(Saying Goodbye)
Ridley Johnson, a young man of twenty-eight, was grappling with a profound grief. The sudden and unexpected loss of his friend, mentor, and lover, Paul Johnson, had left him in profound sadness. Ridley had experienced loss before, but this was a depth of sorrow he had never imagined. He had not yet reached that stage of life one often hears of, where the departed outnumber the living. It was a reality that had struck him at a young age, leaving him to navigate the complexities of grief.
He attended Paul’s funeral, much as someone who had just stepped on a landmine might feel. Or the person leaving a doctor’s office having just been told they had incurable, untreatable cancer. It was surreal; everyone in attendance was saddened. Many had cried. In this region, almost everyone knew everyone else. The small community in upper east Tennessee, in the Appalachian Mountains. It was a place somewhat out of step with time. People here had a unique way of life, which one would not find anywhere else.
This was an open casket affair with the traditional viewing of the deceased. Ridley ambled towards the immediate destiny of seeing his friend, employer, and lover just gone. The sorrow in the pit of his stomach was torturous, which only increased with every step closer to seeing him.
He remembered the first day they had met nearly a year and a half ago. He had been driving his new Chevrolet Trailblazer LT, trying to follow the car's optional GPS. It could have been of better help as this area was a deep country. The navigation system had often needed to be corrected, forcing him to turn the vehicle around several times. He had to search until he found the road he was looking for, Crow’s Nest Lane.
He was not used to driving in this mountainous region. He lived some sixty miles south, way down the mountain. Johnson City, Tennessee, was one of three cities that formed the tri-city area. Bristol and Kingsport, with the surrounding suburbs, spread between them. That was the tri-cites of upper eastern Tennessee. He was associated with East Tennessee State University and had gotten a Master’s in Anthropology there. His specialty was old languages, and ETSU had a good program. It was not a football-oriented school. One had to study to pass their classes there as he had.
The department head, Dr. David Fowler, had brought this opportunity to Ridley. Who was good and thorough in his schoolwork and took the project seriously. Dr. Fowler had told him a rather unique job opportunity had become available. A man he had known for years, Paul Rogers, who lived on Pine Gap, was looking for a new assistant, someone easy to get along with who took their work seriously.
Ridley had listened respectfully. He had yet to learn where Pine Gap was. Ridley Johnson felt that his work was vital to him. The department head had been earnest with him. Of course, you can remain here and teach, he remembered him saying. Then, they had told Ridley that Paul Rogers was the real deal. This was a real chance to go out into the real world and do.
A week later, he found himself on Crow’s Nest Lane. The houses were nice but widely spread apart, and some looked old. One could tell the quality of the people here as he drove by a few of the houses. The occupants may be out tending a garden or mowing a lawn. Most everyone he passed, having never been here, was in an unfamiliar vehicle. They all waved friendly, and much of that sentiment had been lost.
He had come up to a large white, two-story house, and the mailbox number was his destination. 5712 was the house number, and it had a two-car garage, and the driveway was clear. He had pulled into the driveway. As they would say in this area, this was undoubtedly a “Far Piece.” There was a large recently mown lawn, and the area around the house was heavily wooded. He had driven up and startled two deer that stood on the edge of the backyard and the woodlands.
He had watched them jump into the woods and disappear. He gathered his things, got out, and approached the front door. He rang the doorbell, heard it chime inside, and then waited. It was a large house so that it might have taken a minute. It was hot and humid, even up on the mountain. Tennessee was always hot and humid in July. Came with the territory if one was going to settle here.
Ridley Johnson was twenty-eight years old, much the athletic sort who jogged and tried to live healthy. He was borderline six feet tall, someplace around a hundred and fifty-five pounds. He had on a white, what people called a polo-style shirt with a clean t-shirt underneath. He was wearing a pair of Docker’s shorts and a comfortable-looking pair of tennis shoes. He had a healthy head of well-kept brown hair with light brown eyes to match. He was a young man with a friendly disposition.
The front door inside the glass storm door opened, and he saw Paul Rogers for the first time. He was a bit older than Ridley. His records indicated he was thirty-nine. He was an inch taller and looked around a hundred and sixty-five pounds. His hair was a bit longer but dark and stylish as well. He had dark eyes and kind features. He had a pair of black reading glasses sitting at eleven o’clock above his forehead.
He smiled warmly, opened the screen door, and said, “I suppose you would be Ridley Johnson, all the way up here from Johnson City?”
Ridley returned his friendly smile, “Yes, sir. I'm sorry I'm running a little behind. The GPS on my car did not match any of the roadways.”
Paul pushed the screen door for him, and Ridley stepped inside the pleasant, air-conditioned house. It was good to be out of the oppressive heat and humidity.
