A Preview of the First and Second Chapters of My Forthcoming Novel, Sands of Time

I heard it before I knew what it was.

The screech of rubber... the crash of metal then the silence. It's always the silence that gets me, every time I hear it... and I hear it all the time... all day... all night... the deafening silence that only solitude, loneliness and guilt can bring. As soon as I heard the silence I knew what it was. The sound of the car going into the water. The sound of my wife trying desperately to get out. The sound of my children screaming for someone... maybe even me, to help. The sound of my life ending in the blink of an eye. I didn't have to run there so fast that I didn't remember how I got there... but I did. I didn't have to see the skid marks to know what happened... but I did. It all happened so fast.

So, here I am.

The sun is setting on yet another day of solitude.

Was today any better than yesterday... or the day before... or the day before that? Is this getting better? The holidays came and went, not that I noticed. I could say that the holidays were terrible and that I missed Sandy and the kids more then I ever thought I could miss anyone or anything. And I could say that, because I am sure it would be the truth if I had even the slightest recollection of Christmas or New Years. I can only assume that there was a Christmas because it happens every year, with or without me. I don't even care...

So where is my solace? Where is the healing?

I could say that I drown myself in my work. During the summer months our little pub does a thrifty business selling alcohol and food. I could say that, but it's not true. I have barely paid any attention to the pub or the Inn. It has been six months since Sandy and the kids were taken from me, and in that time I have downed more bottles of Jack then all of my customers have put away in the last two years. So, it stands to reason that the inner numbness afforded me by my warm, personal relationship with my new best friend, Mr. Daniels, has not allowed me... or should I say, has allowed me to skip the whole hurting part of this process. My shrink says that I need to grieve and accept the loss and move on. Why? What kind of an evil sadistic nut job is this doctor? Why would anyone subject themselves to the caverness abyss that is inside of me? Dr. Ashton says that if I look inside myself, I'll find some sort of inner peace or something stupid like that. Why would I look inside myself when looking inside of Jack allows me to drown myself in the acceptance that only Mr. Daniels can offer?

Dr. Ashton wants to see me weekly, says I need help to accept what has happened. I say I've got help. Dr. Daniels.. hey, Jack would like that, he's a doctor now, Dr. Daniels is working wonders on my coping skills. Nothing bothers me! Ha! What does that quack Ashton know that Dr. D can't offer me?

Healing? Who needs to heal when I can be numb?

What I do remember from the holidays is mostly sitting in my office with Jack. Just sitting there listening to music and singing along to whatever happened to come on, even if I didn't know the words. Well if you could call that delirious drivel that was coming out of my mouth singing, but only Jack was judging me and he tends to be very kind. Especially after a few glasses from his glimmering walls of acceptance. I did have the inn to run, but in the winter we are rarely busy. Not too many people vacationing at the Jersey Shore over the holidays. They tend to make their way to the warmer climates or the ski slopes for vacation in the winter months. Oh, we do get a guest here and there, just looking to get away and spend a weekend overlooking the scenic Atlantic even though it is cold. Some people like that, they tell me they find it comforting.. it just makes me want to walk into the cool, flowing waves of the ocean. Step by step, I can feel the water on my feet, grabbing at my ankles, pulling me in. Step by step, my knees are wet in the clutches of the dark and dreary ocean. It pulls me... beckons me further into its cold and welcoming arms. There is no instinct to retreat, no need to turn around, just the welcoming cold of the icy grip of the ocean on my waist beckoning me to continue... step by step... and I just keep going until the undertow grabs me and pulls me under.

So, needless to say running the inn in the winter is nary a concern. Besides, Natalie pretty much runs the place for me. She's smart, confident and understands how I like things... which is very important to me. When I hired her I wanted someone who would run the Inn the way I would. She's that person. I'd be lost without her, the Inn would be lost without her. There was a time when we had a nice relationship... it was fun... we'd crack little jokes and she would keep me up to date on what was going on when I was busy with other things... but since Sandy and the kids were taken from me, I have fallen into this distant, disinterested, hollow numbness that is my current personality and she began to respond likewise. She acts more concerned and watchful then before... we don't have that easy conversation anymore... no more jokes, no more laughter. Even with the great responsibility that being my front desk manager carried with it, we never really had an employee - employer relationship. It was more like good friends who worked together. And now, it seems like that cold workplace interaction that you see in TV. I would say it's very sad, but I'm not sure I remember what it is to be sad. How does it feel? How does anything feel? I've forgotten... I've forgotten a lot of things.

