Between the Stacks

[Crataegus]

Long time coming, I know, and not too much to show for it, but after all this while, the ideas are finally coming to me, so you can--fingers crossed--expect an update within the next little while, and hopefully I can get this train back on the rails! Let me know what you think, what you want out of this, &c. &c. you know the drill by now. And enjoy!

Chapter Eleven:

In the most alarming game of grandmother's footsteps you'll probably ever play, someone crept into my flat. They closed the door with the quietest of clicks and tiptoed through the kitchen into the livingroom. With the quietest of steps they wound their way in the dark around my kitchen table and the large spot I leave open for when I finally inherit my uncle's cello. I don't care if I'm bad at musical instruments, I'm going to learn that damned thing, and I'm going to play it in that open spot! It doesn't hurt that the open area helps to divide my livingroom and diningroom up a bit.

I moved in my sleep, snuffling a bit and nuzzling back into the great wall-of-Dane behind me with a sigh. Both of us were fast asleep, and it was only the fact that the intruder's shadow crept across the dull street light climbing weakly in the window.

With a single small click of the lights, both Niels and I were awake like a shot. The blanket we had been under flew off in a spastic flurry of arms and legs as both of us leapt to our feet. While my newly-frenzied brain began to try to make sense of the lights and sounds and colours all around me now, a high, slightly giddy, and definitely girlish laugh broke through the air. It was at that moment that the pieces of my shattered senses fell into shape, and I knew immediately what had happened.

I'm a quiet man, usually. I don't like to shout. In part because when I shout, my voice tends to drift steadily toward my Scottish roots—I once had a very loud argument with a former boyfriend where by the time things were over, I sounded like I'd just got off the boat. I also don't like to shout because it brings out the worst in people. So, what happened next would likely surprise many who know me. I shouted, and I shouted loud. I don't remember all of what I said, but the gist of it went something like this. 'ANNA! GET OUT!'

'But Malcolm, how would I ever get to see what your mythical Dane was like if I didn't find out where you were today!' She quite obviously looked over Niels, an eyebrow raised in an infuriating way. Who the hell was she to give Niels that look? She didn't even like men! I threw a pillow at her while Niels bent over and snatched the blanket up from the floor. He held it out like a bullfighter's cape, shielding us both from her prying gaze.

'Malcolm, you know her?'

I nodded, 'Niels, this is Anna. She's my nosey and HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE,' I shot those words specifically at her, 'friend. '

Anna curtsied, acting as though she hadn't woken up her best friend and a strange man while both were naked. 'I'll just wait in the kitchen until you two decide to get decent.' She said, feigning hurt at being yelled at. With one last look over her shoulder at Niels, she walked toward the kitchen.

As is probably needless to say, I was livid. I felt the tips of my ears and my cheeks burning scarlet, and I clenched and unclenched my fists rhythmically. I looked up at Niels, hoping that he would be taking this—'situation' seems a bit of a mild word to use here—better than I was. My anger was stopped short by the growing smile on his face. He wasn't mortified, he wasn't embarrassed, he wasn't even the slightest bit angry; his smile was turning into a grin, and then into a full-blown fit of laughter.

After a moment, he looked over to me, still chuckling, and put a heavy arm on my shoulders. 'She sure knows how to make an entrance, I'll give her that!' he burst into renewed laughter. I was still mad—and would be for some time after—but between Niels' laughter and the sheer absurdity of the situation, I couldn't help but find myself breaking out into a sheepish smile of my own.

'I...I suppose she does....' I stammered slightly, knowing that my voice had successfully landed in the granite city (please return your trays to the upright and locked position before departing the aircraft), 'We should probably get dressed before she decides that she's going to renege on her deal.' I blushed at the look Niels gave me then. It was the strangest mix of confusion and curiosity, much as one has at some oddity in a circus, that I've ever seen.

Niels' expression changed in a split second to one of puckish mischief. 'Well, if she's going to break the agreement anyway,' he grinned and dropped the blanket, standing openly nude in the middle of my living room. I admit that I gave him a once over, feasting for the thousandth time since I'd first seen him on his handsome form. 'We might as well give her a show, right?' He looked over his shoulder at me with an impish grin and winked before walking confidently out of my livingroom. No, he didn't walk. He had the rolling confident amble of a man who doesn't thinking he's a handsome motherfucker—instead, he just is. Thinking a fact to be true requires some sort of question being raised about it; no one could question that Niels was one of the most truly 'manly' men out there. He seemed to exude a sort of quiet easy virility that, to be perfectly frank, made my knees act more like jelly than joints.

I snatched up the blanket, wrapping it about myself almost like an odd crocheted cloak from a trashy fantasy novel. With the blanket trailing behind me, I tiptoed into the kitchen. I'm still not sure why I tiptoed; it's not like I was sneaking up on anyone, but tiptoe I did. I found Niels half-inside the drier, taking out our clothes, Anna looking at me with a smirk and that eyebrow still maddeningly quirked. I wasn't quite sure what to do, to be honest, but Niels' blonde head reappearing along with our clothes in one big hand solved that problem nicely. Of course, Anna was not to be so easily thwarted out of whatever plan she had cooked up. With a sudden jerk she held out a hand for Niels to shake, 'Pleased to meet you! My name is Anna, and you are?'

Without giving her the pleasure of his uncomfort, Niels held out his free hand and shook hers in his firm grip, 'And my name is Niels Carl Østergård-Hämäläinen. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms...?'

Anna looked a bit surprised by his answer, likely having expected something less sure of himself. She would later tell me that you could tell a lot about someone by how they reacted when you caught them wrong-footed; apparently Niels passed her test. 'De Groot; Anna de Groot.' Niels chuckled at that, drawing an eye-roll from Anna. 'I know, I know, my last name is a testament to irony. But don't you dare call me Ms De Groot; that's my mother's name.'.

'I wouldn't dream of it! Although I'm sure that it would be easy to tell the two of you apart; there's no way your mother could match your youthful beauty.' Now, I know that he was turning up the charm that much because he was being facetious, but it was still a little bit ridiculous.

Anna, for the first time in her life, was speechless. She wasn't blown away by the compliment; she got her fair share of those—between her raven hair, her stormy blue eyes, and her (quite frankly) oversized bosom, it wasn't surprising. Instead, she was quite simply left nonplussed by the incongruity of a large naked man that looked to be a viking slathering on all the charms of an Edwardian gentleman. I was a little taken aback myself, and we ended up all standing there, Anna's hand still engulfed in Niels' much larger one, a handful of clothes in his other hand, and not a stitch aside to cover him.

