The Tears of a Tulip (3)
Part three of a romantic/magic realism story. Strong language. A bit of spice.
I hope this story ties together well. Please, let me know your thoughts in the comments, because I’m afraid that this premise creates too much room for plot holes. I’ve included links to part 1 and part 2 of the story below.
“Where am I? What happened?” Erin sprung up from the couch, wrestling the heap of blankets piling up on her.
“Still here. You fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake you. After all, you had a rough night,” Dustin said, not even looking at her. He was reading one of the books Erin brought him.
Erin rubbed her eyes. The dusky room looked like an enchanted forest, with the light coming from the lonely, uncovered window. Dustin was immersed in reading, his face focused and the piercing sight of his eyes could burn a hole in the book; he was some ancient demi-god, an Oracle gazing into the very essence of the written word.
“The office! I have to get to the office; I am so so late…” Erin checked her phone and scrambled out of the couch.
“No, you don’t. I called… Suzanne, was it? And told her I needed your help to get ready for the AWP, which I apparently will attend. So, I didn’t lie,” Dustin said calmly, still reading the book.
“You will? Why?” Erin sat with her eyes wide.
“Well, Dobson wants me to, doesn’t he?”
“But you ignored him these three years. Why now?”
“Maybe it’s time for a change.”
Erin noticed his face grew nervous. She was convinced Dustin was lying. Was he really doing it for her?
“You lie.”
“What did you want me to tell Suzanne?! Oh, Erin fell asleep on my couch after she came to me in the middle of the night! No, of course we didn’t fuck!” Dustin barked at her, “is that what you’d want me to tell her, huh?!”
“But now you’ll have to go to the conference!”
“I know, damn it!” He yelled. Both sat in awkward silence for a couple of minutes. He did help Erin out, but what now?! She was pretty certain Dustin doesn’t want to leave the apartment.
“Anyway, I didn’t lie when I said I needed your help. The tulips. It hasn’t rained for days and… you could help me with the water. You cannot believe how many times I have to go up and down the stairs to get them watered,” he said apologetically.
“The tulips?”
“Yes…will you help me?”
Erin looked at her pyjamas.
“Oh, I have loads of clothes. I never gave Lily’s stuff away for charity. Don’t look at me like that! I’m not trying to replace her! I am not attracted to you. I need help with the tulips, and you need clothes. As simple as that.”
Erin saw that nervous expression again. He was lying. Apparently, she was not the only lousy liar in the room.
“Okay, I’ll help,” she heard herself say.
Erin kept scolding herself all the while she rummaged through Dustin’s late wife’s walk-in wardrobe. This was so wrong on so many levels; she was about to change into a lonely, creepy middle-aged man’s dead wife’s clothes, while he’s around and could walk in any minute. On the other hand, he had plenty of opportunities to harm her, which he didn’t use.
Erin found a pair of jeans with a belt, a T-shirt and a cute floral sweater. Apparently, Lily had been a bit bigger than her, Erin had to tighten the belt.
Dustin greeted her in the living room with three buckets of water. He was wearing jeans and a hoody with dirt stains all over it.
“What? I use it for gardening!” He exclaimed apologetically, but the dirty stains were not the reason Erin stared at him. He looked too young for his age in the hoody, and without the beard. His hair could use a good professional haircut and there were patches of grey near his temples, but other than that… how could anybody have the nerve to call him an old man?!
“Okay, another one is filling up in the bathroom, you take one, and I’ll take these two. A bit heavy, though…”
“I grew up on a farm,” Erin said with a smile.
“Great! I knew it the first time I saw you, a proper farm kid,” Dustin teased her.
“Now you can tell Suzanne, the psychopath made you wear his dead wife’s clothes and forced you to do dirty things,” Dustin couldn’t help but to go on with the teasing, while they went up the stairs, “and I mean it, we’ll have to get our hands dirty and do some weedin’! You cannot believe the persistence of nature. The weeds grow even on the rooftops of NYC…” Dustin kept chattering all the while.