The owner said, “Yeah, we get that a great deal up here. I guess technology has not overrun everything yet. Step right in there to the living room and have a seat. Do you like sweet tea or lemonade? People with diabetes, beware if I make it.”
Ridley said politely, “I like either one, thank you.”
Paul said, “I’ll be right back, Ridley Johnson. Make yourself comfortable.”
The younger man walked into the clean and well-furnished living room. He sat on a sofa and placed his file and laptop beside him. It wasn’t just a few minutes till Paul Rogers returned and put a glass of sweet, iced tea on a coaster on a coffee table in front of him. He sat in a recliner across from Ridley and put down his glass of lemonade.
A large black cat hopped on the sofa and approached Ridley tentatively. He scratched it behind the ear, and it began purring and was on his lap.
Paul said, “That would be my cat, Nefertiti. She loves attention. If she is bothering you, just put her on the floor.”
Ridley answered him, “She’s fine, so you are Nefertiti the Kitty.”
He reached over, got the file with his resume and educational background, and handed it to Paul. He took it, lowered his glasses, and began reading the contents.
The older man said, “I am sure you know I am Paul Rogers. It is nice to meet you. Welcome. “
Ridley said, “Thank you, sir. The tea is just right and great. I was parched, and there are few places to stop here.”
Still reading the resume, Paul said, “David Fowler, an old friend of mine, says you are the best he has had come through in a while. Let me tell you, from him, that is high praise.”
Ridley was next up to view Paul’s remains, and it brought him back to the present. People were taking their time. He wanted to pay his respects but dreaded it. To him, all funeral homes were clones of the rest. They all smelled the same sickly sweet and had offensive plush carpeting. Paul had once joked with him on this subject, saying he thought they made them so offensive on purpose to see if the dead would get up and leave.
After he and Paul had talked for nearly an hour that day, he offered Ridley the job. The pay was good, and there was free room and board, but the work was expected to be tedious. He explained that he was primarily interested in old texts and had amassed quite an extensive collection. Then, he had asked Ridley a strange question.
“Tell me, Ridley Johnson from Johnson City. Do you spook easily?”
Ridley held his gaze and replied, “Not at all, sir. I am generally well-grounded on such things. “
His host and employer said, “Well, just call me Paul. I asked because many of the texts I must deal with concern witchcraft, magic, and sorcery. I know that sounds odd. You would not believe how many there are. Some folks go nuts over that stuff. What do you think of that?”
Ridley was slightly surprised but said, “Translation and deciphering are just that to me. It doesn’t sound boring. I have read one of your books, and it was different. Different can be a good thing sometimes.”
His host leaned forward and had a small blue nylon-looking bag. He opened it and took out two octagonal wooden dice. However, they were not numbered like regular dice. They appeared to have differing runes on each side of them. He placed them on the table so Ridley could easily reach them.
Paul said, “Do me a favor. Take those and roll them both on the table at the same time. Don’t think about it other than to ensure they stay on the table and give them a roll.”
Ridley reached and got them and slowly rolled them both on the table. They both landed on the same result. The runes looked almost like infinity symbols.
Paul looked at them for a moment, then stared straight at Ridley. He didn’t say anything for a moment. He just lifted his reading glasses back up on his forehead and stared.
Ridley felt a bit unsettled but returned the stare. He asked, “Is that supposed to be a good result?”
Paul had finally taken the dice and placed them back into the bag. One could tell he was in deep thought. Ridley was patient till he responded.
Finally, he said, “Yeah, you are in the right place. The work may seem goofy to many, but it is important, as is all history.”
Paul had shown him around. The house had a full basement. He had more ancient texts and scrolls down here than the university had regular books in its library.
His employer said, “I know you have been trained in handling these sorts of texts and scrolls. Just make sure always to be careful and wear gloves. Some of these are old and difficult to come by. Anytime you need a break, get some refreshments, but no food or drink when handling them.” He showed him the computer room upstairs with several excellent models and a bank of high-quality laser printers.
Next, he showed him a spacious bedroom with a double queen-sized bed. It had its full bathroom, which was adjoined to it.
He told Ridley, “Some of the best sleep you will ever get will be here. This is a quiet place up here. I hardly have any visitors.”
The next three months had just flown by, and the younger Ridley was getting accustomed to his duties. Eventually, with them working in proximity, he talked to someone daily, shared meals, and got to know them. What happened between Ridley Johnson and Paul Rogers was inevitable.
At the beginning of that fourth month, it got serious. It had begun innocently enough. They sat one evening after working all day talking in the living room. By that time, Ridley had become comfortable with Paul. They could sit in a room together, reading for pleasure, and go two hours without saying a word. Ridley’s grandmother, who had raised him, had once told him that is when you know it’s right. When you find someone with whom you can share a room comfortably in silence.