After a few seconds, Niels broke out into the most joyful laughter I think anyone has ever let loose on the world. Within a flash, both Anna and I were laughing likewise, and what nervous tension there had been broke into an awkward-but-friendly easiness.

'If you'll just give Malcolm and I a couple of minutes to get dressed and make out a little, Ms Anna de Groot, we can have a cup of tea or coffee or something.' Niels turned to me and gave an obvious wink, to which I replied with another cheek-to-cheek (if you catch my meaning) blush.

Anna nodded, smiling and nodding knowingly. 'The teabags are still at waist level, right, Malcolm?' she asked, a slight smirk creeping back to her face.

'No, they're still in the jar on the counter where they've always—...' It took me a minute to get it, and I gave her a friendly disappointed look, walking toward my small bedroom without saying another word.

Niels followed, and closed the door behind us with a small snick as it closed. I started to drop the blanket as I got to the dresser along one wall when I felt two hands on my waist, and suddenly my feet were off the ground and I found myself tossed onto the bed, and a heavy weight on my back.

'Hi there,' Niels said in my ear, his body pressed full length against mine, his breath tickling the red hairs of my short beard. 'And you thought I was joking, didn't you?' He lifted his weight just long enough for me to roll onto my back, looking up into his blue eyes. 'That's better....' He said, leaning in and lightly kissing my neck, beginning just behind one ear and working his way to just under my chin before pulling back. He gave me a possessive grin, as though he knew that he could do what he wanted, but also telling me that he wouldn't if I didn't ask. It was the smile of someone who doesn't need to prove their control over a situation.

'I...uh...we should probably stop before...well...pants get more...difficult. If you thought Anna was bad naked, just think of her with...that...' I said softly, blushing again—in writing this I've come to the conclusion that I'm really not sure what colour is more natural to me: whiter-than-flour or redder-than-cherries—and nodding down a little pointedly.

He grins, 'I suppose you're right. How long do you think it'd take to get her to leave, because I'm not sure you should be allowed to leave the bed with clothes on....' He stood up, sorting out his clothes and mine, putting back on his trousers without bothering with anything underneath. 'Well, if she's already seen everything anyway, there's really no harm in me neglecting to wear a shirt, is there?' he said, half talking to himself.

I put on my own clothes—yes, all of them; I don't quite have that panache that it seems to take to walk around in only a pair of jeans and nothing else, above or under—while Niels watched, occasionally putting a hand under my shirt, or grabbing my arse while I tried to pull on my pants. He would smile innocently afterward as though nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

'Let's go see what mischief Anna's wrought while we've been getting decent then.' I said, hand on the doorknob.

We went back into the main area of my apartment and looked at each other after a few moments spent looking around. 'She disappeared.' Niels said, eyebrows furrowed.

'No, she's probably in the garden, reading some boring history book on the hammock.' I pointed out the only closed door in the place.

'Garden...in that room.... Malcolm, do I need to be worried?' he asked with a chuckle.

'Not at all, it's just a hobby, nothing illegal. Unless suddenly rhododendrons have been banned, but that doesn't seem likely to me.' I stopped with my hand on the doorknob and turned back to look at him.

He took the opportunity to bend down, hand on my back, and put his lips softly to mine.

 

[Q12]

Amazing as always. Need more!

 

[soeasy2]

Chapter Six: Part II


As we stood, the piano and orchestra finally met in an apotheosis of sound and a triumph of the searching, circling lovers. The piano proclaimed its theme, and in the same breath, that of the orchestra. They sang together, voices mingling and becoming one triumphant chorale. His arms held me close, and the music finally ended, the final chords resounding with a glorious finality.

Those who had loved and never met, all at once, had found each other. And they saw that it was good.

Some classy writing here! I just realized the last time I had seen the word "apotheosis" was in a Dan Brown novel. Keep up the classy work, please!

 

[ucantseei2]

pls continue this soon

 

[Crataegus]

I don't really have much to say right now. Writing this next chapter has taken a lot out of me. I'll continue fairly soon, because I know what comes next, but I won't promise when because I never make deadlines. Enjoy, and if you have any questions or comments, I'd love to hear them.

Chapter Twelve:

We had little more than touched our lips to one another when I felt the sudden lack of door behind me as it was slowly opened. Niels parted his lips slightly, his tongue gently teasing me with its touch. I responded in kind, my arms finding their way around his waist, our embrace closing until we were once again pressed together stem-to-stern.

To Anna's infinite credit, she waited until we'd pulled apart before she alerted Niels to the fact that she had opened the door. Perhaps he'd known the whole time and simply ignored it—he did seem unusually good at ignoring the odd games Anna seemed to be playing tonight. Come to think of it, I'm not sure why I didn't find it more odd than I did—she wasn't usually quite as...guileful as she was acting right now. Between the odd greetings and the sneaking into the most private room in the flat, it should have seemed stranger; of course, you never notice the most obvious things until they smack you in the face, and that's just what Anna did once Niels had pulled back from our kiss enough.

She didn't literally smack me in the face, of course—although anyone who knew her would tell you that it wasn't outside the realm of possibility; no, instead she grabbed me by the belt loop on my trousers and yanked me back into the room with her. I nearly fell, only catching myself thanks to the narrow entry to the room. The moment I was out of the way of the door, she slammed it shut with a quick flick of the wrist. It was only a second before I was face to face with her, her hands on her hips in I way I knew only meant one thing: She was worried about something and getting ready to get mad at someone.

I threw caution to the wind, my voice going back to the Scottish mode it had only just left gradually over the intervening minutes since I last careered towards it, 'And just what the fuck do you think you're doing! I know you're mad about something, so just be out with it already!'

She sighed, her brows knotting as she restrained her voice from rising to meet mine, 'Do you mind telling me what all those marks are all over you? I didn't do this in front of him,' she gestured with her head back toward the door Niels had been slammed behind, 'in case it was him. If this is some new fetish you've got into or something, you fucking stop. I know a fucking beating when I see one. I do have brothers, Malcolm. Is he hurting you?'