The tulips were beginning to blossom, the sun was high, and it had gone quite hot in the greenhouse, though Dustin kept its door and windows open. They carried buckets and buckets of water up the stairs.
“We’re not done yet,” he said, handing her a pair of gardening gloves and a spade.
Erin hated weeding; it was the stuff of her childhood nightmares. She left the farm for college and visited only on Holidays. She thought she’d never miss the hard work, the stench of the cow dung, the early mornings, but now…
“You were a lucky kid, Erin! I wish I’d grown up on a farm, with loving parents,” said Dustin, throwing a handful of tiny weeds into a bucket.
“How did you know they were loving?”
“I’m just guessing, because you’re not like the city folk, you know, snobby, full of themselves, dragging their childhood traumas around like some over-sized trophies.” Though Dusting didn’t look at her, Erin could tell he was lying. Somehow, she could tell, but the weirdest part was - it appeared he knew things about her he shouldn’t have known. Or maybe it was Erin’s sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on her? Nevertheless, she said nothing about it.
It felt good to do some gardening. Dustin cracked silly jokes all the while, as if he had been holding them back for years. Erin realized maybe she really was the first person he had a friendly conversation with in three years. Not an agent or a publisher, or a lawyer. A friend. He had taken off his hoodie, his T-shirt was all sweaty. So was hers.
“Okay, I think that’s enough hot yoga for today,” he said, after they’d been bending over the patches of tulips, weeding the ground between the juicy green plants. Erin straightened her back and looked around. The flowers were opening their silky-smooth blossoms. They were every colour tulip could possibly be.
“Which ones are your favourite?” She asked.
“I love all of them, but the pink ones… are special. I’m such a big softy. Don’t tell anybody!” He winked. Then he plucked two of the first pink one’s blooming and gave one to Erin.
“We’ve earned it,” he said. Erin smiled and pressed the flower to her cheek, just to feel its smooth surface.
Dustin wouldn’t let her go away hungry. He ordered pizza.
“If you want, you can take a shower in the guest bathroom, there. No, I won’t come lurking or anything,” Dustin raised his arms submissively.
This time Erin could tell he wasn’t lying.
They sat by the kitchen table, the vase with two lonely tulips between them, along with pizza boxes, dirty plates, and wine glasses.
“I only use alcohol on special occasions, and this is it. Tulips have begun their bloom! To the undying beauty of nature!” He raised his glass for the toast, but murmured right afterward, “I couldn’t have been cheesier now, could I?!”
Erin chuckled. She hadn’t felt so happily tired for a long while. They clinked glasses.
“I read one of the books you got me.”
“I saw it.”
“I didn’t finish it. It was utter shite. Some esoteric bullshit, you know,” he drank the wine, “dressed in pretty words and self-pity. I have loads of that stuff, believe me,” he gulped again.
“Esoteric bullshit?”
“No, Erin! Purple prose. I know how to make it look pretty. How to… to say the words that’ll make all those desperate little people shower me with praise,” he took another sip of his wine.
“It’s hollow. It’s nothing. It’s a house of cards. It may look impressive but pull one card out for a closer look and POOF! The whole thing collapses. There’s nothing about it of substance,” Dustin stared into the blood-red darkness of the wine in his glass.
“Aren’t you a bit harsh? That one you read was by a new author. You were a new author once, remember?” Erin said and shrugged.
“I’m tired of the wannabies writing essays on the 100-word stories they’ve squeezed out of themselves, all the while whining about surviving ferocious writers’ blocks. Happy survivors! Story behind the story - is that what they call it? First you actually write a story not a lukewarm piece of shit, and then you write a thousand more, before you write essays on your own stuff. Fucking atrocious!” Dustin waved his glass expressively while he spoke, yet he didn’t spill a single drop.
“That was even worse,” Erin said, “don’t you have anything good to say about the book? There must’ve been something you liked.”
“The cover was nice.”
Erin laughed heartily, “you’re terrible!”
“I know,” he laughed along with her.
