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Chapter 2
THE HIEROPHANT
An elderly man in a black chef's coat held a hand up to me. "You must be Jane." He smiled.
"What?" Whose Jane, I wanted to ask before I remembered that was my name, now. I had never picked a new one and Dr. Ortega had sent me here before I had time to fill out the paperwork.
"Are you alright?" He took a slow step toward me.
I nodded. I had to be alright, I didn't have a choice.
"It's pretty early for a morning walk, and you don't have any shoes on so I'm not even sure how you made it out this far from the Lodge." He was closer now but careful, afraid to scare me or scared of me I couldn't tell.
I looked down at my feet, bleeding and scratched with cuts, my hands and arms covered in dirt, my white nightgown caked with mud. "I think I was dreaming," I said quietly. But the statue was still missing the finial and my thighs still trembled like I had just been fucked.
"Ah, sleepwalking?" He held onto my hand gently. "That can be a dangerous pastime around here. We are on four hundred acres of forest. Easy to get lost. But you managed to find the old cemetery. So that's pretty cool." He said in a vernacular younger than his age. "I'm Chef in case you hadn't figured that out yet. Let's get you back to the kitchen. I can brew you a tea to help you sleep better, if you like?"
I nodded, skeptical but I didn't want to get lost on four hundred acres either. I limply followed him to a small dirt trail not far from us. My feet burned with tiny little cuts.
"It may surprise you but I know my way around some herbs. I can find the right concoction to help you sleep or-" He trailed off and shrugged. "-Some say The Noctambuli-" He looked at me to see if I understood.
I shook my head.
"-Sleepwalkers. They were thought to be people under the influence of divine or demonic forces. A person who walked at night without memory was considered touched by Luna." He looked at me before continuing, "the moon goddess, or sometimes tormented by the spirits. Some Roman priests and physicians believed sleepwalking was the soul escaping the body and enacting some unfulfilled desire or spiritual task."
"Shakespeare associated sleepwalking with inner moral corruption, unconfessed sins, and spiritual unrest." I told him. The first time I had sleepwalked was in the hospital, scared that poor night nurse so badly she never came back. After that I had Dr. Ortega bring me books about it, amongst many other topics. She accredited some of my fast recovery to all the reading I was doing.
He smiled, surprised. "A woman who commits a sin in silence will be forced to act it out in dreams... and if that sin involved blood, it would stain her hands in sleep." He winked. "An old tail where I'm from." He brought a pipe from his pocket and puffed on it to get it smoking. "Sometimes things seem like Magic until we look closer." He showed me the button on the side of the pipe that burned the tobacco from underneath. "So the question now is Jane, are you wandering between worlds, haunted by restless spirits?" He puffed. "Or are you a lunatic?"
I shrugged. "I just thought I was cursed."
"A curse?" He puffed. "How delightful." He turned and continued on the path back to the Lodge. We traveled along the back of the massive building before coming to a door.
Chef opened the door with one of those iron keys and we were in the back room of the Kitchen. Stainless steel counters were pristine. Chef pointed to a stool and I sat relieved to get off my sore feet. He moved with quiet purpose, gathering jars from various raw wood shelves, glass containers full of strange leaves, dried roots, coiled shavings from something ancient.
He placed a kettle full of water on the industrial stove and turned to me. "You ever use mugwort?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No." Not that I could remember. "Is that for the dreams?"
"Depends." he leaned back against the counter. "You want sleep? Deep, dreamless, no monsters chasing you? I've got Chamomile, skullcap, and a touch of valerian. Knock you right out."
I hesitated. My body ached for sleep. My mind didn't want to dream ever again.
"Or-" he continued, reaching for the second jar, "you want the dreams to tell you something? Mugwort. Star anise. Blue lotus if you're brave." He slid both jars across the counter to me. "The choice is yours. Mercy. Or memory?"
I looked back and forth between the two jars. Did I want the dreams to stop? Even if for a little while? Or did I want to dive head first and try to figure out what they were trying to tell me, if anything?
Before I could decide the kitchen door swung open and two women came in, one bright like the sun and other like a storm cloud, dark hair tinged with red. Like cherry syrup.
"Ah, you both are right on time. Cherry, take those trays I prepped last night to the banquet hall," Chef instructed.
"Of course Grandpa." The dark haired woman sighed. "Room 22 wants to know if those Devil's Bay scallops are back on the menu yet?"
Chef shook his head as the tea kettle whistled. "If I send Roman to town we can put them on the dinner menu. Where is that boy now? Don't tell me he got into the wine cellar again?"
The other woman laughed, her long blonde hair swaying behind her. "It's not every lifetime we get to try Crimson Chalice '43, blood of the gods they said, who would pass up a chance for that?" She winked at me and held out her hand. "Jess. We didn't get a chance to officially meet last night before Mr. Zantana hid you away."
I shook her hand and grimaced when I noticed how dirty my hands still were. "Jane."
"This is my granddaughter Cherry, she can show you to the laundry room in a little while." Chef introduced me to the other woman.
"Room 22?" Jess smiled seductively. "That's the hot guy, Rafael De Mar."
Cherry rolled her eyes. "Keep your hands off that one, he's supposed to marry Senator Yates' daughter at the Equinox Gala."