Immediately I crashed from swelling anger to comprehension then immediately on to a sort of frantic worry, 'What? God no! Fuck, do you think I would have him here if he did? No! I was...' I fumbled a bit, the memory of the previous night coming back with a sickening mental crunch, 'I was mugged last night and Niels found me and he took care of me. That's why we went from...you know...not knowing each-other to macking in a day. Really, he's kind of a—'

I was interrupted when Anna wrapped her arms around me tightly. 'Anna...please...not so hard....' I winced, gritting my teeth against the vociferous protests of my screaming ribs. She relented and I saw tears in the corners of her eyes. 'Anna, really, I'm going to be fine, I just am going to take a few days off.'

She nodded, 'Good. At least you have the sense to do that. Now, you neuker, if you ever do that to me again, I'll fuck you up myself. Get it?' A small smile crept on her face, as she spoke, her eyes still showing her anxiety.

'I promise. Now can we let Niels back in? He probably ran off or something while you were making assumptions—'

'No he didn't.' came a reply from the other side of the door, a smile in Niels' deep voice.

Anna stuck her tongue out at me as the door opened, Niels letting himself in. 'You know, funny enough, he's not deaf, so he could hear through the door. You doors are horribly soundproofed, by the way, Malcolm.' he said, still smiling.

'Well, Niels, it was nice meeting you, if you ever lay an unkind finger on my favourite redhead, I'll break your arms off and beat you with them. Thanks for having me over Malcolm, I'll let myself out.' she said in a bluster of flying hair and fast steps, and before either of us could reply, she was gone, the front door closing moments later.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, 'So...that was Anna....' I mumbled. At this rate, I'd be in a brogue until lunchtime.

Niels raised his eyebrow in a look I was quickly coming to love, 'And you, my dear sir, have become a Scotsman in under a minute. Are you planning on explaining that, or do you just yell at people like a Glaswegian for effect?'

I laughed, shaking my head, 'That's an Aberdonian, if you please. I was born in Scotland and raised by my very Scottish parents, and when I get mad, I forget what being a Canadian sounds like.'

He took me in his arms, not in passion, but seemingly for the sole purpose of our closeness. 'And when were you going to tell you about be a strange foreign man with a mysterious background?' he asked.

'About the time that I first yelled at you? Admit it, it'd be a right pain in the arse trying to stay mad when I sound like this? Dinnae think that, wee laddy?' I said, piling the accent on more thickly.

My efforts, such as they were, were rewarded with a chuckle and a light squeeze. 'Well, I guess you'll have to figure out something else to distract me with, won't you?'

I grinned, 'Do you have any suggestions? It's hardly fair that I should go into this hypothetical argument blind.'

He pulled back, his hands resting on my waist lightly. 'Malcolm, you are probably the only person I've ever met quite like you.'

I smiled confusedly, 'And...is that a compliment?'

He merely shrugged and took a moment to look around the room for the first time since he'd come in. I fully admit that it's a bit of an odd sight. It's a smallish room, just big enough for an office or small bedroom, but all along two walls was a table, about waist high to Niels, covered in pots and trays filled with all different plants. I had some more houseplanty sorts—you know, cacti, succulents, African violets, that sort of thing—but in addition, I also had some less common ones like morning glories and petunias and (when they decide to actually grow) carnations. Hung between the two parallel tables of plants was a large hammock, and along the back wall were two bookshelves, filled with piles of unsorted, uncategorised books. It was an odd room, but it was always the one people liked spending time in in the winter. Between the light in the ceiling and the smaller supplementary lamps on the tables, it was easily the brightest basement bedroom in the city during the winter.

'So, you don't have an outside, so you brought bits of the outside inside?' he asked, going to the hammock and pressing on it experimentally.

'That hammock can hold up to 200 kilos, so unless you're a lot heavier than you seem, you can get on without having to worry. Just don't hit yourself on the bookcases on the wall there, I'd hate to have to dig you out of the inevitable book-alanche.'

He sat, quickly swinging his legs up and putting his head on the large squishy pillow at one end. He closed his eyes for a few seconds while he got himself comfortable, then opened them, raising his head to look down. 'Well, would you look at that!' he said, wiggling his toes, 'I'm not hanging off the end like I was on your bed!'

I nodded, folding my arms across my chest lightly and smiling, 'I paid more for that hammock than I did for the bed. I got that bed on sale because for some reason, no one wanted a bed only six feet long.'

'Well, I'm glad you did, because this is more comfortable too. It's too bad there isn't someone else over here. I really don't like lying down alone.' He grinned over at me for a moment then closed his eyes.

He was a cheeky one, thinking that he could just hint like that and that I'd come right away. I'd show him!

That is, I'd show him exactly how perfectly fine with doing just that I was. I climbed on, laying on top of him with my cheek against his chest. The light dusting of fur there tickled my nose, making me smile—not that I needed another reason to smile; he was more than enough reason all on his own.

We lay there for a long while, the smell of his skin and the abundant green all around us filling my nose, the regular sound of his heart pumping and his lungs filling with air and then softly emptying somewhere deep in his chest filling my ears. I may have fallen asleep there, I'm honestly not sure. I know for a fact he fell asleep though, as he snuffled once or twice in a sort of quiet snore then went quiet again.

It was only when a jangling discordant racket burst forth from Niels' pocket that he woke with a start, fumbling to grab the phone and turn it on. He looked at the screen and frowned, though he gave no clue as to who it was.

Hej? Far? he began in rapid Danish, his brows knotting together, Ja, far, men det er fire klokken om morgenen.

He looked down to me, 'Det er min far.' he said, forgetting to switch back into English.

Nej, nej, far, farten ned!

Hvad er det? Hvad er der galt?

Mor? Hvad er der galt med hende?

Lort. Nej, far, jeg ikke kender.

Nej! Jeg ikke kender!

Ja, så snart jeg kan.

Er du stadig i Odense?

I samme lejlighed?

Ved det store sygehuset?

Ja, ja, så snart jeg kan.

Jeg lover, at jeg vil.

Jeg elsker også dig. Farvel.

I looked at him as he closed the phone. Through the conversation, his expression had gotten steadily more grave until by the end he looked as though he didn't see anything in the world except what was troubling him.