As the wall of laughter faded, both were left looking into each other’s eyes. It was an awkward little moment, just a couple of seconds. For some inexplicable reason Erin felt herself stop breathing and a strangely familiar fluttering tickled the inside of her stomach. What was that?
“Anyway,” Dustin turned to look at the remains of his wine, “you’re probably right. I talk shit. All the time. That’s what we writers do; we lie endlessly. Most of all to ourselves.”
“I thought you were not a writer anymore?!” Erin teased.
“Exactly! I am free from the scribbler’s curse. And now I’m in trouble because of you. I’ll have to go to that damn conference and pretend I’m still a writer.” Dustin covered his face in mock despair.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Erin looked at the clock, “I want to grab some papers from the office to catch up on work over the weekend, since I didn’t work today.” She finished her wine and got up.
“What do you mean, you didn’t work today?! You helped your favourite client, that old fuck, poor thing you!”
Dustin walked her to the door. For some reason, both walked extremely slowly.
“You know… you still owe me a coffee,” he said, staring at his feet, “and I don’t know how will I survive today without it.”
“…and I should help you get ready for the conference. For real this time. I mean - there will be a press briefing… it will be huge…”
“Sure, yeah, I don’t think I can do it on my own… and since the conference is next Tuesday, right?”
“Yeah, right. And… and… I’ll have to return these clothes…”
“Oh, no no! You can keep them or… maybe better bring them back later… today. With the coffee. Okay?” Finally, he darted a quick glance at her. All the while they stood talking by the door, both stared at their feet.
“Okay, I’ll come by later, with the coffee. I know you need it,” she smiled.
“Absolutely.”
They parted sharing sincere smiles, Erin walked through the door to the elevator, only to stand with her eyes closed and curse herself for the words “I know you need it”. Might as well said - “take me!” Though none of them said it out loud, the reason for the meeting wasn’t Dustin’s craving for coffee or getting ready for the conference.
“Gardening, Suzanne. We did some gardening and talked about books,” Erin brushed off Suzanne’s questions, with a careless smile. Her mind still lingered in the sunny daze of the blooming greenhouse, the tulips and sun playing in Dustin’s hazel eyes. She wholeheartedly wished to investigate them closer. What was it about them that made it so hard to look away?!
“Oh, well…” Suzanne said, “as long as he agrees to take part in the AWP, and maybe writes a line or two to read at the press briefing. If Dobson is happy, we’re happy. And we want to keep him happy, right?”
“M-hm,” Erin hummed idly.
“By the way, Dobson is very happy you got the grumpy old man to cooperate.”
“He is not old.” Erin objected.
“Sure, sweety, sure!” Suzanne said out loud, but afterward leaned in closer and half-whispered, “don’t lose your head, Erin! They say he was a charmer and a ladies’ man, even with his wife around. Remember, it’s just business.”
Erin nodded and walked out of Suzanne’s office. Old?! Erin snorted to herself; Suzanne was probably older than Dustin! She ignored Suzanne’s last remark; so what if he was a flirt?!
The office hours came to their end quickly. Erin grabbed her stuff and hurried home, or the place that she used to know as home. It didn’t feel like home anymore. She took another shower, folded Dustin’s wife’s clothes neatly and tucked them into a paper bag. Erin stood in front of the mirror for quite a while, deciding what to wear. She kept scolding herself for it. It didn’t matter what she wore because they were meeting up strictly for work. That didn’t stop her from trying on at least three combinations. She gave a heavy sigh and stuck with a nice grey, knee length dress. Nothing out of line, but she still looked feminine. For what?! Erin couldn’t tell.
She bought good coffee on her way. The door cracked open as soon as she pressed the button, Erin didn’t even get to say anything. Her heart skipped happily - he was waiting impatiently.
The door stood open in a gap, as usual. Erin smiled to herself. Dustin sat in his armchair and read a book. The place looked spotless, there was a vase of tulips on the coffee table. Dustin himself was wearing a nice, midnight-blue buttoned-up shirt, with his sleeves casually rolled up - nothing to see here, just wearing a nice shirt on a Friday night to impress no-one…
Dustin tried so hard to act “casual” and “normal”. She could even imagine him standing in front of the mirror, cursing his stubborn hair for not submitting to his attempts to tame it and telling himself to “act normal!”. He deliberately wasn’t looking at her, until she came close.
