Chapter 1: A waking dream
Harold had been dreaming for a long time. He could not keep track of days and nights but he felt that he was tired of it. It had been a tiringly long dream. It was a world in his head that just would not move on. A constant persisting dream of a bleak life. He was left with no choices. And he more than hated it.
He was lying on the bed again. His hands were cold. And he had the mind to tuck them in but his arms would not even budge. He could not move.
He could see the white ceiling, shining upon his half-open eyes like a scream. It was blinding.
Then someone called his name. "Harold.." sweet like a morning wind, cold like dew.
And alas he awoke.
He bolted upright as though he had not bolted awake that fast before. There was an unfinished burger on his desk. He figured it was an immortal burger because it had been there for days without rotting. Or perhaps it was a different burger and he just had grown the habit of leaving his food half-eaten.
By the time he stepped out of bed, he could not recall what woke him up. Nor what he dreamed about.
Today, it was time to go to the hospital. He checked the clock and found he had ample time to prepare. He turned on the radio where, this time, a happy song played. He always got sad ballads in the morning.
It was foggy outside. It would be great to jog around for a while. And it felt as if the fog called for him. Delight in me, it said.
Without changing, he ran into the morning air like a kid desperate to play in the rain. In his pajamas, he let his feet lead with no direction.
"Whoo!" He shouted, mainly for the reason that his neighbors would not hear him.
It was great to wake up early, he now just realized. He had time for himself.
The sun continued to rise and he continued to run. And when it was unargaubly daytime, he retraced his steps.
Seven A.M. into the morning and the fog still stayed. He was crossing the Polog Bridge when he spotted a figure down in the water, floating lifelessly. He wondered if it was a dead unlucky pig. But pigs don't have long limbs and a dark hair. Frantic, he searched for a way down. He dashed for the thicket of trees and after sometime he found a trodden path down to the slow drifting river.
Where is it? The body was gone. It might have floated down. But with the current's pace it would not have floated far. He could not see far though because the fog limited his vision. Yet as he plodded the bank downstream, there was not still a sign of a body.
He was left puzzled because something about it was familiar. Like he had seen it before. He should call the police. But did he really see a body? Was it just his mind messing with him?
"The fog plays tricks with our eyes." It was a sweet soft feminine voice that seemed to come from every direction.
He turned searching for the one who spoke. In the shadows of the trees, a woman's figure slowly approached him.
If this was the murderer, Harold was doomed. Instinctively, he backs up a couple of steps. And a couple more. His feet touched cold water and he flinched.
"Who are you?"
"Call me what you want, it doesn't matter."
The woman continued to near him. He could make out her curly tresses and the slender arms and the long legs. With shock, he realized she was naked.
He looked away and doubted if it was a good idea to be a decent man when your life is at stake.
"Told you," she said giggling, "the fog plays tricks with your eyes."
When he faced her again, she had a flowing white blouse around her, reaching just shy of her knees. Now for a strange reason, he felt that there was no need to call 911 anymore.
She might have only been catwalking to intimidate him because as soon as she fully came into focus, she hopped down the bank spiritedly like a child, her short clothes almost revealing. He saw now that she was barefoot. And she was either just a bubbly person or a psychopath. She could even be both.
"What do you want?" He blurted out before she could get any closer.
She hopped and skipped on. She stopped just inches from him. He feared she would stumble into him and send them both to the water. She was too close now that if she would stab him, he would not be able to stop her or dodge.
"What's your name?" She asked.
Why would I tell her my name? "Harry," Harold said.
"Harry. What a very usual name."
"And yours?"
"You can call me anything."
"I can't call you just anything." And why am I having this conversation with her? I must be out of my mind.
"But they used to call me Ruwara, Goddess of the Fog and the Morning."
I've just met a psycho, he thought.
"You're thinking I'm nuts. I'm not the one who's crazy here," she said with challenge.
"Okay I'll call you Ru. What do you know about that body in the water?" It suddenly seemed appropriate to ask.
"You haven't been paying attention. There's a goddess right in front of you and you're still wondering about the body in the water?"
"Was it your doing?"
"That's a tricky question you've got there. It was both my doing and yours."
His jaw dropped. She was impossible.
"You'll learn later on. Meanwhile let's go home. What's with the gloomy face? Rest assured, Harold. No one was thrown into the river. At least not here. C'mon. Let's go home."
"What home? Yours?"
