Chapter 4: Adam Streifth

Why are we drawn to the places we end up? Is it a pull down below your gut, a fizzle in your brain—A charred picture from a time you can’t remember? Somewhere you existed but weren’t aware of because it was a place your ancestors called home?

It’s DNA, just not coded right to make you exist yet. But you do, just not in the body you walk with today. Your consciousness is like that DNA, always existing through your ancestors, through time, what makes you today. It’s all connected.

Every decision they made, made you. Their fears strike you and you don’t even know why—Why do I fear fire so much? It’s warmth, it saves lives on a harsh winter day, yet, I stay away. Somewhere in the past, a fire must have had an impact on my ancestors, it caused them more harm than good. The charred ruins in front of me are familiar, but I’ve never seen them before—Did I have ancestors that called this island home? Probably not—I’m my own ancestor.

“Way too spooky for me, Keith—I’m not going any further.”

“Ah, come on babe, they’re so interesting.”

The couple in front of me argue whether the crumbling rocks in front of us are worth the social media pictures. Keith wears a sporty vest, his girl a summer dress with flowers, despite the colder temperatures on this side of the island.

“Look, see that sign, this is as far as we can go anyways.”

“It’s not like anybody is guarding it, come on.”

‘Do not enter. Hazardous Area Up Ahead.’

The sign has been spray painted with symbols even I can’t decipher. It stands crooked in front of a bricked arch, the entrance to a tunnel. Shadows consume it, it’s not welcoming. Can’t be any more hazardous than the half columns, cracked flagstone, and structures tarnished with black.

A great fire happened here, you can almost still smell the smoldering ash and spicy smoke. Some of the stones are slick, almost like glass—What kind of fire does that to rock?

“Come on babe, just a litter further.”

“No Keith, you heard the stories that man at the hotel told us about this place. You’re crazy if you think I’m taking another step—And I’m so cold, why is it so cold?”

“Probably because it’s May and the wind blows chilly air off the sea.”

He’s not wrong, but it is colder here specifically compared to anywhere else I’ve been on the island.

“Keith, I’m doing it. I’m leaving.”

Finally, out of the way so I can see what dangers lay ahead.

Keith’s girlfriend, or fiancé, or one-night stand, stomps away. Keith takes one last look at the history he’ll never explore—It is nice to not have anyone stop me from doing whatever I please. But that also means, no one cares about my well-being. Nobody looks after me, saves me from what I don’t know.

Christopher did, though. ‘Christopher Dawson.’ Where is he right now, what is he doing—Whispers again. Sharp voices that prick my ears, stab my brain. They are unrelenting, increasing in demands, even if I don’t understand them, I’m motivated to proceed past the warning sign—I must cross over. They’ll stop if I listen, if I move forward, through the tunnel…whatever is in there, or whatever waits on the other side, if I keep walking…

“I don’t recommend you go any further.”

A familiar voice. Turning—it’s him.

“You see that sign, it’s not a suggestion.”

“You?”

“Me?”

“You helped me unlock my door last night.”

“That’s right—Thanks for reminding me of who I am.”

White hair, and a short beard to match. His black petticoat flaps in the chilly atmosphere. I pull my arms in.

“You really shouldn’t cross over to the other side.”

A deepness in his tone, with hints of someone who smokes and drinks bourbon. He’s attractive, tough looking, hardened through years of a life he can’t manage. The older man steps next to me, clacking on the cracking bricks underneath. A scent of something musky pleasures my nostrils and wakes up parts below.

“Why, what’s on the other side?”

He’s even closer, but doesn’t look at me. His focus doesn’t leave the arched entrance, or is it an exit to someplace worse?

“Oh, well, nothing special. More broken ruins, except they are in worse conditions than the ones we stroll around here—You wouldn’t want to be crushed, now would you?”

‘I’ve been crushed before.’ Painful, but I woke up fine the next day.

“Sounds unmissable.”

“The ruins aren’t the only thing that could kill you through that tunnel.”

‘Nothing can kill me.’

“Oh?”

Finally, he turns his neck, dips his head to catch my face,

“Drug addicts who have nothing to live for cause trouble beyond here. A bunch of skinny pricks, but they’ll stab you if you have anything to offer. And if you don’t have anything valuable on you, you become of value. Sick bunch of freaks but, dangerous.”

Doesn’t sound that bad. The man’s face hardens, he’s serious. Serious or not, I’m not without my defenses. I learned most fighting techniques out of boredom—I had the time. My body is honed at all times.

