Rings and Fings Episode 6

Legion
Legion


Rachael sighed as she closed the heavy front door behind her.

Well, I’m not in a coma, so this has to be real.

Outside she could hear the traveler talking to her car. She looked down the short corridor that led to her kitchen. The kitchen that contained that magnificent feast or maybe it didn’t. Was it real? Was she losing it?

“Legion, where was that cat? I have a few questions for him too,” she muttered to herself.

It felt a little strange that her perception of him had completely changed. How was she supposed to know that he had an agenda, and actually knew her?

All these years of feeding him, when he wanted and giving him shelter, again when he wanted it and yet she remained clueless. She had always thought of him as a scruffy feral farm cat that every now and then required feeding and shelter, or sanctuary. How many times had farmers and or their wives had banged on her door holding a box of scruffy black kittens.

“Got our Delilah preggers he did,” they would announce, typically.

“What? Get your Delilah spayed,” she would retort.

“Get him fixed,” they would shout back.

“He’s bloody feral! Look it up. He’s not mine.”

“Aye, but it’s your farm he’s feral on.”

“What, you can’t be feral, and belong to someone?”

“I’ll bloody shoot him!”

“I’ll bloody shoot you!”

And so it went on.

She pushed open the kitchen door. There it was – the magnificent feast. She had hardly dented it, even though she was stuffed and it seemed like she had eaten for hours. Maybe she should invite him in and offer him some of his own food. Then again he got the food in the first place, somehow, and he seemed busy with her car. Plus he seemed to be able to come and go as he pleased despite locked doors, so what the bollocks, he can feed himself.

“In fact, what the bollocks was going on?” She stretched her arms and tried to touch the short ceiling with her palms, and exhaled a long aaahhh. No coma then, so this was all real, which was confirmed by the holes in the wall to her left, caused by her unleashing the Purdey last night.

Rachael really hadn’t considered that fact that she was unemployed; probably suffering the effects of a concussion, and the rent was always due.

There was a strange, no, make that a very strange man outside “fixing” the wrecked Volvo, who was also responsible for this feast, and in a way the holes in the wall.

Rachael regarded the food on the table. There was more than had been on there for years since her parents had, well . . . left.

She breathed in heavily, and then noticed several shiny coins sitting on top of two crossed sticks. “Hmm, the rent the traveler had mentioned outside,” she thought.

Rachael stepped toward the table and reached for the silver and gold coins. Her hand stopped, she had seen Raiders of the Lost Ark.

But, no really, this was just some coins sitting on top of some twigs he had probably pulled of a tree outside for effect. “Gypsy signs indeed,” she laughed at herself.

She reached again and as her fingertips touched the coins there was a silvery flash, and she felt a shock snap at her fingers, “OUCH!”

It felt as if she had stuck her hand in the dodgy toaster. She held her tingling hand to her chest as though she were protecting it from the “rent.”

“Bollocks to it,” she thought to herself, “I’m going to have a bath.”

She left the kitchen and dashed up the twisted stairs, said hello to the stuffed owl, and reached he beloved bathroom in seconds flat.

Green

Source

Ah, she loved it. The antique footed bath with the waterfall tap. The colour of the walls, the plants on shelves her Dad had put up, the green stuff she poured into the gurgling water, and the all the green candles. After carefully removing that bandage from her head, she let out a sigh of relief. “At last, thank goodness,” she threw off her stuff and slipped into the oversized bath and closed her eyes.

Rachael’s eyes reopened and she glanced up at the heavy bolt on the planked door, just to make sure it she had thrown it. She regarded with pleasure the huge iron key, just to make sure she had turned it. They both told her, nobody is coming in here, not tall weirdo gypsies, not bastard farmers, in fact no one at all.

She closed her eyes again and sank into the hot water.

She had thought about bringing wine to this party, but had second thoughts after last night’s Laphroig adventure. Maybe it was best to stay lucid for now.

The right hand wall sloped up as it was part of the roof, a small window allowed sunlight to pour in.

Rachael pulled back her hair and let out a breath. She looked up at the white fluffy clouds drifting above the window against the blue sky. Steam curled up from the hot water.

Okay, so it wasn’t a dream or a coma fantasy, she really was unemployed.

She could try begging for her job back, but she knew that wouldn’t work. Besides she didn’t want to give that fat arrogant Amois the satisfaction.

Her car was wrecked, her Dads’ car actually, no he was dead, along with her Mother. It was her wrecked car now. Bills to pay, the mortgage, and hostile neighbours who wanted the farm. Maybe she should just give it up, she was no farmer, and maybe she should let the bastard farmer have it, make use of it, rather than have a townie live here…..why?

Why?

Why did she stay? She had grown up here, been here for as long as she could remember.

Beautiful years with her parents, but they were gone, and she asked herself again, “why do I stay?”

She didn’t know; she really didn’t.

Rachael left the magical steamy room. Wrapping herself in her thick green robe stepped left on the small raised landing and entered her room. Sitting down on the edge of her ridiculously huge bed she began to brush her wet hair. Pulling open drawers and wardrobe doors she put on a pair of black shorts and a white T-shirt.

Standing in front of the full length mirror next to the door, there she was, Rachael Radik, twenty-four, no university, no job, and no future.

She was five-foot, ten inches, in good shape due to her runs and walks around the valley, and her mum’s old Jane Fonda videos.

Her shoulder length brown hair curtained a full and pretty face. She still had freckles for metros sake, but that was nice. Her mother’s gift of cheekbones stuck out high and proud.

Her dads’ sea blue eyes stared back at her, and even though she had big ears, her face and hair just complimented them.

The red bruise on her forehead didn't seem as bad as it felt.

Rachael thought for a moment that she did look like a farm girl. Maybe she would have some great romance like Tess, she sighed, “No probably not.”

Boyfriends were brief in her valley life. “Don’t think I blame them though, because I don’t,” she said.

The Kitchen

“How does he do this? Is he trying to gaslight me?” Rachael thought.

The food was gone, well not gone, the magnificent feast and all the trays, plates, baskets, and platters all somehow stored, stacked and stowed. How?

She did have plenty of storage room in the kitchen and the ginger cellar, and shopping and storing was not one of her strong points.

“Just comes and goes as he pleases,” she said to herself, almost as a confirmation of her thoughts.

“Okay then.” She reached into the fridge and pulled out a chilly bottle of Muscadet.

Pop!

The wine was poured into a large goblet.

Rachael pressed play on her Bose iPod player, and on came some Kate Bush.

She swigged heavily wondering if this was how it would be from now on, drinking every weird night away until she was dragged away to the asylum up the road, insisting that her cat would come and save her.

The wine was crisp and refreshing and the music was soothing. Her hair was still wet.

The girl sat back in the large wooden chair at the head of the long table and looked out of the kitchen window down the valley.

The Purdey rested against the table.

Long silvery clouds mixed with the orange and purple sky, and she wondered what was next.

Comments 1 comment

Deep Metaphysical profile image

Deep Metaphysical 4 years ago from India

The opening image got me in. Would wait to find out "what was next."

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