“Oh, hi! I was just catching up on… catching up on stuff you brought me to read,” the pause was where he raised his eyes to Erin.
She came to him with a wide smile, cursing herself internally for the stupid grin, but she couldn’t help it. He looked good. And he was pretending he hadn’t been trying hard to look good.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said and took the cup. His eyes lingered on Erin’s dress just a second too long. He cleared his throat, took a sip, and dug his eyes back into the depths of the book.
They should’ve been talking about the conference, but the awkward silence went on and on. Another second longer and Erin would’ve screamed out something nonsensical, like “look at me!” Luckily, Dustin finally broke the silence to say,
“They promised me “an unforgettable romance of two refugees amidst the existential crisis of surviving in their new homeland…”” he quoted the back of the book, “they said it’ll be a “hot and steamy adventure of two polar opposites…”” Dustin shook his head grinning.
“Their hot isn’t hot. Their steamy is a fart in the cool spring wind! Do you know what hot is, Erin? Have you ever felt it? The steam, the passion. I want to feel it when I read. I want the writer to fucking make love with the prose he writes, and I want to be a part of it when I read.”
“That…” Erin cleared her throat, “that sounds complicated to achieve.” She felt her own cheeks colour up with the heat rising up her chest.
“Damn right! It ain’t easy,” Dustin smiled at her red cheeks. He was making fun of her, undoubtedly.
“Don’t make fun of me,” She heard herself say. Damn it! She said it out loud, didn’t she?
“Oh no, I’m not! I was talking about the book.”
“Okay, let’s talk about books. What are you going to do about the conference? You should wri…”
“You look beautiful,” Dustin interrupted her.
“I… thanks, but…” she tried to steady her voice and keep her mind focused, but Dustin’s hazel eyes wouldn’t let her form a single sensible sentence.
“Maybe we could go and check upon the tulips? I lit the candles for warmth, but the wind is picking up and I hope it hasn’t blown off all the candles…”
“Sure, okay!” Erin replied eagerly. Moving somewhere was better than sitting. How come they have become so awkward together? Everything was cool just some hours ago. But now she wore a pretty dress and he - a nice shirt and they couldn’t put three coherent sentences together.
When they walked up the stairs, Erin could almost feel his hand on her back, yet he didn’t touch her. She gasped at the sight - a red streak of sunset had torn the horizon into a long bleeding wound. The spiked cityscape attempted to stich the tear with its dark silhouette like black needles and threads. Erin saw the candlelit greenhouse; the flames were restless tonight.
Both went into the greenhouse. They drank the coffee.
Visions of the two of them making love in the tea spot ran through her head. Erin shook them off. It was obviously in her head, Dustin wasn’t attracted to her, he said so himself. She must have misunderstood him.
“About the AWP. Dobson wants you to participate in the press briefing. You’ll be one of his headliners. He wants you to talk about your next project and maybe read a paragraph or two. Of course, you should send some kind of an outline to him first, and… are you listening?”
Dustin appeared to be immersed in his own thoughts and whatever those were, his face expressed nothing but despair and devastation.
“I think you should leave,” he said.
“But… I just got here and… what’s wrong?”
“Leave, Erin!”
“Okay… you got your coffee. I guess I’ll go then,” Erin tried to look into his eyes, but he avoided stubbornly.
Wind had picked up while they sat in the glass house. As they went out, a sudden gust of wind hit Erin’s face. Here on the rooftop, it had enormous power. Erin gave a quiet shriek. Dustin covered her under his coat. There, under his wing it felt like a secret hideaway. The two were hidden from all winds and the city below. Erin didn’t hesitate to hold him close. She felt him resisting, but he gave into their embrace after a couple of seconds and pulled her close. They were inches and seconds away from a kiss, inhaling each other’s breath.
