![]() |
CHAPTER FIVE |
Chapter Five
Jack Porter stared at the
peculiar inscription on the flat slab of rock. He could not translate the
words, but he knew they held a clue to the stone’s magic. For the stone held
magic, of that he was certain. The islands did not have large stones such as this,
so its origin was indeed a mystery. But it held magic—for one step upon it had
brought him to Hannah.
“You must be in Heaven,” he
said as he crouched lower and touched the cool slab. “But if you are in Heaven,
Hannah, how is it that sometimes your voice comes to me in my head? That I see
you on the shore, waiting? That I tremble with the feelings of wanting you once
again? Where is it that you are, my sweet Hannah?”
And can I get back to you?
He sat and dropped his head
into his hands. “How have I been so privileged as to have had you once more? To
touch your breasts, your thighs, your lips? I have been to Heaven and back and
I want like Hell to return. Please, my Hannah, come back.”
He crouched there and looked
out to sea. For years he had walked the beaches alone, mourning his innocent wife
and her cruel death. Vowing to seek revenge. Someday, some time.
He knew not when, but he knew
that Blackbeard had not seen the last of Jack Porter.
What had happened to him those few nights past? The nights he
had seen Hannah, kissed her, made love to her? With each time he had stepped on
the stone, he had found himself surrounded by a foggy mist and shooting stars
and swirling colors. Was he dreaming? Did the magical stone invade his mind
like a sorcerer’s potion and conjure up these dreams? He dared not think again
of witchcraft. It frightened him so, but not so much that he would be reluctant
to use the stone’s magic, again. No, he would try until he found her once more.
And the next time he would bring her back home.
Magic be damned!
Yes. The next time he would
bring her home.
Confused emotion wracked his
body, but Jack Porter was a proud man, he would not give in to the feelings. He
straightened to his full height and stared across the narrow strip of land
toward the ocean.
She was calm now, the sea, but days
ago she had been wild and dangerous. The winds had shifted the sand from the
stone after a storm that had swept the barrier islands. That is how he’d found
it—the strange, flat gray rock reflecting the afternoon’s sun in his eyes. That
is when his search for Hannah became real. When instead of merely walking the
beaches thinking of her, he’d fallen through the stone and moved to some other
place, and had attempted to claim her for his own once more.
He could still feel the
stinging of salt spray into his face. He had turned into the sun and closed his
eyes against the rainbow glare in front of him. A column of bright, white light
shot up into the heavens, reflected from some object high on the beach.
Puzzled, he had moved closer.
Jack gathered speed but approached
with caution. As he did, the light withered, and the appearance of the object
became known. A perfectly round, incredibly smooth disc of stone lay partially
covered by sand. With his right hand, he brushed the particles away, exposing
its entire surface. It was then he felt the ridges and grooves of the
inscription.
The cryptic message was as much
of a mystery then as it was now. But Jack knew it held the clues to the stone’s
magic. He’d tried to lift the stone that day, but it was too cumbersome to
move. So, he’d contemplated the stone’s purpose and then left for home. But it
haunted him the rest of that day and into the night. He became so restless that
he left his bed and, by the moon’s light, had returned.
For a few days he repeated that
pattern. The stone called to him, pulling him out of his warm straw tick and
into the night’s chill. He went to it, unable to resist the strength of its
magnetic draw. At times, he felt the stone’s power, its seduction, but felt
helpless as to its purpose. Drawn in, he felt translucent, transformed, and at
times, in a dreamlike state, his brain riddled with delusions of his Hannah. He
would pace the night, thinking of her, and wondering if somehow, some way, this
was a magical connection. After some time had passed, he stood late one night
beside the stone, listening to the hard pounding of the surf and blue moon
storm brewing off the coast, and stepped into its center.
Not until then, had he felt the
stone’s incredible full strength.
As his right foot centered the
slab, he saw sparks of flashing light. At the instant he planted both feet
firmly at its median, his body became as nothing. He felt both giddy with joy
and suspended within time as he was surrounded by thousands of tiny swirling
lights, dizzying him beyond all sense of direction, time, or space. And the
sound—the sound was unlike any he’d ever heard, eerie and rhythmic, almost like
an ancient chant.
Then in a flash, he became one
of those minute points of light, hurtling throughout the heavens. When it
stopped, when there were no lights, no sounds, Jack dared to open his eyes.
He had landed inside a black
room, very tall and very straight. Even in the dark, he could tell it was
larger than anything he had ever seen before. He turned in circles and looked
around him. A sliver of light shined through a large crack in the wall, so he
walked to it and stepped through.
The surf pounded in his ears,
and he instantly felt at home. He tried to walk toward the moonlit sands, but stopped
short at some sort of enclosure. He walked the entire circle, and finally came
to an opening.
At that point, Jack had
wondered if he had died and gone to Heaven. Or perhaps to Hell. Then as he
looked across the sands, he knew.
The moonlight backlit her
against the dunes. She was there, facing the ocean, her blond hair blowing
behind her in the wind, her angel’s gown whipping about her body.
His Hannah.
###
Comments
Post a Comment
Thank you for your comments!