I got off the hammock as he sat up, still looking at him with worry, I'm sure, written all across my face. Have you ever been so worried, but so unsure what you were worried about, that you couldn't even stop to ask what was wrong that was making the person you care about worried? That was how I felt at that moment, and though I didn't speak Danish, the mention of Odense, Niels' hometown seemed a bad sign.

'Malcolm, I'm really sorry to do this, but I have to go, and I have to go right now.' he said quickly as he stood. I followed him dumbly as he rushed around my small flat, grabbing his shirt and keys and heading for the door.

With his hand on the doorhandle, he turned back and leant down, giving me a brief kiss on the cheek. 'Don't worry. I'll call soon. I just... I'll call you.'

And with that, he was out the door. I heard him crash up the stairs back to the front door before I realised.

'Wait! Niels!' I shouted up the stairs, taking them by twos in my bare feet. 'You don't have my number!' I said as I got to the front door just in time to see the red lights of the back of his car disappear into the night. And then, all that was left of my Dane was the feel of his lips on my cheek and the sound of the rain. The rain which had so thrilled us only hours ago was still slashing down, and the sound it made, smacking a thousandfold on every surface of my body as I stood there, waiting for him, was the sound of my sinking loneliness creeping back after the seeming mirage of the past two days.

 

[ucantseei2]

niels mother
oh how are malcolm and niels going to meet again

I know you just posted a new chapter but I really wanna know what happens in the next part!

 

[Crataegus]

Wow...I really need to do a better job proofreading.... So many mistakes in there. Sorry about that, I know it makes it harder to read.

I think—rather, I hope—to be done Chapter Thirteen tonight, so stay tuned!

 

[ucantseei2]

woah hopefully you can finish it tonight

 

[Crataegus]

Here you go! I'm really feeling this right now, so in the next couple of days you should (unless my brain dries up) be getting another new chapter. In the meantime, enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen:

I stood in the rain for a while before going back inside my suddenly-too-large flat. I sat down on the couch, turned on the television to some random channel, and I just...kind of...sat there. What the hell was I going to do now? I had found an amazing guy who seemed to think that I wasn't half bad as well, and something had happened and he ran off. And now, I have no way of getting a hold of him. I didn't have his phone number, I didn't even have a phone any more because it was stolen. I would either get lucky, or I wouldn't; even though I'm not one to think like this normally, the only thing I could think was that if it was meant to be, lightning would strike twice, and we'd find our way back to one another. And if it wasn't meant to be, we simply wouldn't.

It wasn't long before I woke up, the faint sound of some morning radio show or another heralding my alarm clock's continued functioning. I stood, glancing for a moment at the clock and looking away when I realised that I didn't really care what it said. I went, the last remnants of last night's rain still drying on my jeans, and turned off the crowing of my artificial rooster.

I walked around without really thinking all that much about what I was doing. It might sound stupid to you, reading this; after all, I'd known this man for barely more than a couple of days, and we'd hardly even done anything together. A large part of our time together was just us sleeping at each-other's sides. Maybe it was just a case of my heart jumping ahead to things that hadn't happened, and now probably wouldn't ever happen; maybe it was something else. I don't know. All I knew was that it felt like some piece of myself was missing—as though some hitherto unknown part of my life had been ripped suddenly away. I suppose in some manner it had.

I spent most of that day on my couch, looking at the television as I missed show after show that played on it. I don't really know what happened to the day, but by the time I stood up with my empty mug and teapot in my hands, the clock read 3 o'clock in the afternoon.

I rinsed out both mug and pot, leaving them next to the still-unwashed bowl in the sink. It finally occurred to me what I could spend my time doing. I knew that I needed to get out of the house and actually do something, but until that second I had not the vaguest idea of what that something should be. Within five minutes, I had a fresh set of clothes and my coat and shoes on, and a pocketful of change jangling in my pocket for the bus.

First stop on my trip was to pick up my car. With all that had gone on in the past few days, my car was still sitting on the side-street I had left it on those long hours ago when I had gone to work. It was still there, a soggy handwritten note stuck under the wiper informing me that if it wasn't gone within the day, I would get towed. I smiled ruefully, 'Well there's one tosser who never followed through on his threats.' I said to myself as I sat down, putting my moving rust-pile into gear and driving off.

It took more than two hours, going to nearly every store that sold music in the city before I came across one that had what I was looking for. In our long talk in the coffeeshop, Niels had mentioned that he had managed to get a record of his music published on an obscure local label. He had laughed it off as a project mainly devised to appease his vanity and his parents who wouldn't watch the programmes he wrote music for, and couldn't visit his concerts here 'in the new country'. In the dingiest corner at the back of an already dismal hole-in-the-wall store, I looked through an unsorted pile of CDs labeled with a hand-written sign 'LOCALE MUSIC $5/PER OR $12/3' and suddenly found a picture of Niels standing next to a large grand piano in one of those oddly forced poses that all people on classical record covers had. 'By His Own Hands Wrought: Piano Concerto no 1 in D♭ major & Piano Sonata no 4 in E minor' was laid in large blue script over his picture, 'N. C. E. Østergård-Hämäläinen' floating above his head in a similar font.

I quickly rushed with my prize to the counter, paying for it and hurrying back to my car. I grappled with the dilemma of whether to rip through the cellophane wrapper and play the CD right there in my rickety car, then decided that no, I would wait. I could wait the time it took me to get home, then I could put on my giant goofy-looking headphones and listen there, surrounded by my garden, on my hammock.

It felt like the time between getting in my car and getting the key in the lock on my front door was only a blink of an eye, and before the second blink—or so it seemed to me at least—I had my ancient CD player on, the big puffy headset firmly around my ears, and the brief moment of crackling silence just before the music began.

By the time the first piece was over (or at least, what I thought was the first piece—turns out the Piano Concerto is in three pieces), I was somewhere far away, no longer in my own thoughts in the present, but in Niels' flat, counting the windows while I made up my mind to kiss him for the first time. Then, in the span of just seconds, I was blushing in his bathroom with the haze of mist billowing around me. Then, finally, I was kissing him, the two lovers of his musical world becoming synonymous with his body and mine. We blazed alternately with the near-animalistic passion of the orchestra and the radiant grace of the piano.

Then, with the final lush chords of his piece fading in my ears, I felt my own room, still feeling newly-emptied of his presence. Tears welled up in my eyes and I pressed my face into one of the pillows and I wept. The second piece on the recording was a complete contrast to the first. The lushly glowing phrases replaced with half-choked sighs of the most intense and profound loss I had ever heard in music.

