The year: 2023

Dragon's Den
Oadley,
Albion

[Marty's POV]

Two years after opening the Dragon's Den, I had moved out of the home I shared with Mum. She was getting older, and I felt guilty for being a disappointing son to her all her life. Mum didn't say it, but then again, she didn't need to; mothers have a knack for making their feelings known to their children in the most indirectly direct ways possible, don't they? 

I wanted to live close to my mother in case she needed me, but I also needed to be far enough away to feel like an adult. My relationship with Mum now was awkward at best. Most of it had to do with Mr. Jansickle, our neighbor. 

After losing his better half-she truly was the better of the two, may her soul rest in peace- he had immediately made a move on my Mum. The man had showered her with gifts, compliments, and whatnot till she had given in and agreed to a date. 

It turned out that he was exactly what Mum needed to fill the spot my father had left empty more than a decade ago. 

We didn't know if my father was dead, but the law stated that if a husband and wife had no contact for over a year, their relationship could be nullified. 

I often wondered what she would do if her real husband, my father, returned one day and asked her to choose between Mr. Jansickle and him. 

All the questions her relationship with Mr. Jansickle had left unanswered created a rift between Mum and me. It's unlikely that it had even occurred to her that since he had entered her life, I had slowly but steadily made my way out. 

Having had a busy day- a miracle in its own right- at the cafe, I trudged my tired feet up the stairs. It seemed like the whole of Oadley had suddenly woken up to the existence of Dragon's Den and decided that that was the place to be. 

"Hey, Marty," Henkley called from behind the café's cash counter. 

If he was looking to slack off…

"Do you know a person by the name of Dwight Peyton? He says he knows you."

I rushed downstairs, "Yes, I know him. I mean, he knows me. What did he say?"

"I am not your slave, Marty. Ask him yourself. He is holding the line. Also, the cafe is not your personal space. Either trash these things or take them to your place." Henkley gestured towards the packages that I had left under the counter. 

I nodded and grabbed the phone out of my business partner's hand, "Hey, Dwight. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"That's fine." 

After what felt like an eternity, Dwight added, "Did you, by any chance…"

Henkley shifted closer on the pretext of cleaning the floor. I couldn't blame him. Unlike him, my social life was nonexistent. His boring partner receiving a call- this late in the night- must have given him food for thought. 

To milk the situation, for all it was worth, I lowered my voice and turned away from the nosy fellow, "Do you want to know if I have figured it out yet?" I asked, praying that my mysterious and (hopefully) sultry tone hadn't spooked Dwight out too much.

"Yes, it's my day off tomorrow. If you haven't figured out what they are for yet, we could work on it together over coffee."

The reply disappointed me. I had hoped that Dwight would suggest something else, forgetting that there was nothing interesting about me. Sometimes I wondered if Ellisa, my girlfriend of two years, was probably spending time with me just so she could enjoy the on-the-house coffee, cookies, and other treats I offered her every time she paid me a visit. 

Now that I thought about it, never once since we began dating had she offered for us to meet and hang out elsewhere. 

"I am sorry, Dwight. I don't think I can make time tomorrow. Moreover, I know what they are. Thank you for-"

"How about this weekend, then? Let's catch a movie. What genre do you like?"

It was my turn to get stumped.

"Ummmm, give me a moment. Let me check my schedule."

I didn't have a schedule. My mind ran a mile a minute.

Why did he want to meet me? 

Was he perhaps trying to flirt with me?

But he looked straight as a nail. 

'What's wrong with him. He doesn't have a schedule. Why is he dilly-dallying?' The man called Merlin spoke from somewhere near my feet.

I almost yelped. 

'I think the boy is having some kind of awakening.' The woman (Morgana, was it?) giggled.

'Shut up, Morgana. He looks like he is in pain.' The man spoke up for me. 

A frustrated sigh followed Merlin's words. 'Damn it,  Merlin. Even after almost eleven hundred years, you are still an idiot!'

Wait… what!? Did I hear her correctly? 

My brain disengaged from the conversation the two were having and yelled, "Sure!" into the receiver, hoping that it would silence the (obviously, imaginary) residents of the coffee table. Yes, I had put two and two together and concluded that the voices I had heard- off and on- throughout the day were coming from that bloody furniture. 

I wasn't in any pain and was definitely not having an awakening of any sort either, "Let's meet at The Majestic," I suggested. "Would Sunday evening work? They have the widest choice of movies and the best popcorn this side of town."

I heard Dwight laugh. It seemed devoid of inhibitions and awkwardness. "That sounds perfect. Does six pm work for you?"

"Yes. It does."

"Great. See ya!"

Disconnecting the call, I stood looking at the phone. A swarm of emotions: joy, apprehension, doubt, and excitement, collided with the walls within which I had locked myself years ago. 

'He is not just going to leave us here, is he?' Morgan's irritated voice killed the brief reprieve that Dwight's offer had brought me seconds earlier. 

'Morgana, we have waited for a long time; what difference are a few more days going to make? Eventually, he will hear us; when he does, he will do the needful.'

Merlin's calm logic did nothing to lift my spirits. How could it? My fears were turning into reality right in front of me. I was finally going insane, just like my father and his father before him. 

'Yes! More waiting sounds just delightful!'

Morgana's irritation was rubbing off on me now. I had had enough of the two discussing me like I was some project. I wasn't, damn it! 

This wasn't their café! And I was my own person with all the rights and freedoms my country had bestowed upon me. Thank you very much! 

Grabbing the packages off the floor, I walked towards the staircase which would take me to my apartment. Yes, I stayed right above Dragon's Den. Wonderful, right?  

Just as I reached the staircase, I remembered that there was something I needed to do. Taking a detour, I cleared Jodi's trinkets off the coffee table and picked it up; making sure that I had them securely tucked under my arms, I returned to the staircase.

Climbing the steps one at a time, I wondered why now, after all these years, I had started hearing the voices again? 

Arriving at the door of my apartment, I concluded that it didn't matter that I had started hearing the voices. Why? Because I wanted to believe that it was nothing more than a figment of my imagination. And eventually, it would become a reality, and life would return to normal. 

I stepped inside my one-and-a-half-bedroom apartment and glanced at the time. It was half past twelve. I had no energy to think about, let alone experiment with the items in my arms. 

In any case, I already knew what I needed to do with the larger package, for the piece of wood, aka the heartwood of the oak tree, came from the same oak from which my coffee table was made. I was positive that if I inserted the heartwood into the hollow at the center of the antique table, it would fit perfectly.

Would doing that make the voices stop? I wondered. 

My tired limbs gave up on me just then, and my hold on the items in my arms slacked for a second. The amulet on top of the pile slipped through my fingers; hitting the floor, it rolled under my bed. Damn it! 

Great!

It was too much effort to crouch down and fish for it just then, so I abandoned the pendent there and carried the rest of the items to the closet, where I dumped them without care. 

'Ouch!'

The woman winced, surprising me just a little. Could voices get hurt too? 

'Come back here and apologize to Morgana right now, dollop-head, or I will turn you into a turnip!'

I felt a smile tug at the corner of my lips at the innovative insult.

Dollop-head, how silly! 

'It's fine, Merlin. I am not hurt. We don't have bodies, remember?'

The smile dropped from my lips, and I contemplated, 'How can one not have a body? Did the voices belong to ghosts? It couldn't be, could it?' 

'Marty, it's just your imagination; you are tired and sleepy,' I repeated, closing the closet door and walking towards my bed.

The trick seemed to work as my mind drifted to the phone call from Dwight, and the world fell silent; with my home once more how I liked it: peaceful, I threw myself on the bed and drifted off to sleep.