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Authors: Michael Richan

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BOOK: 1 The Bank of the River
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Steven was
enraptured with the story. “How did he solve it?”

“I don’t
know,” Roy replied. “He never told me. At first he only involved me in the
trance part. Later on, as we worked together more, he would let me see more of
what he did. And he would show me parts of the book, as he recorded the things
he’d done. And he’d explain other parts as I began to figure things out.”

“Perhaps he
figured,” Steven said, “that a hanging woman was enough for the first
experience of a fourteen-year-old.”

“You’re
probably right,” Roy replied. “It knocked my socks off. It was better than a
whole year of horror movies at the cinema.”

“Do you have
friends that ask you to solve problems?” Steven asked Roy.

“Yes, I do.
Not many, I couldn’t do much and keep the promise I made to Claire. But I’ve
helped a few friends since she died, and a few while she was alive, that I hid
from her.”

Steven
paused. “Were you ever planning on showing this to me?” he asked.

Roy thought
about this for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “I always knew it would be you. I
didn’t know how or when it would happen, but I always thought at some point it
would be you. You have the gift. I think you have it stronger than me.”

Steven
didn’t argue, he just smiled. He had always known how to argue with Roy, and
rarely agreed with him. This was one of those times when he didn’t need to do
either, but just let it stand.

-

Steven sat
on his deck, overlooking Lake Washington, sipping coffee. It was a rare sunny
morning and the lake was unusually calm, the water flat and shiny. In the
distance he could see an eagle flying over the trees in Seward Park. Things
seemed peaceful, balanced.

In his own
home, Steven had fixed the hallway floorboards and had put the rest of the house
in order. Things seemed normal. He slept the last few nights without incident.
He remembered opening his eyes while lying in bed, glancing at the places where
the faces had appeared, wondering if they would come back. They didn’t.

The
downstairs bathroom was the most uncomfortable. The idea of Ben dying in that
tub made him feel very sad. Steven didn’t use it as much as the upstairs
bathroom, so it was easy to avoid.

He still had
Ben’s journal. He had been reading more of it, especially the parts that
followed his identification of Lukas as the culprit. The actual story of how
Ben was able to subdue Lukas and bury him wasn’t in the journal, but Steven had
found the part where he figured it had happened, because the tone changed
dramatically, from anger to fear. He had constructed several ways in which Ben
might have done it. Some involved heroics, others subterfuge, others brute
force. None of them seemed right to him, but he felt compelled to fill in the
blank spaces. He liked the heroic scenario, and let it sit in his brain. He
knew it wasn’t what really happened, but that didn’t matter.

The sun was
warming the air but it was still comfortably cool. He took another sip of coffee
and glanced out over the water. No one was on the lake, and it looked like a
giant mirror, reflecting the green of the trees that surrounded it.

Steven knew
he would spend more time with his father from now on. What they had gone though
was the ultimate father-son bonding experience. He had learned how resilient
his old man was, and how he had misjudged him for so long. There was so much he
still didn’t know about him, and he resolved to find out.

Then there
was the book, and Roy’s knowledge. Steven knew Roy intended to train him, to
give him the knowledge he possessed. Steven welcomed it. He wasn’t sure where
his career or his love life might lead him, but he knew this was a new,
unexpected dimension of his life, and he was ready to absorb whatever Roy felt
like passing along. It was exciting to him, more exciting than anything that
had happened to him since his divorce.

Maybe
since before that,
he thought.
Maybe more exciting than anything else in my life.

Looking over
the small ripples that now began to form on the lake, Steven imagined the flow,
and pictured it in his mind. He fell into it, and floated, waiting to see what
would occur. He heard the sound of birds, amplified. When he was on the bank he
could hear them, but couldn’t see them – now in the river, he knew exactly
where they were, what type of bird they were. He could move to where they were
perched without disturbing them. He could fly with them, if he chose.

He heard the
sounds of his neighbors. The sentences and comments of everyday domesticity
emerged and he suddenly felt like a spy. He was surprised at how easy it was to
fine tune his hearing. He knew he could move inside their houses if he wanted,
but he didn’t want to violate their privacy. And he knew that there were more
ghosts in houses nearby, and he was through with ghosts for a while.

He turned
his attention back to the lake, and imagined what it would be like to be buried
under water. In a rush he was transported into the lake, and he instinctively
held his breath. Water enveloped him, cold and dark. Large green plants brushed
against his feet, and he could see a salmon swim above him. He sunk into the
cold earth below the lake, and felt the darkness surround him.
This is hell,
he thought.  

He emerged
from the flow, and felt his headache return. He drank more coffee. The pain was
substantially less than the first few times he’d jumped in, and it dissipated
more rapidly. He had the sensation of having just completed a morning workout.

Michael
still worried him. It was like when you leave for a trip, and have a nagging
feeling you’ve left something at home that you should have brought. But he had
learned to trust Roy. Roy was far more experienced with people like Michael.
Trusting Roy had been hard to do at first, but now Steven found it easier. The
old man was a cranky sonofabitch, but he loved him and knew he should heed his
advice.

He stood on
the bank once more, ready to dive back into the flow. The bank was losing its
attraction to him, and the river was becoming a place of immense pleasure and
discovery. His skepticism now seemed like a crutch, a way to justify denying
himself these new experiences. Jumping in felt like freedom from constraints he
had placed upon himself.

He glanced
back over the lake, its calmness reassuring him. He watched the people moving
around the path that circled the lake, some jogging, some pushing strollers,
some just walking, solo. He felt sorry for them all. He felt liberated. He felt
like a new man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael Richan lives in Seattle,
Washington.

 

 

Steven
and Roy work together to confront the ghosts of Mason Manor

in
the next book of
The River
series,

A
Haunting in Oregon
.

 

 

Visit

www.michaelrichan.com

to learn about other books in
The
River
series.

 

 

Did
you enjoy this book?

The
author would love to know your opinion of the book.

Please
leave your review at Amazon.com and Goodreads.com. Your feedback is
appreciated!

 

BOOK: 1 The Bank of the River
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