“It will never work, Erin,” Dustin tried to push her away gently, “I’m too old for you, I’m twice your age.”
“So?!” Erin heard herself say in a teenage brat’s voice, “you feel something! I know it’s not just in my head!”
“It’s better we let it stay in our heads, trust me.”
“No!”
Erin ran her hands across his back, the feeling was unmistakeable, they burned for each other, a tiny spark of a kiss was what it would take to let the fire loose.
“Erin, we’ll only hurt each other. I know it,” Dustin whispered under his breath.
“How can you know?!”
“I saw it. I… read it.”
“What?”
“Just like I saw Lily’s death. I saw it before it happened. I wrote it just some hours before she died. I never believed the stories in my head were real before it…”
“What are you even talking about? You knew your wife’s car would crash? Did you want her to die?!” Erin pushed away from him.
“No, no, I know it sounds bad, but… don’t look at me like that! No, I didn’t plan her death or anything! It’s not like that!”
“Then what?!”
“I see how the stories unfold. Before Lily’s story, I wrote about strangers, people I never met. I never wrote about anybody I knew, although I saw how their stories would unfold. I thought it was just my imagination, but…”
“Cut the crap! Did you hire somebody to kill your wife?” Erin yelled in his face.
“No! Erin, she drove off the road after a deer jumped in front of her car. Come, I can show you the manuscript. The date and time when I wrote it are all there. I wrote her death exactly how it happened before it happened.”
“You’re a psycho… “
“No listen! I experienced clinical death as a kid, after that I began to see the stories of people around me and even people I never met, from long ago. I began to write them down, but I never believed the stories were real…”
“Okay, I think I should leave now.”
“Erin, our story would not be a happy one…”
“Don’t touch me!” She snapped at Dustin as he grabbed her hand.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“No!”
“Good…. Good… you should go,” Dustin exhaled heavily and released her hand.
Erin ran. She ran out on the street, hailed the first cab she saw and went to her cold apartment.
Dustin was a psychopath! And all the crappy smartass talk wasn’t the wisdom of a misunderstood genius. It was as simple as that - he was a lunatic. He needed help. He probably lost it after his wife’s death…
Erin sat on the bathroom floor with a bottle of Adam’s whiskey. He had been generous enough to leave the bottle behind. Or maybe he thought Erin would need it after he had dumped her?!
“ADAM, YOU ARROGANT ASSHOLE!” Erin wailed. At least she could make all the noise she wanted - the apartment was soundproofed. She was drunk and miserable.
“DUSTIN, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!” Erin yelled at the silence.
“WHY DID YOU HAVE TO BE A PSYCHO?! DAMN IT!
She gulped the whiskey from the bottle.
“DUSTIN YOU IDIOT, I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I… LOVE YOU! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO BE A MAD MAN…?” Erin’s cries resounded in the bathroom until she fell asleep lying on the floor…
Good thing she drank in the bathroom. Erin kind of figured it would be the best place for it. She had thrown-up all across the floor. The bathroom was a mess, she had knocked down the medicine shelf, the pills scattered on the floor. Erin dragged herself into the shower. She sat on the floor while the hot water soothed her aching head.
Where are those pain killers? She rummaged through the tiny pills all around. What are those? Yasmine pills… Paracetamol… what has she been up to at night?! Fuck it, no pills today, she couldn’t tell them apart!
She had fallen in love with a psycho, an illusion of a man she had created in her own head. Maybe she was the mad one.
Erin spent the whole day lying in bed. Her Mom called, but Erin didn’t pick up. The more she thought about Dustin, the creepier he seemed. He must have gathered information about her after they first met. The freak! Suzanne was right. He was a flirt; he knew all the right things to say. But why didn’t he just use the chance to sleep with Erin? Whatever. Thinking made the headache worse.
Sunday began with a surprise. A courier delivered Erin a giant bouquet of tulips all shapes and colours. She knew those were Dustin’s. There was a card in the flowers.
“The tulips are in full bloom. I didn’t want you to miss out on it. Think what you want. Dustin.”
