Mia Darien - Good Things

She stroked the side of his face again, watching his eyes widen. Then he turned to her.

“Is this the payment? For you…restoring my life?” he blurted out.

Nyx removed her hand.

“I don’t require any payment. But I do wish to have you make a choice. You cannot stay here forever. Someone eventually would have moved you.”

Scott shook his head.

“You’ll interfere, somehow. I know. Somehow…” And his light brown brows drew together then came apart as he tilted his face back in her direction.

“I promise not to impede your progress.” She laid one hand over her heart.

“Right,” he said the word slowly. Then another sort of recognition crossed his face as he said,

“Won’t…people be confused if they see me?”

Nyx put his mind at ease with the calmest of words.

“You died five years ago to this day. And you underestimate me. You can and will carry on as you wished to before. The memory of your death has been removed from this world. The last five years will have no impact on you. Only you know of your demise. And the time that passed. Go home. And after tomorrow, seek her, your great love and the one who will give you a reason to live this mortal life again.”

“And where will you be?”

“You will find I am around most nights.” A coy grin drew the corners of her mouth up.

“And what should I call you?” he queried further.

She turned towards the brightening sky, lids softening over her midnight eyes.

“You can call me, N…” Her name interrupted by a very human yawn, she said, “Nina.”

“Nina…” He looked down.

Her name and other words fumbled out of his thoughts. His mind came alive with recollections of Greek Mythology. You will find I am around most nights…

“Nina… Nyx. Nyx!” As recognition dawned, he looked to the Night Goddess, who now was nowhere to be seen.

The church in front of him slowly lit up with the rising sun. He stood and began the journey to the last place he knew as home. The city new yet strange to him. People saw him. Some nodded.

Panicking suddenly, he dug in his pocket when he realised he would have no money. But there was his wallet. He swallowed at the date on his license. And at the collection of twenty pound notes there. Valid credit and debit cards.

He boarded a bus that took him to Piccadilly. Then boarded a train that got him to the last place he knew as home.

Scott turned the key and opened the brand new, white door. All his belongings remained in the same place they were when he had left to go abroad. There was no sound inside the house, only the tweeting of birds outside.

Memories flashed through his brain of fitting the wooden floor. His dad had done the tiles in the kitchen.

When his father was diagnosed with a condition he knew would one day claim his life, the man had worked tirelessly to help purchase a home for his son. He’d insisted on helping with the work that needed doing until he grew too poorly.

Scott sat down on a cushioned armchair with rounded sides. It was so foreign. This comfort. And the smell of paint and new flooring. He stared into the doorway that led to the kitchen.

“Is this a dream?” he asked the freshly painted white walls. In the grey daylight, it felt barren. There was no television, no pictures on the walls.

He stood and went to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway and looked to his right at a steep, carpeted staircase that led to the two bedrooms and bathroom. Scott ascended.

Weariness assaulted his eyelids. A heaviness that made him crave his bed. The very human experience of falling asleep. An escape. The time he’d spent as a ghost in front of St. Ann’s church began to fade from his memory. He tried to recall the imitation of life he’d tried to do. His desperate conjuring to bring back his existence.

In the end, it brought Nyx to me. A bloody Greek goddess. A primordial one, no less.

Slowly, his memories turned to the cold in winter. The rain and wind. He remembered eating fast food and walking past St. Ann’s. He remembered stumbling through the square after a few too many beers.

Getting lost in a fantasy of having a beautiful, hazel-eyed woman look at him with some sort of recognition.

He recalled coming back home from his last tour. Having an interview at a school he wished to teach at. Visiting his parent’s graves. Telling them that he was back and that he was going to the house. Thanking his dad for helping with the floors. Trying not to weep on his way home.

When did I do that? Did that happen this morning? Yeah…it did.

Scott reached the top of the stairs and turned to the left where the bathroom was. He looked at the clear shower guard and saw his favorite “man wash.” A blue beach-themed shower gel.

Another memory, of going to the store and buying new toiletries yesterday. Of seeing people he knew in the car park.

His wonder-filled voice came out, “These memories, she… She did them. She made them.”

Nyx.

Scott placed his hands on either side of the oval white sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He still bore the results of an endless sunburn. A few new freckles had cropped up around his nose. His eyes were a little red from fatigue. But they were his original blue color. His previously cropped hair had begun to grow out, the strands still short but becoming shaggy.

He needed a shower.

He licked his lips and swallowed, then opened his mouth, taking note of every breath. “I’m knackered. Why am I so…” He paused, trying to digest all the things whirring in his mind.

Scott closed his eyes then opened them again. He placed one hand on the side of his neck, squeezing. The moment he did that, he found himself lightheaded. The light behind the frosted privacy window beside his white bath/shower flickered. As though something large and dark flew past.

A familiar voice hit his head. Her.

“You walked all around town last night, unable to find rest. But now…you will find it. Worry not.”

One of the horses from the field behind his back garden whinnied. He was brought back to the moment.

Scott showered, enjoying every moment of hot water and cleanliness.

It’s like I haven’t experienced a shower in ages, but…it’s just all that time in Afghanistan. When normal hygiene was a major luxury. When the stinking heat infiltrated every bastard pore. It’s not like it’s been years…

Leaning his head back and rinsing the last of the shampoo from his hair, he closed his eyes. Remembering all the months of fighting the sweat endlessly dripping into his eyes. At the same time fighting to remain alive.

Toweling off, Scott went into his room. The walls were a deep blue. The blackout curtains had been drawn. The duvet was black, inviting him to crawl into an oblivion-filled, restorative slumber. Scott decided to turn on a lamp on the bedside. He paused to stare at his unpacked things, then went into one of the boxes to find a plain white t-shirt, clean boxers and sweats.

He wanted…nightfall. Like a blanket.

Nyx. He swallowed.

It felt lonely without the goddess’s presence .

I can give you abilities. Make things happen for you. You would grow to enjoy worshiping me.

She’d been like a comfort in the darkness. He was suddenly sensitive to the temperature, despite it being midsummer.

Scott switched off the lamp and climbed into bed. He’d never been a person to kip during the day, but this fatigue was overwhelming and the sheets beckoned him like a siren.

He slid his body beneath the duvet and found himself at sleep’s mercy. Unbidden dreams brought a reality he could smell. He felt it in the very soles of his feet.