He and Paul had begun talking like any other evening. The question had been gnawing at Ridley for a bit of time now. He wondered, as Paul was not married, if he had friends he spoke with on the phone. One rarely saw them because they were always working.
His employer had started the conversation, “You know, Ridley, if you have a girlfriend down the mountain. It would be okay to knock off on the weekend and drive to see them.”
Ridley had thought about this moment more than once. It made him nervous now that it was here. He did not want to alienate this man. As strange as it was, he enjoyed his work, and they were working on the next book together. He had decided there was only one way to approach it. He just told the truth.
He said nervously, “I don’t have a girlfriend. Paul never had one. I have had a few boyfriends. I don’t mean to be offensive about it. I know some people get all up in arms about such things.”
Paul had sipped a beer, smiling, “You know Ridley, you can just say it. There is nothing to worry about here.”
Ridley said, “Okay, Paul, I am gay, have known for some time. It is never an issue, as I don’t push it on people. Most of my gay friends at the school say that I am a stealthy gay person. I have a small radar cross-section for gaydar.”
Paul answered, “Now see, that wasn’t all that bad. I don’t think I will have to call my friend, the local deputy, Charlie Conners. Tell him we got us another one of them darn gays up here.”
Ridley was relieved. “You know, there are those I encounter who make that statement I did to you so easy for them. It never was for me, not that I am ashamed. I am a good person, and most are like me.”
Paul finished his beer and said, matter-of-factly, “It is okay, Ridley, I am too. You must have wondered why I never had a lady friend over. No big strapping guy that looks like the Brawny Paper Towel Man comes crashing through a window, where he has swung over here on his vine?”
This caused Ridley to take a different view of his employer. He was a handsome man. There was a slight age difference, but it was not catastrophically lopsided. He was good to work for, even-tempered, had a good sense of humor, and was all-around pleasant.
Paul laughed and said, “Guess you are not the only one with the small gaydar cross-section?”
Ridley had asked him, “Why do you not have a boyfriend, a dozen for that fact? I would think a great many people would be interested in you.”
Paul had gotten another beer, “I suppose that is close to the pot calling the kettle black. Why on earth do you not, Ridley Johnson, from Johnson City? You are twenty-eight, very handsome, and easy to get along with. I think you are being hyperbolic about how interesting I am. A man who deciphers ancient texts on witchcraft and the sort and dumbs it down to write books. Not many are beating my door down.”
Ridley Johnson was having one of those moments where it was like he had just forgotten how to breathe. He was trembling on the inside. He hated this side of himself. Why not just do what was on his mind?
Ridley said, “What if I told you I found you interesting? I do distinctly remember it being me who knocked on your door. When it comes to these matters, it’s like I am broken. I hope that was not offensive.”
The air seemed to crackle with electricity. Paul looked at him for a few moments, not saying anything. Then he got up and walked over to Ridley, seated on the couch. This was that moment when songs and books talked about when two people knew what was about to happen.
Paul asked him, “May I sit next to you?”
Ridley had just looked up at him and shook his head yes. Paul had sat down close, and his aftershave smelled good. He was looking at the younger man speculatively. Then it happened, what had changed everything. It was Paul Rogers and Ridley Johnson’s nexus point. This simple act had inextricably linked them, and it was so lovely.
The older man had leaned in slowly and put his lips to Ridley’s. They began to kiss slowly at first, but that quickly became more intense. Paul was a bit more aggressive than Ridley, not overly so. This was fine with the younger man, and he didn’t mind Paul taking the initiative. As they kissed, Ridley was wearing an Adidas T-shirt. Paul reached his hand down and ran it up his chest inside the shirt.
They were both breathing faster and heavier; their touch felt electric again. The closeness was very pleasant to both.
Paul paused and asked the younger man, “Are you okay with this?”
Ridley found his hand moving down to his employer’s most sensitive area. It was okay with him. He rubbed the outside of his jeans there a bit.
He said, “Bet that I am, yes, I am okay.”
They kissed longer, and Paul finally moved back. He said, “Why don’t we go to my bedroom and discuss this further?”
Ridley had followed him as if he were a kind of Pied Piper; he didn’t want to stop, which was okay. They had gotten to the bedroom, and Paul had undressed him. Then he and they were in bed kissing. That is when they had made love for the first time. Yes, Paul was the more aggressive of the two, but also very gentle.
Both had performed oral sex for each other. Paul had moved a finger around experimentally and slowly worked it inside Ridley. He had made it feel so very exhilarating. It was a set of events that if Ridley were lucky enough to live to be a hundred and two, he would remember every moment. Every touch, every sensation, they had been working together towards two moments as close to perfect as two could be.