Each time the piano, this time alone without the orchestra to find solace in, would rise up, groping through the dark desolation of the music around it, it would seem to fall short. It kept trying to find a crack in the gloom of its sound-world, but no light seeped in. It was profoundly sad, and seemed to be written for the same lovers as the Concerto, but this time, instead of finding one-another in a glorious synthesis of themselves, they slipped by each-other, each reaching and each falling short. In this music, there was no apotheosis; there was no final radiance; in this piece, both voices ended with only a sigh. A final phrase, trying hopelessly one last time to rise up to deliverance faded into the smoke of a remembrance never realised.

With these two products of Niels' soul ringing in alternation—the profundities of joy and sorrow in equal measure, each acting as foil to the other, together forming a greater narrative of life and the many-varied feelings and experiences that life brought to any who sought love—I lay there, the CD beginning once again every time it had finished, making an ever alternating sequence that found my way to a half-sleep, my mind full only of the soaring and sinking sounds of Niels' own heart.

After a time, I pulled out of my reverie and went to the kitchen, putting a tin of soup into a bowl and boiling water for a pot of tea. I didn't bother heating up the soup, eating it in its cold half-congealed form. I watched the television for a while longer before going to bed. It was only ten o'clock, but I was still worn out from my long day of moping around. I had just settled back into my bed, my hand on the switch for the lamp, when my buzzer squalled from the hallway.

'Motherfucker.' I groaned, sitting back up and letting the blankets fall off me as I got up and went to the buzzer panel in the hall. I pressed the listen button, didn't hear anything, and just pressed the door button. It was probably just some lazy pizza guy or something who pressed the wrong apartment's buzzer. Shit like that happened a lot, and most of the time it was easier for everyone if you just buzzed them in.

When I was sure that unless they were unbearably stupid they had gone through the door, I went back and sat back on the bed. 'Maybe I should just go to work tomorrow....' I said to myself with a sigh. I was just about to get back into the bed when I heard a quiet, almost questioning knock at the door. It wasn't Anna, because she didn't bother knocking—nor buzzing for that matter. It wasn't Niels, because...well...I just kind of had a feeling about it, honestly. I couldn't think of a better reason than that.

'Motherfucker...this better not be something I don't give a fuck about....' I muttered as I stood back up, put on a pair of shorts and a tshirt—no reason to make the person with the wrong flat number feel any more awkward than it had to be by going to the door naked.

I ran my hand through my hair, grumbling quietly. When I got to the door, the person was just knocking again, a little louder than before. I unlocked the door with a small jerk on the handle—I really needed to talk to the building manager about that—and opened it, getting ready to explain that this was flat 1, not 2, or whatever they were looking for.

When I looked up, my eyes were assaulted with so many shades of pink, I knew instantly whom it was. 'Elaine? What are you...come in. I'm not sure what I can help you with, but for you to come all the way here after work...?' I trailed off as she shook her head slowly.

'No, Mal, it's nothing you can help with or anything like that.' she had decided early on that I looked more like a Mal than a Malcolm. I hated it, but didn't care enough to correct her, and it was too late now that she'd been doing it for months, 'I just came over because there was...well... A really strange call just as I was closing up.' she said, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind her.

'Strange call? What...how was it strange?'

'Well, I answered like I always do, then this man on the other end said “I don't think he's working today, but is your manager working today?” and I thought that was odd on its own, after all, why would he know whether the manager was in today. So I told him that the manager was sick today, and that he could call back in a few days when you were feeling better.'

As she spoke I led us into the small kitchen and put on the kettle to boil.

'So he said that he had an urgent message to give to the manager. He told me to tell you that “He had to go to Denmark, and that he needed you to go get something off his desk in his apartment. And that there was a spare key behind the bushes in front of the building.” and when I asked who was speaking, he just chuckled a bit and said that you would know who it was. Isn't that weird?'

I nodded, getting out two mugs. I didn't say anything because my mind was going at a thousand miles a minute. Niels had called the library because my phone was gone, that much was plain, but what was he talking about. He had gone to Denmark? I needed to get something off his desk? What did all of it mean?

I let Elaine yammer on for a while, my tea being cold by the time she had recanted the past two days' goings on in the library in excruciating detail. When she had finally talked herself out after wishing me a speedy recovery from my 'accident' (I hadn't bothered explaining what had happened, just saying that I'd hurt myself and needed to be away for a while), I showed her out with a wave.

She was only just pulling out when I was hopping into my own car and speeding off into the city, using the address Niels had given her as a guide.

Even when the car was stopped at a light or waiting for some drunk pedestrian my mind felt like it was still zipping along, jumping from possibility to possibility with little rhyme or reason. What did it all mean? It sounded bad last night, but maybe it wasn't so bad? Or maybe it was really bad and he needed some important document or something?

I was still thinking myself in rapid circles when I pulled up in front of Niels' building and got out in a flash. Before you could say 'Suspicious activity' I was rooting around at the base of the large lilac tree next to the entrance. My fingers closed on a small black box and shook a key out of it after fumbling in haste with the lid. It was only a few moments more before I was bolting through the front door and running up the stairs to Niels' flat. The movement made my ribs ache, and made my head begin to pound, but I ignored these and when I got to the door, jammed the key in and turned, letting myself in.

I had seen a small room off to the side with a desk and computer in it when I had been here, and, nearly tripping as I sped through his flat, I ran over to it.

I looked around, sure that whatever it was would be obvious. He would have said more if it was something I wouldn't instantly recognise, right?

It only took a couple seconds before I saw what it was, and when I did, my mouth fell open and my stomach dropped down through the floor.

 

[ucantseei2]

I wonder what it is

 

[ucantseei2]

bump

 

[Crataegus]

Right, so I'm almost done chapter fourteen (I don't promise when; life is kicking me in the knackers and all my creative output's suffering....), but I was thinking, and wanted to know your opinions on something.

I was thinking earlier today that perhaps I might think about putting this story up for publishing on Amazon through their self-publishing for e-books. What do you all think? Good idea, bad idea? If you think I should, how much would you think it should be priced at? Any suggestions to bring it up to that level?

Anyway, I'm going to keep thinking, and who knows, you all might have brilliant advice.