How to feel is just one of them...

Dr. Ashton has convinced me that writing is cathartic... is it?

I guess we'll find out.

March 4^th

The guests come and go and I hardly notice anymore. I used to love this. The hustle and the bustle of the inn... but now the inn runs itself for the most part. I've been making the day-to-day decisions but have left much of it to my staff to take care of, and they've been very good about it. Thank God for Natalie. She's been invaluable the past few months. She's young and sweet, she works very hard. She treats this inn as if it were her own. Maybe she deserves a raise? I'll have to remember to see if I can swing that for her... or maybe just a nice big Christmas bonus this year, God knows that didn't even occur to me this past year. I wonder if everyone hates me for that?

The rest of the staff doesn't really speak to me too much... actually they avoid me. All except Curtis, my head bartender... he listens... offers some advice and a straight-faced joke or two to keep my spirits up. We met when we were teenagers in high school and have been friends ever since. After high school, our paths went very different ways. I went off to college and he hopped in his Mustang convertible and drove it around the country, working odd jobs to pay for gas and food. He saw the country and learned how to make something out of nothing. I went to college and learned how to drink and still get up in the morning and pretend I was interested in what the stuffed shirt at the head of the room was talking about. Who made out better? Hard to say, really, but you could easily argue that his path was the wiser one. Either way, he runs the pub and he does a hell of a job, it always makes a profit... even with my pilfering of the Jack.

The others... they ask how I'm doing... if they can do anything.. it's all just niceties really. They don't really care, so I tell them I'm fine and no, I'm getting through it thanks... I mean, what would they do if I told them the truth...

"I'm dieing inside! I have nothing left! I would not care either way if a demon from hell grew inside of me and devoured my soul leaving nothing but the empty shell of a broken and hollow man. That is what I am anyway, so what would it really matter? I am NOT OK! Nothing is OK, nobody cares and no one understands! My heart has been ripped from my chest, has dried up and turned to stone right in front of my eyes - do you have the elixir for the virus that has broken my soul into as many pieces as the sky has stars? Does the sky still have stars? I haven't noticed...

I think they'd run as far away from me as possible.

Tonight the door to my study opens and one my bartenders' tells me we are out of Gin. I picked up the phone and started dialing the distributor. It rang a few times then I realized that is was getting late and I told him I'd have to call in the morning, the office must be closed. He shuffles out and closes the door. I don't even remember his name. I know he has worked here for 4 years and but still I cannot remember his name. How pathetic is that?

And I've only had three glasses of Jack. I'm surprised we weren't out of Jack. Surprised, but thankful, hey at least I have something to be thankful for. Everything's coming up roses... Maybe I'll throw a party.

I went there last night, to the one place I haven't been. To the one place that can make me feel -- to the church. After the guests were settled and the lobby area was quiet I grabbed my coat and my savior. I went out through the lobby and saw Natalie at the front desk. I told her I was going to the church for a while and would be back later. She looked at me like a sad puppy and told me to take as much time as I needed, that she was on until 6 anyway. That's my Natalie, always dependable and always helpful. I just wish she'd stop treating me like a shell-shocked war veteran. I could tell she knew I had been drinking and I wasn't doing a really good job of hiding Jack in my coat. She didn't say a word, but it was that look of genuine concern that she gave me as I pushed through the door that stayed with me. It was almost as if she was reaching out and begging me to let her help. But, it was likely my imagination or the seed that Jack planted in my fertile imagination. She's sweet, but why would she want to help me? Probably worried the inn will run into the ground and she'll lose her job. I saw her smile sweetly as the door closed and heard her gently reminded me that she was here if I needed her. For what? To heal my wounds? To sooth my soul? Or for work? What could she do for me... She's sweet. Did I say that already? I guess Jack is still hanging around. How many glasses have I had? I forget... counting becomes a challenge after a while.