Paul had whispered to Ridley, wanting to know if he could perform anal sex on him. The younger man’s answer had been, please. Ridley had laid there all through it, and Paul could not have made it any better. He was not a selfish lover. Neither of them was so together they had worked. Finally, Paul had climaxed and had stayed inside Ridley a bit after.
When he was done, he had asked the younger man to lay on his back. He had slid down and orally stimulated him. The air was so charged it had not taken long. They had both laid there spent and enjoying the presence of the other. As is often the case, this night had been the ember that had ignited many nights of this. Had they ever raged like a fire, sometimes out of control?
Their working relationship had just improved, and one night, as midnight approached, Paul Rogers told Ridley Johnson what his genuine job was and even demonstrated some things to prove he was not crazy. He had explained that Ridley was destined to have come to him. The Runes never lied about such things and what was to come. Ridley was to learn from him. Very grave things lie ahead, not for those who spooked easily. There would be loss and pain. Just trust him. It was essential above all else. He needed him in so many ways now.
Ridley Johnson was finally able to approach the viewing coffin. He saw Paul lying there, with such pale skin and no playful grin. It was almost soul-shattering, and the young man felt his knees about to buckle. The story had been that Paul’s car had swerved off the road and entered a small ravine. Ridley knew better, knew precisely, so now was time for him to work.
To put what his Master had taught him to use and see if the man’s faith he had shown in him, well, if he had been worthy of it. He was scared now and sad but persistent and determined. There was so much weight on his shoulders, but the Runes never lied. He was meant to carry this and make things right.
Failure here was not an option. He would not lose so much when he had been prepared for what to do about it. He went to leave Restful Acres Funeral Home, and he saw Paul’s first cousin, Victor. He could swear the man had a smug grin on his face. He knew what role he had played in all of this. He would erase that as soon as he could.
He pulled up to Paul’s house, and a late-night January stormfront had moved in. Snow was depositing, and some static discharge was high in the sky. His master had told him that was not unusual for these mountains.
Shortly after that, Ridley came down to the basement and stood in the center of the floor. He had not turned the lighting on purposefully. He did not have to worry about being attacked here. Paul’s house was way too well protected for that. He was wearing his brown one-piece robes, which were hooded. They denoted he was still an apprentice.
He reached into them and removed the necklace holding his Master’s ring. He would need it for this, but this did not belong to him. This would be for a short time only. It belonged to someone else. He raised his hands into the darkness and spoke ancient words from one of the scrolls he had memorized.
A giant, prominent infinity symbol had been laid on the flooring, which was hard to see during the day. One had to have a good eye for detail to notice it. As soon as he stopped speaking, the flash from the lighting outside was almost dim compared to what flew from his hands, and the symbol began to glow red. He exerted more of his will, and slowly, it turned blue.
Many other smaller Runic symbols began to light up all around it in a circle. It took a great deal of his concentration and willpower. This was more complex stuff at the outer edges of his abilities. Some would say what he was doing was unnatural or an abomination. He would split this world in half to have his Master back.
It took him several minutes to read through all the complex wording in a pagan language that would baffle even the best linguists. You had to be just the right sort of individual, or you would never be able to decipher them. That is what his Master had had him roll the Runic dice for as he had hired him. Ridley Johnson was the right sort. There were very few, and he didn’t see others lined up outside to do this.
Finally, it was completed, and the storm had picked up outside. There was another brilliant flash of static discharge, and he stumbled to the wall and used it to support him. The air in the room began to stir powerfully, and he got what he sought. A potent smell he was so familiar with, his Master’s aftershave. He smiled to himself. He was back on this side. It would take some rest and one more go at what he just did.
He needed to be more vital to do it in one casting. His Master’s trust in him had not been in vain. He slowly ascended the stairs, and the electricity was out due to the storm. He moved through the house in the darkness. He slowly climbed the second story of stairs. It was dark. He did not feel alone, as he wasn’t.
His Master’s presence was palpable, and all the older ones who had held the title of The Appalachian Wizard were present. He was in the line of succession now. There's nothing Victor or anyone else could do about that. Let them try, he was ready, but now he needed rest.
He went into the Master’s bedroom and removed the robes. He lay on the bed, already slightly falling asleep. From out of the darkness, something reached and gently pulled the covers all around him so that he would be warm and comfortable. He got another powerful scent of his Master’s aftershave.
He mumbled, “Hang on, Master. I need to rest, then, yes, then.” He could not hold off the slumber that overtook him. He had been called early, but he had been successful.
Out in the mountains, the snow blew, and the static discharge flashed. It would almost be beautiful if it weren’t so frightening.