 

[BigInBellevue]

I think the writing is excellent. If you were to submit it, there are some grammatical and spelling things which should be addressed. I'd almost volunteer to try to make those changes, but the story is so lengthy that maybe I shouldn't. If English isn't your first language, then I am terribly impressed with your use of it.

 

[thefroh]

Definitely get this published! It has serious potential!

 

[knox1998]

This is an incredible story. Please, post when you can. I would certainly pay to read this piece of art.

 

[lebanese-dude]

amazing!

 

[ucantseei2]

would love to read more of it

 

[thefroh]

MORE!

 

[Crataegus]

Well, after a long hiätus here, I'm back, and what's better yet, I have the next chapter finished and the one after that well started. I'm in Finland, and it seems that the best cure for my writer's block is jet lag and late nights in foreign countries--which is, unfortunately, a rather expensive solution, so don't expect it to last too long. That being said, because I don't want to give you a glut of the story all at once before the next inevitable drought, I'll wait on giving you the one after this until I arrive in London sometime in the next week, so there's that to look forward to for you all!

With all your warm and, quite frankly, unexpected encouragements, I've decided to definitely put my little story (though it's not so little any more, I suppose, is it?) up for sale when it's done. I'll, of course, put up something here when I do in case any of you want a copy of it for your own.

At any rate, without further adieu, let's get to it!

Chapter Fourteen:

Niels' desk was fairly small, and on it was a laptop computer and a mouse, the laptop rigged up to a printer sitting just to the side. On his screen I saw a large window which had a message at the top reading 'Remote Access Last Active from /user=NCEÖH?local=UK?net=aerofi?t=16.34.47' and a number of smaller windows under that. It looked complicated, and it didn't hold my interest that long because of what was sitting on the printer.

A couple of sheets had been printed out, but I could only see the top one, which had my name written in large letters on it, and one of those fancy bar codes that looks like a bunch of squares having an orgy. It also had a large logo across the top reading 'British Airways – Flight 406/193 YYZ-LHR-CPH Vancouver Canada to Copenhagen (København) Denmark (Danmark)'.

He had bought me...a plane ticket. I took the page, reading every solitary scrap of writing on there, making sure it wasn't some strange joke, but no, the ticket was real. And it was for tomorrow. Not just tomorrow, no; it was for all of—I looked at the time reading on his still-active computer—only five hours from now at 4:45 in the morning.

What do I do? I have to go now that he's bought it, right? No, I guess not, but I want to, I think. But could I? I barely knew him, and even though, yes, I have a passport, could I actually take the time? Yes, there was nothing stopping me. So I was going. Right? Yes. I decided that I would go. He had done it spontaneously, so I should return with some spontaneity of my own, right?

God, what was I doing? Was I really going to fly off to Denmark on the whim of a man I'd met, what, four times in all? They talk about not talking to strangers in school, but what about something like this? Was I sick the day they handed out advice for how to deal with romantic gestures from near-strangers whom you've fallen in love—or at least in lust, to borrow that line from Amadeus (a movie I would learn to love—and recite word-for-word—because it was a certain Dane's favourite)—not more than a fortnight ago? No, I suppose they don't give out advice like that. It's easy knowing what to do with fire (say it with me now, 'Stop, drop, and roll!'), with strangers' candy, with crossing the road; but what advice is there to even give in situations not of safety of body, but safety of the heart?

It wasn't long before I was back at home, my lime green suitcase (the best tip I have for buying luggage is this: Buy the ugliest, gaudiest, on-sale-iest suitcase you can. I guarantee you, you will never have to worry about grabbing the wrong bag on those damned free-for-alls they call carousels) had disgorged all of the old knick-knacks and clothing that I hadn't unpacked from my last trip to see my parents—yes, it was more than eight months ago, don't judge me, you do it too—and was being filled with what hodgepodge of clothes I could manage to find that didn't need a trip through the laundry. Of course, it wasn't enough, so I had to run the fastest load of laundry of my life and shove those all into the brightly coloured case; tshirts, button-downs, jeans, khakis, even a couple pairs of shorts in case it was warm (after all, it was the beginnings of spring in Canada, who knows what the weather would be like in Denmark?) all found their way into it.

By the time it was done, I was running on fumes and the adrenaline from the craziness of the day, and it was 12:30 in the morning. I had only four hours until my plane left, and there was no time to rest. Instead, I took my suitcase in hand, rolled it over to the flat above me, and knocked on the door. I knew that Dave, the guy who lived there, would be just getting ready to go to work, and I knew he would be awake and at home.

Dave opened the door, rose his eyebrows, and smirked. 'So, the leprechaun knocks at my door at midnight. What do you need, Mal? A rubber? You finally got yourself some tail, eh?'

I blushed and shook my head, 'No, I lost my phone. Do you think you could call a cab for me?'

He sighed sarcastically, 'One of these days, Mal. One of these days....' He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled, talking with dispatch and giving them the address. 'They want to know where you're going?' I told him, he relayed it, and snapped his phone off. I thanked him for his time, wished him a good day at work, and stood at the side of the street, my new temporary bank card in my pocket in a cheap canvas wallet, my passport in the other.

The cab dropped me off half-an-hour later at the departure doors at the airport. I checked my luggage, got my boarding pass, and went through security.

It all seemed to be going well enough, emptying my pockets, taking off my belt, stepping into the scanner. I passed through, with the security guard pulling me to one side when I went to grab my things. 'Excuse me, sir?' the bored-looking man mumbled, 'I hope I'm not being indiscreet, but I think you may have forgotten something...er...down low.' I frowned at him. What the hell did that—oh. I had just thrown on a pair of jeans, forgetting my underwear in the process. It was a bit...odd that the security guard was mentioning it though.... Or at least, it was until I looked down and noticed that without my belt, my trousers had fallen and a bit of red fluff was poking above the waistband. I'll be honest, I was absolutely mortified, and it didn't help when the guard laughed as I hoisted up my jeans with one hand, fumbling to gather my things with the other.

With my modesty regained, I went to my gate, sitting on those ever-uncomfortable benches while children squalled around me in a riotous chorus. I read a book I'd brought—nothing exciting, just some schlock horror thing I found in the returns bin at work—and sat and thought. I was going to Denmark. Not for some big project or a vacation, but for a man, and I had no real reason why I thought I had real cause to.