It was dark and quiet and cold but at the time I didn't notice. I found Sandy's grave and sat down leaning against the tombstone. The cold, hard granite... it is as comforting and welcoming as my bed has become since she's been out of my life...

Sandra Jean ShepardBorn: May 15^th, 1974Died: September 1^st, 2004Beloved Mother and WifeOur Lives are Empty Without Her

Empty. Our lives.. her grave. They never found the bodies from the crash. Everyone assumed that they were burned beyond recovery in the fire or thrown from the car into the ocean and never came back. None of it made sense to anyone, least of all me. I am so tired trying to make sense of it all... of anything anymore.

That's the right word. I leaned in, took a swig and cried. I cried for what seemed like forever. Then I got angry... again.

"WHY? Why did you have to do that! Why did you always run! It was always about you and your precious comfort. You never stepped out of your little comfort zone, not for me, not for anyone. You didn't like something, it didn't happen. We always fought over it and you always ran away. You'd run... like a child! WHY? You ran from everything! Including me, including our family.... And now you've run out of my life and took our children with you. You took the children, YOU TOOK TYLER AND CAITLYN DAMN YOU! I hope you are happy because my life is worthless now... without you... without Tyler... without Caitlyn... I love you so much."

Then I heard something... felt something. Like someone was there, or like I was being watched. I jumped to my feet and immediately fell down to my knees... very dizzy. Quickly tried to recover and find out who was there. But no one was there. Just me. I felt it though. Maybe I should give Jack the rest of the night off.

I didn't go to Tyler and Caitlyn's graves... I couldn't. They were right there. I couldn't look. Five feet away.... Not even a glace... But I could feel them, I thought I could sense their presence and I couldn't bear it, the weight of the lives not lived, the love never given, the smiles never seen... not even Jack could help me. I decided Jack wasn't quite done for the night. I finished the bottle and stumbled home.

Everyone was asleep, only Natalie remained awake. She was reading something behind the desk.

"Sam, everything is quiet. Someone called down with a question about how late the boardwalk was open but that's all. That was around midnight I guess, it's almost 4am now." The she looked at me with concern. "Are you OK? Do you need help?"

My mouth drooled, "No" but I think the fact that I was leaning against the wall gave her the impression that I was lying, so she came over to help anyway. I was a terrible liar.

"Sam, it's OK, I can help you... let me help you," she put her arm around my waist and I wrapped my arm around her tiny shoulders.

"We're friends, Sam. I wish you would let me help you." But, I'm not sure if she was actually talking to me. She helped me out to our carriage house that I lived in just behind the inn. She helped me into my room and sat me on my bed. Wow, she is beautiful. Her dark hair and warm chestnut eyes looked so understanding and comfortable and... forgiving. She was looking at me, our faces inches apart... that was because my arms were still around her shoulder.

"Sam, sit down and I'll help you into bed."

Help me into bed? My arms slowly retreated from her soft and delicate shoulders. Her body was thin and fit, she exercised and took care of herself. Wow, she is beautiful, did I say that already? I tend to repeat myself when Jack is around... My hands paused at the small of her back and my drunk attempt to pull her toward me was clumsily thwarted by my lack of motor skills. My arms fell away onto the bed. I looked up at her while she reached down to help me swing my legs up into bed. She didn't seem to notice that, as she pulled the covers back, her small and yet firm breasts brushed my cheek. And I turned and kissed her left breast ever so lightly. She paused... slightly, just for a moment and the continued. Not saying a word. She was trying to help me get into bed slowly but I really fell into bed at that point. She turned to leave.

"Nat?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Stay here... with me.. tonight, please?"

"Sam, you know I can't do that."

"Oh, no," I slurred, " don't worry it won't be a problem I promise. It won't be weird or anything... I just..."

"Sam, someone has to be at the front desk," she smiled but looked worried at the same time, she glanced behind her, "I have to go". And she quickly but quietly closed the door. I was asleep before the door latched shut. I'm such an ass sometimes.

Sometimes?