Martin gave her. Instead of napping, maybe she was passed out? Harry screamed at him from inside, ordered him to go check on her, but Erich knew she’d set boundaries for a reason. He’d respect them. For a little longer, anyway.
Erich hosed off the blades of the lawnmower and pushed it back to the shed. His body ached, but the hard work felt good — he was blessed to be alive. Jaden’s torture had focused on mental anguish. Erich remembered sensing heat and cold in the afterlife, but it didn’t compare to the sun beating down on him and the cold water splashing up and hitting his face. A ladybug crawled up his arm. He paused, enjoying the tickle and then brushed it back into the grass.
Erich now understood that how his soul and his body experienced sensations were very different. What he’d wagered — his afterlife — hadn’t meant all that much to him in the moment, but now that he’d experienced life again, giving up a body seemed too much to endure.
As he set the lawn mower in its proper place, Erich noticed a wooden cabinet. It had escaped his attention earlier and had to be a recent purchase. He reached to open it and found a padlock dangling between the two bar handles. Upon closer inspection he discovered the lock was one of Harry’s favorites, used in numerous escapes. He could pick it blindfolded — and, in fact, quite often had. All he needed was the proper tools. If not his set of master keys or his picks, a needle, sewing pin, or hair pin would do the trick. Turning back to the work bench, he started rifling through the draws, looking for anything suitable.
Harry’s memories, his very soul, pulsed inside with each beat of Erich’s heart. Was it even possible for him to use those memories to accomplish the skills Harry had worked tirelessly to learn? There was much more to picking a lock or escaping shackles or a straight jacket than the mental know-how. In this moment, nothing seemed more important than proving those skills were not as dead as his previous body.
Finding a hat pin, of all things, in the bottom of the drawer, Erich faced off against the lock. That piece of him that was all Harry stood tall inside, filling the void, making his head swell and swim. Squatting so he was on eye level, his fingers began their manipulations, driven by the memories of a past life. Pride welled as the lock popped open in just a handful of seconds. “My, my, I do believe that’s a new record,” he said in a voice that was more boastful and more Harry’s than the one he’d grown used to. The lock fell away from the handles.
With his curiosity driving him, Erich moved to his feet and began to open the door. From behind, an arm extended forward, slamming it shut. Bess’s stern voice pierced the previous silence. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Welch?”
So, I’m back to being Mister? Erich searched for any excuse other than the truth. He spun to face her. “I was looking—”
Cool liquid drenched his face and hair, running down and soaking his shirt. His eyes began to burn, and he licked his lips. She’d thrown lemonade in his face.
“What’s in there isn’t for your eyes or pockets. The lock should have been your first clue to that.”
Dear God, what have I done? She was right. No excuse would pacify her now. He picked a lock to rifle through her things! If he were in her shoes, he’d be just as angry, if not more so. Harry would have tossed him off the property by his shirt collar, and goodness knows she was inclined to do as Harry would.
The weed killer? That was a legitimate excuse, but a lie just the same. Harry’s possessions felt like his, but she’d think he was certifiably crazy if he said that. He hadn’t meant harm, but lying would be purposeful and hurtful if discovered. Was there any way to make light of the situation? “Thanks for the drink. It would have been more refreshing when I was working in the blazing sun.” He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
Erich hosed off the blades of the lawnmower and pushed it back to the shed. His body ached, but the hard work felt good — he was blessed to be alive. Jaden’s torture had focused on mental anguish. Erich remembered sensing heat and cold in the afterlife, but it didn’t compare to the sun beating down on him and the cold water splashing up and hitting his face. A ladybug crawled up his arm. He paused, enjoying the tickle and then brushed it back into the grass.
Erich now understood that how his soul and his body experienced sensations were very different. What he’d wagered — his afterlife — hadn’t meant all that much to him in the moment, but now that he’d experienced life again, giving up a body seemed too much to endure.
As he set the lawn mower in its proper place, Erich noticed a wooden cabinet. It had escaped his attention earlier and had to be a recent purchase. He reached to open it and found a padlock dangling between the two bar handles. Upon closer inspection he discovered the lock was one of Harry’s favorites, used in numerous escapes. He could pick it blindfolded — and, in fact, quite often had. All he needed was the proper tools. If not his set of master keys or his picks, a needle, sewing pin, or hair pin would do the trick. Turning back to the work bench, he started rifling through the draws, looking for anything suitable.
Harry’s memories, his very soul, pulsed inside with each beat of Erich’s heart. Was it even possible for him to use those memories to accomplish the skills Harry had worked tirelessly to learn? There was much more to picking a lock or escaping shackles or a straight jacket than the mental know-how. In this moment, nothing seemed more important than proving those skills were not as dead as his previous body.
Finding a hat pin, of all things, in the bottom of the drawer, Erich faced off against the lock. That piece of him that was all Harry stood tall inside, filling the void, making his head swell and swim. Squatting so he was on eye level, his fingers began their manipulations, driven by the memories of a past life. Pride welled as the lock popped open in just a handful of seconds. “My, my, I do believe that’s a new record,” he said in a voice that was more boastful and more Harry’s than the one he’d grown used to. The lock fell away from the handles.
With his curiosity driving him, Erich moved to his feet and began to open the door. From behind, an arm extended forward, slamming it shut. Bess’s stern voice pierced the previous silence. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Welch?”
So, I’m back to being Mister? Erich searched for any excuse other than the truth. He spun to face her. “I was looking—”
Cool liquid drenched his face and hair, running down and soaking his shirt. His eyes began to burn, and he licked his lips. She’d thrown lemonade in his face.
“What’s in there isn’t for your eyes or pockets. The lock should have been your first clue to that.”
Dear God, what have I done? She was right. No excuse would pacify her now. He picked a lock to rifle through her things! If he were in her shoes, he’d be just as angry, if not more so. Harry would have tossed him off the property by his shirt collar, and goodness knows she was inclined to do as Harry would.
The weed killer? That was a legitimate excuse, but a lie just the same. Harry’s possessions felt like his, but she’d think he was certifiably crazy if he said that. He hadn’t meant harm, but lying would be purposeful and hurtful if discovered. Was there any way to make light of the situation? “Thanks for the drink. It would have been more refreshing when I was working in the blazing sun.” He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
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