew… she somehow just knew that Giddeon was trying to tell us something.
 
That he was trying to warn us of some type of danger or problem.

My wife came home that afternoon with a bottle of tequila.

“Are we having Margarita’s?” I queried.
 

We never drank, for the most part.
 
Little Gid was asleep on the couch; Boris and Samantha were around him like a pair of furry bookends.

“You are.
 
But, it’ll probably be easier on you if you just do shots.”

“What’s the occasion?”

Melody put the bottle down on the coffee table, reached back and pulled her long blonde hair into a loose knot behind her head.
 
Then, she picked the bottle back up and looked it over as if it was of great interest.
 
God, she looks sexy when she does her hair like that.

“You remember how Giddeon picked out that stock for you?”

“Yeah…”

“I think he’s trying to tell us something.
 
I think if you go to the boat and get drunk enough, he might be able to come through, again.”

I scrunched up my face.
 
Tequila has a tendency to make me vomit.
 
“If I have to get drunk, couldn’t I just go with vodka, or beer?” I suggested.

“Tequila was what you had that night before the library.”

I cringed a bit as I remembered how horrible the aftermath was following that occasion.
 
After thinking it over, I replied, “It’s just that… I think I’m allergic to it.
 
I’m afraid I’ll break out in handcuffs.”

She smiled at my joke.
 
“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you.
 
Amanda is going to come baby-sit.”

“You know, tequila makes me amorous,” I said, trying another tack.

“Giddy needs a sister, anyway.”

“Tequila, it is!”
 
I exclaimed.
 
A thought then occurred to me, “Hey… that’s what we can name her…
 
Tequila!”
 
I started in on that song… “Dan da, da dan da, dan da... Dan da, da dan da, da…”

She grinned and jumped in my lap, still holding the bottle in her hand.

“We are not naming her Tequila!
 
I already have a name picked out.”

“I like Tequila.”

“That can be her nickname.”

“What could possibly be better than being named after a Mexican Liquor?”

She kissed me on the lips.
 
It still sent little electric quivers through my skin after all of that time.

“Mia.”

“Okay… Mia.
 
Mia Tequila.”
 

Boris meowed.

“See… he likes it.”

Melody shook her head ‘no’ and kissed me again.

*****

I don’t really like being drunk.
 
After the first little buzz, that’s usually enough for me.
 
You know how it was when you were a kid… how waiting for Christmas was actually better than having all the presents and toys?
 
That’s the way I am with alcohol. The drink is more fun than the drunk.
 

When I was six or seven, I was always a little sad when Christmas morning was over and all of the gifts were opened.
 
I didn’t really want to play with them.
 
I wanted to wrap them back up, put them under the tree and wait for night to fall so I could go back to sleep and try to listen for the sound of reindeer on the roof, again.
 
I was a strange kid.
 
More into the journey than the destination.
 
I guess that just carried on over into my relationship with booze.

However, Melody had insisted that I get drunk, and, I never could tell her ‘no’.
 
If she asked me to get a full body tattoo, I would probably do it.

*****

That night, after a good portion of the bottle was missing, I called out to my wife who was trying to sleep in the forward bunk.

“Honey... did I ever tell ya I love ya?”

“Yes.”

“Just checkin’…”

I was sitting in front of my laptop computer, surfing the web.
 
After a few seconds, a thought occurred to me.

“Hey… do ya think Giddeon will pick out anotha shtock for us?”

“We don’t need the money.”

“Oh, yeah.”
 
I mulled over my options for entertainment while being held captive by alcohol on my boat.
 
Then, I had an idea.
 
“Want me to sing ya a song?”

“Whatever melts your butter.”

I nodded and grinned.
 
“You melt my butta… yes, you do.
 
Hey!
 
That woul’ make a good title.”
 
I went over to the couch, grabbed my guitar and started in on an impromptu composition:

“You melt my butter…

Ain’t no one I’d ruther

Turn the heat up in my pan…

I’m your biggest fan!”

I could hear her giggling in the dark forward section of the boat.

“I’m your lucky guy…

So if I have to fry

Chick’n, fish or beans,

Melt my butter, melt my dreams.

Melt my butter!
 
Melt my dreams!”

More giggling from the front of the boat, and then, I heard, “That’s sweet.”

“It needs a lit’le work,’ I said.

“I like it just the way it is.
 
I’m going to sleep.
 
Keep the computer on and a Word document open.”

“Okey-dokey!”
 
I continued to pick around a little bit on the guitar, but, the lyric well had run dry.
 
I went over to the computer and had another swig from the bottle.

*****

I woke up the next morning with a ridiculously horrid hammering all along the inside my skull.
 

I had drooled on the computer, and there were 257 pages of

 
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm’s

where I had apparently fallen asleep on the keyboard with my face on the keys.
 
I didn’t think Giddeon was sending me a cryptic message about humming, like they do when meditating, so, I was about to close out the program when Melody stopped me.

“Scroll backwards through the document… let’s see if anything is buried in there.”

I hit the up arrow and we looked all of the way through the pages.
 
We could have saved some time just skipping to the front, before all of the m’s.
 
There was one word with a period behind it.
 
Melody and I looked at each other, and, then, back at the screen.

Hypnosis.mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

*****