When I finished eating, I went upstairs.I knew I’d never sufficiently clean the mess I’d made for myself, but staying busy helped keep my head clear.I brought the broom with me, and for the next half hour I focused on cleaning up what I could of the mirror and throwing the broken doll into the trash.
I had no trouble seeing my reflection now.Everything Aster had done to me and everything I’d done to him had vanished into thin air right along with the man himself.It was as if I’d been here alone the whole time.Like I drank too much of the water or waded too deep into ocean and some of the salt air had nested itself too far in my brain.I had broken the mirror.I had destroyed my laptop.
Over my stay, I’d written more than I even knew, but I had no proof of my work because the manuscript was destroyed.When I left Illumination Point in two or three weeks, I would have nothing of value to show.
Earlier the thought of such empty-handedness would have destroyed me, but now it was a basic fact.
For twenty minutes, I swept away every glass shard I could find and mopped up the bloodstains that still scarred the tiles.If nothing else, I could claim that I had better pain resistance than I knew.
After I cleaned what I could of the bathroom, I returned to the bedroom.The blankets were still in place as Aster had left them.The dented pillow and ruffled quilt and sheets reminded me only of how recently things had changed, how just this morning everything was still operational between me and Aster.
For two or three seconds, I studied the bed in silence.Then I stepped forward and started to work.I smoothed the pillows and tucked the sheets under the mattress before making the bed.My residency might have gotten off track, but there was still time to begin again.Even if I didn’t create a literary masterpiece in my remaining time, at least I could get myself back on track and start making plans for the future.
The house was quiet without Aster.It wasn’t just the ethereal tone of his voice that muted the sounds.It was the lack of movement, the fact that I was the only person still here.The only living thing in this house.
It was only as evening drew near that my thoughts turned to writing again.The first thing I did was open my abused laptop and press the power button.I assumed I could salvage nothing.The screen refused to brighten, and the buttons remained unresponsive to my efforts.
No surprise there.
I didn’t know what I would have done if I had turned it on successfully and restored the draft.I still didn’t know what the book really amounted to.It was Aster’s idea, and even the parts I wrote I couldn’t remember properly.The original ideas—the starting pages—a few moments scattered throughout the book—those were all I could discuss in a hypothetical author interview.Aster had kept the rest to himself, either directly or indirectly.
Either way, I saw the ending of the book now more clearly than I had before.I had often considered the imagery of the storm before and the metaphors that came with it, but I had never thought of the resolution as being anything more than simple destruction.A shipwreck.A sad skeleton on the bottom of the Atlantic floor.
Now, just as they had outside, the clouds in my book parted and I could see the blue sky that waited for them at the end.
But the book itself?Ruined.Gone.
Or at least Aster’s portion.
The house had come with a basic printer and some clean white printing paper, both stowed in a closet to be kept handy for if I or other residents needed it during the stay.I snatched a few sheets of paper and then scrounged around the kitchen for a pen featuring the logo of a local bank.
Then I sat down and began to write.I wrote at the kitchen table, not at the desk.I didn’t worry about the tidiness of my handwriting or the speed that the story came out.The only thing that really mattered was that it was mine—all mine, exactly mine, mine the way I had always pictured it.With or without Aster.
At one point, I got up and turned on the overhead light.It was night now.I’d been at the table for over two hours and covered four sheets front and back in a tiny half-cursive scrawl with small page numbers hatched into the corners.
I stretched my arms and fingers.I held my breath for a second and imagined what Aster would have thought if he could read it.
Picking the papers up from the table I skimmed them and re-read everything I’d just scribbled down.Aster didn’t like me to re-read my writing because it slowed my progress, but even as I read, I felt the itch that only writers know to show it to as many people as I could.
I knew what I needed to do to make it complete.
I folded the papers and packed them away into my purse.Then I slipped on a soft blue denim pair of flats and hurried off to my car for an evening in the Red Sails Cafe.
I’d picked a busy night on the schedule.When I entered the cafe, I found a live jazz trio playing instrumentals in the corner and more people here than I’d seen before.Come to think of it, the only other time I came here, Aster and I had been the only patrons around.Or perhaps I hadn’t noticed everyone else because of the haze that surrounded us everywhere we went together.
I did find one table to sit at.It was small, round, and seemed to exist more for decor than practicality since it added up to only the approximate circumference of a slightly larger than average plate.I ordered a hot chocolate and a chocolate-filled croissant, and then I sat down and pulled out my paper.
The red and blue lighting breathed new life into the writing.At first I only looked at the pages I’d already written and admired how serious they looked, how diligent.It would take a long time for me to get back everything that Aster destroyed…
Aster.Even now, even after I restored what order I could to the lighthouse, I hated his absence.I missed him and his drama and still wanted him to come back, and something in me couldn’t let go my guilt over throwing him over the ledge and making him disappear.
I would not write any more for the rest of the night.
THE RESOLUTION
The next two weeks,the last of my residency, passed quickly and easily.After a few days, I could feel the fabric of my life healing from the marks Aster etched into it.He had come from a dream and had disappeared back into one.
I ordered a new laptop online, and it arrived at the lighthouse early enough for me to transcribe everything I had written by hand and add several more chapters, a few tens of thousands of words that checked off necessary plot points and grounded me more in the book.My vision for my project remained strong.Even without Aster and his colorful demonstrations, I found myself sucked fully into the prose, with a strong ending waiting before me like a distant finish line.Only now I didn’t follow Captain MacGregor as much in his doomed path.I followed his daughter looking through a window.The one who lost but still survived.