"Even better." Jess wiggled her eyebrows.
"Who are you trying to fuck now?" A man came into the kitchen.
Jess rolled her eyes. "Anyone that can get me off... this fucking mountain." She smiled at him. "Maybe that's what you should be doing too Roman, or are you still hung up on-"
"You needed me for something, Chef." He cut her off.
Chef poured the hot water into a dainty porcelain teacup. "Go to town and get Mr. Hottie's scallops and a case of beer for tonight."
Cherry gasped and Jess jumped up and down in her heels. "A party?"
"Only if we do well today, show Mr. Zantana and the new owners that this place can still make some money." He nodded. "And we haven't had a new employee in ages. It's time for a celebration, I think."
Roman left with a nod and a smile.
Cherry pushed out a cart full of trays and Jess left bouncing excitedly. "We haven't had a party in so long."
Chef turned to me. "You have a choice to make Jane." He grabbed the jars again and held them out to me.
I picked the safe choice.
Sleep.
After I drank the tea, I found my way back to my room, the long corridor stretched out before me, like my nightmares. I touched the wall to know I was here and not in a dream. I reached for my door handle and the door pushed itself open softly before I could make contact. I pushed the door open wider, unsure if I was imagining things.
The interior of the room was as I left it. I must have not shut the door all the way when I sleepwalked last night. The red digital alarm clock blinked 12:00 at me and I was unsure what time it was. I showered and settled on a blue dress with yellow flowers in the hopes a bright color would lift my mood. I should be excited. A fresh start. A chance to be whomever I wanted to be. But I was tired and not the kind that a sleepytime tea would fix.
My thighs still tingled from his fingers, the warmth of kisses lingered on my lips. He kissed my throat and my body opened. He wasn't Jonny but he wore Jonny's grin at the end. Up against a gravestone? Kinky.
The room key was heavy in my pocket, a silent thud against my thigh as I walked back to the kitchen.
"Good, your back, we haven't scared you away yet." Chef said as I entered the kitchen. "Grab that knife and cut some of those lemons." He directed.
I washed my hands before I grabbed a medium size knife from the magnetic strip and set myself up at the counter with a bowl of lemons. The lemons rolled around and I struggled with the tough rind and pointed knife. The lemon stung the tiny cuts and scrapes all over my hands I didn't even know I had. I crossed off Chef from my imaginary "Who Am I?" list.
Chef put his hand over mine, the one with the knife. "How about you tear this arugula for me." He took the knife from me and waved to another bowl of green leafy salad. "You ever tear herbs with your fingers? Basil, Arugula, lettuces, they hate metal. Changes their taste."
"I didn't know that."
"Most don't. People like shortcuts. Metal's fast but hands are wiser."
I tore at the leaves.
"You always this quiet or just around knives?"
I chuckled. "Maybe both."
"This place has a way... a way of stirring things up. Secrets don't stay buried on Moonlit Mountain, not for long."
"Good thing I'm not hiding anything." Not wanting people to know about my accident didn't mean I was keeping secrets. Dr. Ortega had assured me that my right to privacy wasn't me being shady. It was okay for me to keep my past, my accident, to myself and I wasn't lying or manipulating anyone if they didn't know. How much did Chef know about me? Did Jonny and him talk about me before I got here? What had Dr. Ortega told Jonny? Were they warned about me?
He handed me a bowl of fresh herbs. "Tear these too and don't be afraid to breathe deeply. Rosemary's one hell of a truth-teller."
I ripped a sprig and the scent hit me, sharp, evergreen, electric. I closed my eyes briefly and something trembled beneath my ribs. "You ever just... feel like someone lived your life for you? Wrote the script, made the mistakes, and left you to live with the aftermath?"
He chuckled. "I think that's what most people would call a 'past'. Some of us get to remember it. Some of us don't. But you're not a blank slate Jane. You're a palimpsest."
"A what kind of test?"
He chuckled. "A palimpsest. A manuscript that's been written over. Scraped clean. But if you hold it to the light, real careful, you can still see the ghosts of what came before."
"Do you think I want to remember?" I asked quietly. So that was the real question, not, what had I forgotten, but what would I drag up when I did?
"Doesn't matter what I think. But you wouldn't be having those dreams if your body wasn't trying to tell you something." He placed a warm slice of bread in my hand, thick with butter, drizzled with honey and still steaming. "Eat. Then we will go sit in the herb garden until your welcome party starts. The Rosemary's talkative this time of year and the lavender can be damn near prophetic"
Chef led me through the kitchens and out to a back patio with herbs and flowers overflowing in pots crowding the edges of the deck. Twinkling lights hung between crooked poles like drunken constellations. Wild lavender spilled from stone planters, tangling with rosemary, mugwort, mint. A few chairs waited patiently by a wrought iron table. Scattered tarot cards covered the table.
He left me there. "Sit. Breathe. Listen. The plants will tell you what they think of you," he said with a smirk. "And don't touch Cherry's cards." Then disappeared inside.
I sat. Grateful Jonny Zantana wasn't here to see my blush when I thought about him and the things he did to me in my dreams.
The air was cool and fragrant. Something in the dirt hummed. Maybe it was the herbs, maybe it was me. Maybe both. But I felt seen. Judged. And oddly welcomed.
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