LOST

Stew was never much of a shower singer, but today he was. Today, he felt confident enough to audition for American Star as long as he could do it in his shower. He felt like singing every time he thought about Alex and he wondered if she felt like singing every time she thought of him. He was in the middle of the second verse of song number four on the romantic mix he made on his music player when he was interrupted. He could hear over the water rushing out of the shower head as well as over the music that there was a loud knock on the door. “I’ll be right there!” he shouted as he got out, dripping wet. Hastily drying himself off, he put on a bathrobe as he walked toward the door. He opened it and saw Wiz standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry. Did I get you out of the shower?” Wiz asked, stating the obvious.

“No… well, yeah, but I was just about done, anyway. Just had to dry off faster than normal. What’s up?”

“Well, I just thought of something… Do you remember the dream you told me you had before you woke up from the coma?”

“The dark room, tied to a pole? Yeah, I remember it. Why? Have you figured it out?” Stew asked, drying his hair.

“I believe so. Was the pole wood or metal?”

“Mmm, it felt like wood, from the best I could tell. You want to come in? We don’t have to have this conversation right here, do we?” He threw the towel on the couch and went to the kitchen area to pour himself a glass of sweet tea.

“No… of course, not,” Wiz said, stepping inside. “Are you getting ready to go out?”

“Yeah, I’m going over to Alex’s to have dinner with her and her grandmother. So,” he continued after taking a drink of his iced tea, “the pole was made of wood. What does that mean?”

“Well, you were on fire, right?”

“Yeah, off an on. What are you trying to tell me here? That I was being burned at the stake?”

“Yes. That’s it exactly.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” Wiz said, his eyes intense with revelation. “Zachary burned us at the stake. He executed is.”

“Zachary—the guy that tried to kill me? Or who tried to have me killed, rather.”

“That would be the one.”

“He burned who… at the stake?”

“Us. You and I.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That was the moment in which I became immortal and I lost you.”

“You lost me? How did you lose me?”

“You vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Well, you had escaped the bonds and were running when this magical sphere rose out of the ground and you were right at the edge of it when it burst. If my theory is correct, that’s why you disappeared without a trace.”

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense to me. What’s with the bursting, magical sphere?”

“Zachary burned us at the stake at the precise point where we cast our circles and held rituals.”

Stew looked at Wiz with distrust. “That would explain my pyrophobia. So, we were warlocks?”

“Warlocks? No. A warlock is not a male witch as some have been misled to believe. No, we were seiðmaðr, Norse magic users. Because our funeral pyre, so to speak, was also our sacred space, I believe it created some divine magic that I have yet been able to understand myself. Even the Triskaideka have offered no explanation.”

“Triska-what?’

“Triskaideka. The Council of Forgotten Gods.”

“Oh, yeah. The Immortal United Nations. Forgotten gods. Divine magic. Right. So, was this simply a history lesson, or is there something in that mess that’s relevant to the here and now?”

“Oh, yes. You have to go back.”

“I have to go back where?”

“To the sacred space. That place of the burning. The voice in your dream said, ‘Become what you are.’”

“It was a dream,” Stew said as he set his glass of tea on the counter, sensing that there would soon be a moment where he might want to sit down.

“Not just a dream—a vision. A vision of what you must do.”

“What I must do?! Screw that! I am not setting myself on fire. Did you forget I have a fear of fire? You can forget it. You can take all this immortal crap and shove it if that’s what you expect me to do. You can leave now.” He strode over to the door, opened it and stood beside it, hoping Wiz wouldn’t need any further instructions. “Burn myself at the stake,” he said under his breath. “You must be out of your mind.”

“Stew—you won’t feel any pain,” Wiz tried to assure him, remaining just inside the door. “You won’t even be injured.”

“I said leave. Now.”

Wiz saw himself through the door, but before he left, he turned, “Stew…just do one thing for me—close your eyes and open your mind. Invite the world in and let your destiny show itself to you.”

“Do you realize how cheesy that sounds?”

“Yes.”

“Goodbye, Wiz,” he said and then slammed the door. As he turned around, he let out a big sigh and tried to calm himself. “I wonder if Alex’s grandmother would mind if I had a beer. I could really use one right about now. What do you think, Goose?” Goose looked at him with wary eyes. “Yeah, probably shouldn’t. Oh, well. I can’t believe he expects me to barbecue myself… on purpose. What the hell?”

Goose sensed his irritation and made sure to stay out of his way as he quickly got dressed. Stew grabbed his keys, opened the door and motioned for Goose to come with him. “Come on,” he said as he waved his hand, rushing him. “They’re expecting us for dinner.” He dreaded having to relay the conversation to Alex but a sense of relief came over him when he realized they wouldn’t be alone and, therefore, he could not talk about it.