Page 4 of The Voice of Wild Places
Thin paper slid against his dry fingers, and dried to hell weed spilled out the ends of the loosely rolled tube.
He cracked open the window, and lit up.
He inhaled greedily and stared out into the darkness, listening in vain for signs of life from the rest of Rittenhouse.
Sometimes, on a good night, the park was so full of life that you didn’t have to try that hard to hear it.But most nights, like tonight, the natural world was overrun by man.
Cornelius smoked the joint down to nothing, then butted it out on the sill before tossing the thing out the window.His mind grew heavy, and his muscles relaxed.He lingered for a moment longer, listening for the call of a nighthawk or perhaps a screech owl, for he tended to hear those even on the worst of days.He left Rittenhouse Square’s silent, impenetrable depths behind and shut the window for good measure.
Blood stained and damp, articles of clothing unceremoniously fell to the floor one after another.He tugged the bandeau off and his ribcage expanded, lungs greedily sucking in air.He frowned at the elastic and cotton in his hands, which had deteriorated after nine years of use.He had others, but none as good as the Boyshform in his hands.Sara had accompanied him to the presentation held in Philly and convinced him to buy one.Now flat chests were no longer in fashion, and finding a quality replacement was near impossible.
Gaze focused on the bed and nothing else, he dressed in thick trousers and a long nightshirt, fingertips skimming over the pendulous flesh on his chest and the thick, dark hair on his calves.He fell into bed and the old mattress welcomed his tired body, springs and all.He thrashed this way and that until finally curling up into a ball like an armadillo, layers of quilts tight around his neck.The room spun around him, and he groaned.
Cornelius closed his eyes.Only once in complete and total darkness did he withdraw the key for his heart and unlock it, examining the contents before they escaped on their own time.
Birthdays spent alone.
Years of whispers and backhanded compliments, blatant insults and grotesque assumptions.
Stacks of letters filled with unidentifiable words, indecipherable meanings.The cruel tease of a foreign friend or lover perhaps, Cher Ami.
A heart doomed to never mend, poisoned and twisted by rejection after rejection.
Broken promises.
The promises.
They meant something, didn’t they?
Didn’t they?
Man Hunting
March3rd,1930
A stranger sat in Cornelius’ classroom.
Perched in the back, spine rigid and eyes curious, she was a whole world above the semester worn students around her.Cornelius did his best to ignore the woman, but it proved difficult.She was likely an auditor of some sort, they had a penchant for surprises.It was almost the end of term, though.Hell, the academic year, at that.Why check up on his work now?
Something about the older, fair woman reminded him of Sara, which made it hard to dull the itch wracking hell in his brain.He turned his back to the classroom, focusing his attention on streaking chalk across the blackboard while dictating the semester’s final assignments.This was his favorite class, the reason why he was here, and the only one of his that didn’t cater to naive kids who thought archaeology was one step away from wild adventure.
Cornelius managed to occupy his curiosity until the end of class.As the third year students trudged out of the cavernous lecture hall, glancing at his bruised face and damaged knuckles, Cornelius’ heart rate kicked up a notch in anticipation.The woman stood, waiting for the groggy crowd to clear before she approached.She didn’t hide her interest, and when their eyes met a wry smile curled her lips.Mischievous, all-knowing, and perhaps atadjudgmental.
He’d never been audited before.His student’s scores had been top notch since shortly after he was hired, and there’d been no problems.He’d only had three transfers since he began, nothing to do with him and all to do with their expectations, and the ones that graduated under his eye thus far went on to esteemed research programs.Cornelius was well aware he didn’t have the best social reputation, but he was as professional and hardworking as one could be.Bizarre, yes, but effective.Intelligent.Competent.
What if … what if news broke out of last night’s scuffle?
What if word got out where he’d been?
The woman finally stood before him, chin raised and lip quirked.She wore a pretty navy blue dress that hung at her knees, and a smart handbag dangled from the crook of her arm.A dark jacket hung over her arm as well, finely made but by no means new.Deep lines creased her eyes and mouth, and her skin was weathered by time and the sun.Cornelius got the sense that the woman spent most of her time outside, but wasn’t sure why.She seemed to straddle the line between middle and upper class, but Cornelius knew better than most that clothes were simply an illusion.
Swallowing panic, Cornelius bowed his head and extended his hand.“Good morning, miss …?”
With a kind smile, she reached for him.He clasped her palm which was gloved in soft leather, and his gentle but firm pressure drew a smile from the woman.With an accent that was more British than American, she said, “Fawcett, if you please.I must say, Dr.Sawyer, your perspective on astronomy and its application in regards to archaeology is a refreshing take, one I’d love to discuss with you further.”
Absolutely stunned, Cornelius fought the urge to bow fully, because in the back of his mind he knew it’d be an awkward thing to do.But this was Nina Fawcett, not only wife to one of the most famous explorers of his time, but an accomplished person in her own right.To Cornelius, that made her as good as royalty.
Gathering his thoughts best he could, Cornelius said, “Mrs.Fawcett, it’s an honor to meet you.I—of course.Are you free now, or …?”