Erin couldn’t throw the flowers out. She spent the whole day staring at them, remembering the hours in the greenhouse.
“Big day tomorrow!” Suzanne clapped her hands, startling Erin from her memories. Monday dragged like a slug.
“Dobson called me. He’s beyond happy - Dustin T. Hill is finally crawling out of his shell. He sent Dobson the synopsis of the book he was working on before he locked himself up. And he’s coming to the conference tomorrow. I don’t know how you did it, but good job!”
“What was the book called?” Erin asked.
“Oh… I thought you should know. “Lily died in the valley” or something. Anyway, you’re meeting him today?”
“No, there’s no need for it. I’ll see him tomorrow anyway,” Erin replied evasively.
“O-kaay,” Suzanne said and didn’t go on with the interrogation.
Erin tried to focus on work, but her thoughts kept returning to every little thing Dustin said. Some things just wouldn’t make sense. How could he even know? He couldn’t have known…
Erin met him at the venue. She, Suzanne, and Dobson were waiting in the lobby. Dustin was late. The press briefing was about to start when he entered. Though he looked good, all Erin had to do was take one look into his eyes to tell - he was not okay. No, those were not even the crazy eyes - Dustin was terrified and confused. He avoided to look at people. Every move he made reminded Erin of a frightened animal.
“Hey, it will be okay,” she whispered when he had shaken hands with Dobson (without eye-contact, whilst Dobson wouldn’t stop blubbering).
“I can’t stand it, Erin… I see… all their stories. All the ways they could unfold. I don’t want to see it anymore. Now that I know it’s all real, I don’t want this anymore…” Dustin whispered nervously, clutching her hand.
“It’s okay, just focus on what you have to say and…”
“Come, Hill, let’s do this. The press are hungry for you, don’t want to keep those sharks waiting, huh?!” Dobson chuckled. He tapped Dustin on the shoulder and led him into the hall where the press briefing would be held. Dustin was seated at the table along with Dobson, Suzanne and the writers represented by Dobson & Dobson publishing house. Erin saw how every minute was a torture session for Dustin. He couldn’t bear to look at anybody. Sweat covered his forehead. His hands shook. He looked absolutely pathetic. Erin’s heart broke looking at him in such a state. This wasn’t the man she got to know; this was an animal driven into a corner. Or a… deer about to jump in front of a speeding car out of fright. Dobson finished his speech and gave Dustin the microphone. The cameras flashed. The journalists whispered about how he’s been gone for three years. Dustin’s wide, frightened eyes bolted from one face to another. Erin couldn’t see what he saw, but whatever it was - he couldn’t stand it any longer. The deer became a roadkill before her eyes. He stuttered into the microphone; the awkward sounds reverberated across the hall. Dustin shook his head, dropped the mic, got up and ran out the hall, pushing people in his way.
“Wait, Dustin, wait!” Erin caught up to him as he was jumping into a cab.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here!” She embraced him on the backseat of the taxi. Madman or not, Erin didn’t care. She loved him.
Dustin shook crying.
“I can’t stand being around people, I see all their stories all at once all the myriads of possible outcomes…”
Erin told the driver Dustin’s address.
Erin sat him down in his favourite armchair and wrapped a blanket around him. Though he wasn’t cold, she felt he needed a constant warm embrace.
“You don’t have to…”
“Shhhh!”
Erin made them tea.
“Tell me, how exactly is it possible, if it’s… real at all…” she said.
“I wish it wasn’t real. I wish I was just a regular psycho; I’d have a nice, quiet life in a nice, isolated asylum. I can’t have it, because I’d be forced to read all the stories of the other wackos.”
“But how…?”