“What kind of drugs do they sell? Maybe I want to buy from them. Would that grant me access?”

Laughter, then more laughter. I was only half kidding.

“You’re funny. They’d still rob you, or you know… worse.”

There are worse things than death, I have come to learn. I might live until the sun envelopes the Earth, but I can still feel pain. And I’ve been through so much in my life already.

“What if I was accompanied by a tall, strong, stranger?”

His jacket flows in the wind more. Dark red lines the inside. He laughs again, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, not messing a strand.

“We’re neighbors, not strangers. And I don’t mind helping a young lady in danger, but let’s avoid it altogether. To be frank… Ms…”

“Flagstone, Mary-All…Mary Flagstone.”

I refuse to be called my full name by another man—It wouldn’t sound as sweet coming from anyone other than Christopher.

“Well, Ms. Mary-All Flagstone—“

“Mary, just Mary.”

“Mary, I’m not brave enough to enter that dark tunnel. I like my health the way it is without some junkie sending me to the hospital.”

I want to call him a coward. Despite his age, he still hasn’t been on this planet as long as I have, he hasn’t had the experiences I have, so, I can’t blame him too much. When you’ve had multiple swords drawn on you at once, you really don’t fear what makeshift shiv some cracked-out lowlife might threaten with.

Echoes of the voices from before still try to reach me, pull me inside, cross over… but not today. I won’t let that guilt hangover.

“What was your name, good sir?”

He hesitates like I’ve said something wrong, and perhaps I did—’Good sir?’ Sometimes my dialect remembers the golden days when language was an actual language. Before the days of shortening everything because the world got in a big hurry to destroy itself and its most beautiful words. But, I have to adapt to the times to keep suspicion off myself.

“Adam. Adam Streifth, my lady.”

Adam is playful. His smile is crooked, forced, and fading.

“You know Mary, this whole area, where we stand, used to be a temple.”

Adam turns outside of me, viewing the old rocks like he remembers a time when they were constructed to hold a roof and meaning.

With his hands behind his back, he tours our shared space.

“Yeah, a temple—A holy place soldiers came to pray, to give their mission blessings.”

“Soldiers?”

“You really know nothing of this island, do you?”

“I couldn’t even find this place on a map, I checked everywhere—Belzaar doesn’t exist.”

Laughter, a cough, then choking laughter.

“Well, if more people knew about Belzaar, we would be overrun with tourists from all over—That’s why it’s invitation only.”

“About that, who sends those invitations… is that why you’re here? The Cursed Festival, or whatever it’s called?”

A short laugh and Adam stops, places a hand on a broken column,

“No, Ms. Flagstone. I was actually born here.”

“Born here? I didn’t think anyone actually lived here. No offense…”

Adam turns his whole body to me, strokes his beard.

“None taken. You see, Belzaar used to be a bustling port. But, that was before the fire, many, many years ago—I’m afraid I’m starting to show my age. Maybe I should stop before I reveal too much of myself. What’s the fun in that, no?”

An eyebrow falls, one raises, my nose twitches. My left cheek pushes up with a grin.

“I suppose you’re right, Mr. Streifth.”

Who is this guy—’Why is everyone so enigmatic around here?’ To be fair, I haven’t given anyone a reason to open up. My arms are still folded, my tone straight to the point.

“Well, Mary, I must be running—A prior engagement, you see. I do hope you don’t venture any further, I won’t always be around to heed caution.”

“Why are you here now?”

“Oh, just reminiscing. As I said, I was born here, I am Belzaar. My blood stops every now and then, so I come here to replenish it. To remember my roots.”

‘Remember your roots?’ Christopher said the same thing.

“And where do your roots come from, Ms. Flagstone? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Which lie do I tell him? I have so many saved up, ready to fire off but, Adam is honest, in his own way. He answers questions at least, instead of dodging them like Christopher. Christopher Dawson—Ivy eyes…’

“Too personal, I understand. Well, I do hope to see you around, if you aren’t stabbed by the dredges of society, which here, you have to be pretty bad to be referred to as such.”

Laughter, trailing, becoming senseless noise in the wind.

From the entrance into the ruins, far, but not far enough, I don’t see him stop.

“Have a good day, Mary-All Flagstone.”

And Adam is but an image in my memories now. His crackling laughter remains in my ears—Until the voices start back up. The tunnel waves like a mirage, like it’s not really there…but it’s as visible as anything real. If I touch the edges, will I fall in?

‘STOP!’

And I’m heard. Only one voice remains, the loudest of them all,

‘You will join us soon, girl…’

‘Soon…soon.’