Sure, I had enough money stashed away for a vacation that I could pay for myself while there, get a hotel, have something to eat, all that; but that didn't answer the big question: Why did I trust Niels enough that I would get on a plane, fly more than 5 000 kilometres, and just expect him to be there on the other end? I thought about it, and thought about it, and couldn't find an answer.

My father used to always say that the Zen masters in Japan didn't have two ways to answer a question ('yes' and 'no'), but rather three. You could always answer the usually 'yes' or 'no', but you could also answer with 'mu'. According to my father—and I'm not sure to this day how true any of this is, but it's a useful enough concept that if the Japanese don't have mu, they should talk to my father and learn all about it so they can adopt it right away—mu is a way of expressing that deep and unsettling realisation that there is no 'yes' or 'no' to answer a question, and instead you must conclude that it is, as my father phrased it, 'a question wrongly asked'.

Here, I'll give you an example before I explain what all this has to do with my story. Say someone where to ask you 'Is this your dog?' with a dog on a leash in front of you. That's a simple one, it either is or it isn't. But if they were holding out a pineapple to you and ask you the same question, neither 'yes' nor 'no' answer it in a meaningful way; the answer is mu. It's a stupid example, of course, but it gets my point across, I hope, and so let's go away from puppies and tropical fruit and back to the aeroport.

Why did I trust Niels enough? Mu. No, there wasn't a good answer for that because it wasn't a question I could answer without changing the question and instead asking it another way:

Why did Niels trust me enough that I was given the chance to trust him?

And that, my dear reader, leads us to the inescapable conclusion that had my pensive look turning into a giddy stupid grin.

Why did he trust me? Because he knew he could, because he knew that I felt for him as he felt for me. We were in love.

I got on my flight, getting a sleepy smile from the flight attendants as I took my seat. With little thought for the rest of the plane, I wadded up my jumper into a pillow, and fell into a deep, warm, and dreamless sleep.

 

[Crataegus]

All right! Because I'm terrible at keeping my promises, I'm going to break the one I made in my last update: I'm not going to post the next chapter when I get to London.

Instead, even though I've got another couple days in Helsinki (which is an amazing beautiful city, by the way), I'm going to post the next chapter now! It might disappoint some of you a bit, if you're expecting...well, no, I won't even say; instead, I'll just say that it might be as soon as tomorrow that I'll have the chapter after this one up, and I have to say, it's looking to be a good one.

If you have any comments, questions, anything at all you want to say, do! I love hearing from you all! I probably would still write even if it was into a vacuum, but without you all, this story would be far less complete and have far more dust on it than it is now. A couple of fun little facts about the story: It's just today reached 40 000 words long (including unposted things), and about 17% of that was written just while I've been in Finland (nearly 7000 words). Right! Well, enough nattering on, and on with the show!

Chapter Fifteen: Part I

'KKKSSSHHHHKKKT—s is your captain speaking. The time is now eight P.M. And we're ready to make our final descent into London Heathrow Aeroport. If you could put your seats and trays in their upright and locked positions, we'll have you out to the gate a little early today. The weather in London is a foggy and rainy 12 degrees centigrade. Thank you for flying with British Airways today, have a nice evening and happy travels.'

The captain's voice woke me from my sleep with a start, the lady next to me laughing good-naturedly. 'You were asleep for the whole flight, dear! The flight attendent came around a number of times with the trolley and you were like a log every time!' She laughed again as I blushed and yawned the last vestiges of sleep away. 'But don't worry dear, you just missed the most tasteless bit of what they called “chicken” I've ever survived.' she continued, her voice dripping the quotation marks.

'Maybe it's a good thing I was asleep then. I probably had better dreams without the “chicken” than I would have with it!' I turned to smile at her, copying her audible punctuation.

She was an older woman, in her mid-sixties, with a haggard face that showed a keen wit despite the camouflaging wrinkles. Her brown eyes sparkled when she smiled. 'Well, are you going to tell me who this Niels character is you were muttering about?' Her smile danced with my shocked and embarrassed expression. 'Is he a brother? Friend? …Lover, perhaps?' I opened my mouth to answer, but my increasingly rosy colour told her all she needed to know.

'You know, I once had a young suitor who looked rather like you. Same fiery hair, same green eyes, same behind.... Whomever this Niels is, love, tell him that Eleanor Whitsby says that he's lucky for you, in...shall we say, “whatever capacity he might have you in”.' I was flattered, sure—confused beyond measure by this Eleanor Whitsby's frankness, but flattered, in a vaguely concerned way. 'But, I'm just a woman long in tooth, white in hair, and loose in words. There's a time that comes after the end of your youth when you realise that youth is not found in smooth skin and dark hair—you find, as time goes on, that youth is in deed and word. If you hold your tongue and putter about sadly, you may as well jump in your grave half-baked. And that's why I make it my way to say what I feel and do as I wish!' she laughed gaily, her hair flying about her in a way that could only remind me of Anna.

'Are you in London long, or just stopping through?'

I shook my head, 'I just have a few hours in the aeroport before I'm off to Copenhagen.'

'Copenhagen? My my, you do go a long way for this Niels.'

I sat for a moment, trying to think of a way to reply when I felt the wheels of our plane touch down onto the runway and heard the captain's voice crackle into the cabin again, 'KKKSHKKT—nd in just one moment, we'll be at our gate a good twenty minutes early. If you have any connections today, I have some news for you. Flight AC 9094 to Stockholm is running on time, and you should make your gate with time to spare to get a cup of tea or coffee. Flight LH 749 to Frankfurt is running late, with an estimated wait of fifteen minutes. It seems there was a mix up with the gate and they've had to move everybody around. And last but not least, flight BA 193 has been delayed indefinitely due to weather over Copenhagen. It looks like you'll be waiting until the morning for a new flight. With that, have a nice night and happy journeys.'

My heart dropped down into my seat. Here I was, going off on a whim to a far-off country at the behest of a man I barely knew, and now I was stuck in England for at least a night. 'Fuck.' I said under my breath, head dropping into my hands.

I felt a thin hand on my arm, 'Don't you worry my dear. If you need a place to spend the night, I have more than enough room.' Eleanor smiled as I looked gratefully over my hands at her.

'I would be more than happy to accept your offer, but I don't want to trouble you...'

'Oh, it's no trouble at all! I dare say, a nice cozy bed and a hot meal will be better than whatever pittance British Airways offers you for your trouble.'