“I told you - I almost died. My father was an alcoholic. He’d beat the crap out of me. This one time he banged my head against the floor so hard, I had to be taken to the hospital. I had a brain surgery. I saw the white light. I was sent back. They didn’t tell me why. Then I began to see stories unfold. I couldn’t stand being in a crowd. I was home-schooled. But it wasn’t as bad as it is now. I could shut myself off, not read all the stories of people around me. I started writing the stories down. Got my first success. I met Lily. Everything was working out for me. I had a good life,” Dustin smiled ruefully, “I saw so many stories to write, and I did. Lily felt… neglected, I guess. I was writing. All the time. I decided to write a story about her. She… um… wasn’t thrilled. She said I was cynical. She didn’t want me to write a story about her. She just wanted me,” Dustin paused, “I doubled down. I had to write her story. I finished it a couple of hours before she died,” Dustin shook his head, “I was writing the fucking epilogue when she was dying in the hospital.”
Erin examined his eyes. He appeared to be completely sane. For a short moment she imagined he would smirk, saying “gotcha”, because it was all a prank. But the disastrous press briefing proved otherwise.
“…and… um… do you see their whole lives, like the past or the future?” Erin couldn’t help feeling stupid to ask it, but she had to get to the bottom of this.
“I see the meaningful moments of their past, like key points. The future I see as roadmaps of possibilities, depending on the choices they would make. When I wrote historical novels, I saw their whole lives, the key events as if reading them,” Dustin’s eyes searched her eyes for understanding, “after Lily’s death, I freaked out. Writing was a fun game, but… first I thought I killed her. I even called the police. They advised me to get therapy. After that I started research. I had names and places… come, I’ll show you!”
Dustin led her to his study. He had files and files with newspaper clippings, copies of historical chronicles, physical letters from archives and e-mails from libraries he had contacted for information.
“I had to find those people that I thought existed only in my head. I found them. Most of them.”
Erin flipped through the files. Dustin had published around 30 books; each one had a giant file attached. Could it really be true? Erin realized some of the things Dustin said, she had never shared with anybody. Only Adam knew about the squishy mattress.
“Squishy tulip…” Erin murmured, thinking out loud.
“But how? And… and why you?”
“I’ve read many versions, but none of them seem plausible. Maybe I can perceive some kind of brain waves. Maybe they use me as a medium. Whatever it is, the stories demanded to be written. Everybody has a story. Some are remembered, some forgotten. I believe… they needed somebody to read them and afterward share with the world. Once the story becomes a book, it lives forever. I guess these stories didn’t want to be buried and forgotten.”
“What about Lily’s story?”
Dustin gave a heavy sigh, thinking in silence.
“First, I thought I caused her death. After my research I settled. Not completely. I didn’t write a line in three years, because I was afraid of what these stories were… maybe her story had to be written. I thought it was my stubbornness that made me write her story. But now I think…”
Dustin’s gaze found Erin’s dark eyes.
“What?”
“It wasn’t Lily’s story. It’s mine…”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Dustin said ruefully, “not completely. All I know, the story didn’t end with her death. I saw my own story unfold, just like I saw everyone else’s”.
“So… you knew you’d meet me?”
“I knew I’d meet a Tulip. That was her name in the story. After I met you, I saw the story unfold little by little. I saw your past; I saw you and Adam…”
“You realize how creepy it sounds? How… absurd…”
“I do. But I can prove it. Check out the date when I last modified the file about Lily. I haven’t changed anything,” Dustin showed Erin a file on his laptop.
“Now read the report about the conditions of Lily’s accident. And the time.”
Erin read. It all added up.
“So, if it’s true, then… all that talk about writing is nonsense?”
“Of course! What do I know?! No… I did acquire the skills necessary to write the stories the best I could. I just never realized the importance of a story. I don’t think many writers do.”
Dustin closed his laptop.
“… and you saw how our story unfolds? You… um… read it?” she asked.
“I saw the possible outcomes, depending on our decisions,” he paused, “it’s best for you to leave me and never contact me again.”
Both sat in silence.
Erin got up to leave. Her head was spinning from all he revealed. Whether he was telling the truth or was a mad man trapped in his own lies and delusions, Erin felt leaving would be the right choice. He was too damn complicated.
“Goodbye, Dustin!” She leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. Dustin sat with his eyes closed.
Erin made it to the elevator. Then she turned around and ran back. She found Dustin in the guest bedroom.
