~ Lonely Nevermore ~

by

Mary A. Kalen

“I’m sorry, but it’s a signature item.” She checked her clipboard once again. She pointed it out to the man at the door. “See, there’s a special order for it to be delivered to the addressee only. Mr. Glass will have to sign for it personally. Otherwise I’ll have to card it and he’ll have to pick it up or call us for re-delivery.”

Andrea stood patiently in a snowdrift on the doorstep of an opulent turn-of-the-century mansion in the west end of the city. Warm, cozy lights shone out of the bevelled windows and cast long shadows across the expansive front yard. She could see a roaring fire in the huge stone fireplace and beautiful works of art hanging on the oak panelled walls.

The lavishness was limited to the visual senses only, for the blaring of rock music spoiled the tranquillity of the scene. A dour odour of pot and cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air. There were young, scantily dressed women draped over the laps of men in grungy jeans and long uncombed hair.

Andrea was a little concerned, both for her own safety and for the safety of the package she was holding. She hoped no one would give her any trouble if she couldn’t deliver it to the person named on the label.

“Hang on. He’s here—he’s asleep. He’s gonna want this. Hell! We all want this. This is the good stuff.” The burley man turned and shouted up the thickly carpeted stairs, “Hey, Poe! Get yer sorry butt outta bed and get down here. You’ve got a package! It’s from Kenora!”

A barely legal girl at the top of the stairs relayed the message in a screechy abbreviated form down the hall. She threw an empty beer can and it thunked against a door; assumedly Mr. Glass’s door. She heard a crowd of people laugh drunkenly.

A few moments later she saw a young man navigate his way through the assorted drunks and stoners on the stairs. He grinned in the murky hallway and Andrea would later swear his teeth actually glowed in the dark.

Wow, she thought when he stepped down into view. How does he fit into this picture? The man couldn’t quite be described as drop dead gorgeous, but certainly there was an indescribable charm about him. He was wearing a white tee-shirt under a blue pin striped dress-shirt with three or four top buttons undone. Blue jeans. There were battered purple bedroom slippers on his feet. His skin was perfect, not a blemish or a wrinkle. His hair was mussed, as if he had just woken up. How he could sleep through this ruckus she would never know. He looked like some kind of a mascot to this motley horde of partiers.

“Hi,” he said sleepily. “I’m Ed Glass. This is for me?” He removed a pair of wire rimmed glasses from his pocket, put them on and peered down at the shipping label.

“Glad you’re here. Here you go.” She handed him the package with the cumbersome electronic scanner on top. She plucked the inkless pen from her breast pocket and offered it to him. He signed the screen. As soon as he handed the pen back, a young woman snatched the parcel from his hands and disappeared into the crowd.

“Hey!” He grabbed the scanner off the top of the package and tried to grab the box itself, but missed. He sighed. “Happens every time.”

Andrea looked at him quizzically.

“My mom makes the best cookies. She sends them to me every couple of weeks, no matter where I am. I’d offer you one, but...” He swept his hand around without looking back, already knowing the fate of the gift. Behind him, the box had been opened, passed around and discarded into the fireplace, devoid of its contents.

“That’s horrible!” she said.

“That’s the price I pay for friendship.”

Again Andrea wondered how he could relate to this bunch, but he called them friends. There must be something there.

“Well, I hope someone saved you a couple,” she said, reaching for the scanner. His fingers lightly brushed hers as he passed the machine over. His hand was warm, soft and well manicured. It felt nice.

“No worries. She’ll send another package. I’ll probably get a big box of them for Christmas. Cookies and underwear.” He blushed when he realized what he’d just said. She laughed.

She wished him a happy holiday and with a little wave of her hand, started down the snowy stairs. She could sense his gaze—he was watching her leave. She didn’t mind at all. She knew the memory of his smile and his touch would stay with her for the rest of the evening.

Suddenly, without a slip or a slide to warn her, she lost her footing on an ice-encrusted step. She went flying off her feet and landed hard on the cobbled sidewalk; her scanner, keys and clipboard scattering into the snow. Her head bounced hard on the concrete walk.

 ~ * ~

“Ohmigosh,” Poe cried and leapt down the stairs to where she lay. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened and looked up at him. She was in obvious discomfort. She reached out and grasped the lapels of his shirt and tried to pull herself up.

“I think I’m in trouble,” she said, trembling, and then she went limp. He had to catch her and lay her down gently, for she had lost consciousness.

“Owen! Marty! Call an ambulance! I think she’s hurt pretty badly,” Poe cried, wrapping an arm around her, trying to keep her from lying in the melting snow.

Owen grabbed a throw from one of the living room couches and brought it over to Poe and the girl. He put one skinny hand on Poe’s arm and in a slurry northern English accent, spoke closely into his ear.

“I think an ambulance would be a very bad idea right now. Remember what I told you? You are required to keep a low profile. I don’t think flashing lights and sirens would be overlooked, especially in this neighbourhood. You’ve got a reputation to mend, my friend.”

Poe looked at him incredulously. He took the throw and carefully wrapped the woman in it. “I can’t believe you, man. This girl could be dying for all we know. What are we supposed to do? Leave her here? Let her freeze to death? Give her an aspirin? She needs to go to the hospital; we have to get her to a hospital.”

“Right,” Owen said. “Marty, get the van, please,” he called to the big bearded man. “We’ll get her there ourselves.”

Poe agreed grudgingly.

“Don’t worry, my friend, we’ll see to ‘er.”