'Well then, thank y—' I smiled gratefully as I was interrupted by the intercom.

'PSSSKKKTCH—s is your captain once more, as the plane is getting prepared for deboarding. I've just got word that Flight 193 has been cancelled. If your luggage would have been forwarded to that flight, you'll have to pick it up at the carousel. There are agents from British Airways waiting at the desk to rebook your flight.'

Eleanor was smiling widely, 'Well, if you're hungry, which I'm sure you are, we can get something to eat, then you can sleep in Harry's old room, we can have some breakfast, take you back to the aeroport, and then you'll be back to Niels before he's even had a chance to miss you!' she spoke quickly, making plans for the evening.

It was nice knowing that I wouldn't have to rely on what little kindness resided in airlines. I've once had to stay overnight in an unplanned destination when Air Canada decided that flying to Scotland was a little too far and they would rather dump a full load of passengers in Toronto for the night. See, you assume that if the airline messes things up, they'll fix it. The truth is that there's not much they can do at times (you try finding hotel rooms for three-hundred people with only a couple hour's notice), but that doesn't change the fact that they also don't try to do much to help.

Eleanor chattered on to herself, jotting down some notes on a small pad of violently purple paper she had pulled from her purse. 'I'll have to make sure that you can get to the aeroport in plenty of time, after all, if you miss a second flight, I'm not sure we'll be able to get you there without some expense.' she turned to me all of a sudden, 'Where are my manners? I've invited you to stay the night, and we haven't even been properly introduced! My name's Eleanor Whitsby, and it's my pleasure to meet a Canadian like yourself.' her hand was held out to shake, and she was smiling warmly.

I took her hand in mine, laughing quietly to myself, 'Well, I'm afraid I have to disappoint. Instead of meeting a Canadian, you've just met a lowly Scot. Malcolm MacDonnell, at your service.'

'Oh, you wicked devil you! A clever disguise, if ever I've seen one.' she said, clapping her hands in delight. Once you got past her surprisingly frank nature, it was easy to like Ms Eleanor Whitsby. She was a lot like one imagines a kindly grandparent to be. 'Well, I suppose that will speed up your journey through customs, won't it? How's this: You get your luggage, go through customs, and we'll meet at the British Airways counter where you check-in. Once you're done there, we'll go from there, and you'll be off to Denmark in the morning!'

It wasn't long before I was showing my passport to a surly border guard who studied it closely, noting that my Canadian accent didn't match my British passport. After explaining away the discrepancies, showing him my Canadian passport, and speaking in a brogue to prove that my story really was true, he stamped both passports and grunted me through to the arrivals hall.

Once I had collected my luggage with the rest of the travel-weary people milling about, I headed off to find the check-in gate. Fortunately, there was only a short line before I spoke to the woman at the counter. She explained in slow, bored tones that the next flight wasn't until eleven in the morning the next day, that it would arrive at two in the afternoon the next day, and that a getting a hotel for the night would cost £50, but really that would be a bargain because usually they went for £100 a night, so the airline really did get a good deal for us. I declined the invitation for the hotel and got a copy of my ticket, shoving it deep into the inner pocket of my coat.

With that all solved, I turned around to see Eleanor smiling ear-to-ear with a suitcase to match her notepad at her side and two ice-creams in her hands. 'Surprise! I know it's not a flight to Copenhagen, but ice-cream solves all the world's problems, so I thought “Why not?” and, well,' she held up the two plastic dishes triumphantly.

It tasted good. It tasted really good after the day I'd had. Sweet, creamy, and the warmth of vanilla. There are times when it's the simplest things that can turn a day; this was one of them. We walked with our ice-creams and talked, stopping in the lavatories to get the inevitable creamy residue off our chins. I looked at myself in the mirror—not something I usually relish, but it has to be done from time to time—and smiled. I looked...dare I say, at the risk of vanity...good; don't get me wrong, I looked tired and fairly haggard, my hair was a nest under my toque, and my 'fashionable' (viz. born in laziness) stubble had grown into a red halo of fur on my face and neck. I turned from side to side, ignoring the creamy white headstones of the recently devoured ice-cream, and nodded. Maybe this beard could stay. It needed a trim, but it framed my face in a way that was unfamiliar, yes, but not unpleasing.

When I'd finished cleaning myself up, scrubbing my chin to get the sticky residue out of the beard I'd mostly grown in the past few days, I met Eleanor out of the lavatory and we walked to what turned out to be a waiting cab. She gave the cabbie her address and we were off.

On the trip I further found out that Eleanor had been an insurance broker in her younger days, no mean feat at the time in the twentieth century, but once she had earned her fortune had settled down and now instead did painting when the mind took her. I told her all about my journey from Aberdeen to Vancouver, about my job at the library, and, somewhat haltingly because I was still grappling a bit with myself over the sudden turn my life took, about Niels. I didn't go into certain details of course, but she nodded quietly as she listened, not adding much until she heard that he had made a disc of his music.

'And do you have a copy of it with you? I would—' she was interrupted by the cabbie before she could finish.

'Excuse me, ma'am, we've arrived. Would you be needing help in with your things tonight?' he looked back at us indifferently, having the unmistakable look on his face of a man who's been working too long and is late for supper.

'No, that's more than all right. I have our strapping young friend here to help.' she looked to me briefly, 'Would you mind taking our things to the elevator? If the doorman gives you any trouble, wave my bag at him. George recognises my favourite colour anywhere.' She turned back to the driver as I got out of the cab, 'And how much—' I didn't hear the rest for the slamming of the door.

I looked around at the area as I walked around the cab. I hadn't been paying too much attention as we drove to the surroundings because of Eleanor's obvious skill at conversation. It looked ritzy, and I saw that when she said 'doorman', she really did mean a doorman, complete with livery, a haughty aloof expression, and a nametag reading 'George' in small, not-particularly-friendly letters.

'There you are. Thank you for the late drive, and you enjoy your supper.' I heard Eleanor say as I opened the trunk—or, I suppose I should say, boot—and took out our bags. Hers was filled with bricks, or at least weighed as much, while mine was slightly worryingly light. I guess, if I ran out of clothes, I could always run to a laundromat...if they had them in Denmark. If not, I guess I would be going shopping. I wheeled our cases past George, who just gave me an uninterested look as I passed.