“You knew I’d be back!” she said.
“I knew it was one of the options.”
Erin came close.
“Then you know what I’m about to do.”
“Erin, it’s not the best option for you.”
“I don’t care!”
“It’s not too late, you can still…”
“Read me,” she whispered.
They kissed; the match ignited the friction between them turning it into a blazing flame. Words of loved burning into kisses, hands drawing lines and lines of tender touches on the other’s skin, paragraphs of passionate minutes weaving into pages of the story yet unwritten. And still it was there, their story existed, real and lived-out to the fullest.
“Will you write it? Our story?” Erin asked, lying in his arms, while Dustin caressed her skin.
“Mmm? I already did. Just a couple more scenes left.”
“When did you…?”
“Over the weekend. I’m a fast scribbler.”
Erin frowned, thinking.
“You’ve complicated things a bit. Now I have to write a sex scene. I’m no good at that,” he chuckled.
“Make sure you do the scene justice. Though I doubt you’ll find the right words to describe the intensity…”
“Maybe I could use a bit more material to work with,” he said, pulling Erin on top of him, while she laughed.
“I know it’s cheesy and I probably shouldn’t say it for the sake of originality…”
“Say it!” Erin interrupted him.
“I love you,” Dustin said.
Erin opened her eyes to a room she didn’t recognize. She laid pondering about where she was.
“Dustin?” She sat up. She was lying in bed, alone in Dustin’s guest bedroom. Judging by the sunlight coming from the window, it was late in the afternoon. Erin had obviously fallen asleep.
“Dustin?”
She wrapped herself in a silk robe laid on the bed. She noticed two manuscripts placed on the bedside table. One’s title read “Lily died in the Valley.” Erin picked up the other one.
“Dustin?” She cried out nervously, but there was no answer. The title was “The Tears of a Tulip”. Erin flipped to the last pages of the manuscript. Her eyes scanned the lines hurriedly.
“Oh no…”
Erin grabbed her phone and called the police. She reported a missing man, planning a suicide, after she read the note the male lead of the book had left to his Tulip at the end of the book. His story had come to its end.
“Never stop overthinking. Never stop thinking out loud. That’s what makes you real, Tulip. You may not understand me, but I saw what’s best for you. Trust me. I’ll let the sea take my fears, I’ll become a cloud and rain down on you as gold.”
Erin read again and again. She heard a thunder rumbling above the city. It was a low voice calling her name.
Erin came onto the rooftop. The thunder roared and lightning flashed. It was a hot afternoon, the door and the roof windows of the greenhouse stood open. Part of the tulips had already withered in the heat. Not the pink ones. Those appeared to be fresh. As she entered, the wind broke the clouds open, letting the evening sun illuminate the rainfall. The raindrops shone golden. Erin took off the robe and laid onto the ground, between the tulips. The golden shower fell on her and on the flowers through the open window, shining droplets touching her skin and the smooth tulip blossoms. Erin let the golden rain wash over her. Tears ran down her cheeks. Raindrops ran down the pink tulip flowers. Erin cried and the tulips cried with her.
Epilogue
Mr. Dustin T. Hill was never seen again. He was last sighted getting out of the taxi, walking away, and afterward he seemed to have disappeared into thin air! His last will stated that he left Ms. Erin Ross, his literary agent in charge of all his physical and intellectual property, and the representative of all his published and unpublished work. After his supposed death, the sales of D. T. Hill’s books skyrocketed. Ms. Erin Ross started her own small publishing house, she and her son Perseus had been living in the apartment Dustin inhabited.
Each spring they plant tulips in the strange rectangular greenhouse on the rooftop above their apartment, and every time the pink ones bloom, Erin cries.
I see why you had trouble finishing this one. Dustin's end is indeed heartbreaking. But he left a son.... 😊 Beautiful, sad story, beautifully written. The love scene that melds love and books was the best I've ever read. You've written another wonderful story. Thank you.
That’s a beautiful story, Kathrine. Just had to read this part before starting the day.
Pink tulips will never look the same! 🌷