"I'm Goddess of the fog. My home is where there is fog. I live everywhere. You don't."
On her bare feet, she cantered towards the thicket, leading the way.
On the way back, Harold was wondering if he could trust her. She barged in like she knew him her whole life. The way she would knudge him, or regard him - everything was strangely familiar.
It was no surprise that she took the long sofa to herself, her soiled feet leaving brown dirty footprints on the floor. But it was fine. His home had not seen a living thing in years except for roaches, lizards, spiders, insects and Harold himself.
This was new to him. Not being certain whether to not trust a person, that is. She was a stranger but he let her open the door to his house. He let her sit on the couch without invitation, and lean on it like she owned it, the soles of her feet unapologetically tapping the floor. She was trespassing into his territories. Yet he could not bring himself to be hostile toward her.
"You have coffee? I wanna know what coffee tastes like."
He stirred her a hot cup of strong coffee. And when he was out of her sight, he reached for his phone and dialed the police. He could not take this anymore.
"Police desk, please tell me your name and your location please," a gruff voice answered.
"Hi, I'm Harold Gomez. I'm at 7235 Blue Street, Calavide."
"Okay, Harold, can you tell me what's going on?"
"I found this woman by the river and she must be mentally ill. She is about twenty five or something. She keeps saying she's goddess of the fog."
"Alright, did you try asking her name and where she lives?"
"Her name's Ruwara and she lives where there is fog. She said she lives everywhere."
"Where is she now?"
"At my house. She insisted to go with me."
"Did she hurt you in anyway?"
"No."
"Does she show signs of aggressiveness?"
He did not know what to answer to that. A little bit? "No."
"Do you think you can convince her to go with you to the station?"
"No, i don't think so. Except for her saying she's a goddess, she seems able-minded. I don't think she'll be willing to go there."
"Okay, Harold thank you for informing us. Don't let her out your sight. We'll be sending officers to pick her up right away. But we'll need you to go with her too so we can ask for your official statement."
"Okay, thank you."
When he slipped his phone back, he realized he forgot to mention the body in the water.
He could not paint her smile as he handed her the coffee. She sniffed it for a moment before looking at it.
"Careful, it's hot."
She flinched as she took her first sip.
"I told you."
"Mmm, it's so good. Bittersweet."
"Yeah that kind of sums it up."
Harold still needs to go to the hospital. "I'm actually leaving today."
"I'll be here waiting for you. When you come back, I'll tell you the rules."
His eyes rounded. "Wait, what rules?"
A few minutes later, knocks pounded the door.
She had finished her coffee and was now watching walruses scratch at each other. She looked up at him. "I've always hated people who don't believe me."
Harold ignored her and opened the door. Two police officers clad in blue saluted him curtly.
"Harold, right?"
"Yes."
"Where's she?"
When he turned to the couch, she was gone. "She was just here."
"Help me look for her."
Frantic, he searched the whole house and turned it upside down.
They didn't find her. Like fog, she disappeared into the day.
"Were you trying to prank us?" the police accused him. "You can get time for that."
"She was really here. She disappeared. She even drank that coffee."
"Don't ever make a call like that again."
The other said, "Boy, you must be lonely." And with disappointed glares, they left.
She was gone. Maybe it was for the better.
*****
The city hospital was crowded as always.
"I don't know where I'm going to get the money to buy this..." he heard an old woman whisper to someone.
Harold could only frown. In his left arm he carried a baggage of clothes and in the other, a basket of fruits. A sullen-looking boy who was holding half of a toy robot met his eyes with earnest.
"Are you hungry?"
The boy nodded, hugging his tummy for emphasis.
"Okay, you can have this." Harold handed him an apple. And he found right after that that was a mistake. Little kids gathered around him, reaching out open palms. "Sir..." they pleaded. And a child begging would melt anybody's heart.
"Okay, wait, I'll...here's for you and you..."
A nurse passed him by and smirked at his plight. When he had arrived at his mother's room, the basket only had a third left.
"Hey Mom, good morning!"
Nurse Mildred was there. "Good morning Harold, your Mom is surely delighted."
If she was, it would not show in her face.
"Thanks again for watching over her. I just really got stuck up yesterday."
He felt a little guilty that he was lying.
"Oh that's fine. You're still in school, study hard for your mother. So that when she gains consciousness, she'll be really proud."
The thing is, Harold did not go to school yesterday.
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