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    Breeze
    Breeze
    Breeze
    Ebook136 pages1 hour

    Breeze

    By Jeff Hayes

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Life of a hermit artist unravels after the nephew moves in with his partner. The house in the center of an old city did not prove big enough to prevent their lives from colliding. Antics the couple cook up in their cellar apartment inevitably draw the attention of others, bringing serious repercussions of perhaps life disturbing nature. The partner’s uncanny obsession with the artist’s isolation will surely draw both to a close—a trajectory of destruction resulting in a story of cycle-resets, be one ghost, or of the historically beyond.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJeff Hayes
    Release dateMar 8, 2020
    Breeze
    Author

    Jeff Hayes

    Jeff Hayes has been working for many years as a Software Engineering Consultant- not to be confused with his evil-twin, of no relation. Now located in Switzerland as an employee with a financial firm, he has found several hours free in his daily commute. Daydreaming out the carriage window on the green Swiss countryside, the idea came to him to consider the train commute as renting a public space office. Balancing the distraction of the fellow passengers with life within office space cube walls, thus began Jeff's side work realizing his thoughts into words. Though many pets and a few horses have graced Jeff's life, he presently finds himself pet free, for the short term.Jeff enjoys talking with his readers for reflections words can bring. Their impressions can be fascinating and unexpected.

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      Book preview

      Breeze - Jeff Hayes

      Chapter I

      Fragility of Time

      T he doorbell had rung a second time before it was heard. The interruption was irritating. In retribution, a third ring was required. It was only then would he put down the brush. Religious zealots, and other con people, would have moved on by then. Any caller remaining longer must be in some kind of desperation.

      There it was, the third. He sighed, glancing over the unfinished work before turning away. A fourth ring occurred while he was in the hall.

      All right, already. Yes, thank you much for demonstrating that the bell still works.

      Stopping a step short of the door, he said to the caller, Don’t be desperate.

      He paused reaching for the latch, thinking better of it for a moment. A hand was wiped across the front of the smock. The gesture had been wholly unconscious. Work compulsion had brought this nervous reflex on. The discovery that the smock was stiff from strata layers of paint began a wonder of how these had been acquired. This started him off on a distracted tangent, thinking, It is surprising what actions the mind will cause the body to perform when it is unfettered.

      He looked at his outstretched hand, and wondered why he did. Light from his workroom illuminated the end of the hallway. It pulled at his attention, beckoning for a return of his presence.

      But shadow movement from the other side of the opaque glass brought him back to the present. The curiosity of his hand retreated before the moment would again be lost.

      The door opened to reveal the backsides of two people descending the stairs from the landing. A woman and a man. The woman was seen speaking harshly, though her words were not audible above the blare rattling from a passing motorcycle.

      He could just make out, Useless twit, as she turned to glance back at the door. At first, there wasn’t any recognition that the door was now wide open, or that a man stood in the middle of that dark portal. After several blinks, a circuit connected. At that moment her dialog stopped short, and she grasped at her companion’s arm.

      He was confused at first but followed her indication, nodding before turning.

      His words came promptly, Sean! Uncle! You are home after all!

      To the woman, he said in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, See Sarah. I told you he would be home.

      Sarah’s scowl turned upside down, to stretch at her face in mechanical increments until the desired distortion was achieved.

      They returned up the stairs.

      Sean remained neutral. His thoughts did not give himself away, though that was a matter of accident, rather than willful intention. Again, he had allowed the onus of social burden to be put upon himself. His work would be delayed by these visitors. If only he had played at how-not-to-be-seen a few seconds longer. Or even better, if he had not noticed the doorbell at all, today would have continued predictably. No disruption. Life as he knew it would have carried on.

      Little did Sean know the weight that passing thought would later realize. Life pivots in a moment. Inexorably, such moments tend to repeat. This was one of those.

      Hello? Earth to Sean. You in there, Good Buddy? Craig tapped at the side of the other’s head.

      That did it.

      Ah, yes, Sean stumbled out. Hello, nephew. The next words were lost, his tongue forgotten. His eyes were not. They were sucked into the crevasse of the woman’s cleavage.

      She allowed the lascivious look to continue briefly before bumping against Craig, that he would remember his next lines.

      Craig had gained an appreciation for her insightfulness. She had specifically chosen this dress for the encounter. At the time, he reminded her that Sean was never known to show much interest in women. Men neither, for that matter. He went off, mansplaining, that Sean remained totally asexual. Whatever pleasure the man got out of life besides applying paint to canvas remained a mystery. At least to his knowledge. And probably to Sean as well.

      The man didn’t even make paintings that required models. It’s all about that weirdo abstract futurism stuff, or whatever he called it.

      Now if he was Sean, he’d think the best bit about the whole art thing was getting to stare at nude women all day who were like, totally into it. They would lie in the studio, or stand, assuming whatever position of his bidding. Naturally, he would only ask of them what was within reason of their lascivious bent. But he was a good guy not abusing his fame, and word would get out of just that. And that his art was good, as that was important to some as well. The resulting queue would enter at the door, spend all day in the studio, proceed to the bedroom—lather rinse repeat. Think how little laundry would require doing. But for the sheets, which would be fresh; stiff linen from being newly washed was one of life’s little pleasures.

      Naturally an occasional complication would creep in, but they would sort themselves out; otherwise, it would be the door for them. What complications remained would be limited to the art, the likes of deciding color of the hair down there to paint where there wasn’t any to work from—using modern models, you know, for period pieces. That’s where the artistic bit would come in. A flash of wool from the past, so to speak. Yeah that, and how it is with these open-minded women, which models surely were.

      Sarah would be good at that, the whole pose and pretend thing. Yeah, she would fit right in. Her problem would be of getting bored, just standing there, no action. It’s always the attention span thing with her. After short order, she’d be off to the bedroom, with or without said artist.

      There was this thing she would say, Batteries included. But an outlet with wall power, now we are cooking with gas. That’s when things really take off.

      Back to Sarah this morning. She had chided that any man could be distracted, given the right opportunity, and given the right equipment. This dress, she demonstrated, would provide just that opportunity. There was more, but caught in the distraction of the tease, he hadn’t heard. She laughed at the resulting state this man had been reduced to.

      The laugh, he did hear that. But he remained unconvinced that Sean would be similarly effected, and again told her so.

      However, Craig was a smart enough man to know when to shut up about his ego and agree with her. Being careful of the dress, he chose that moment to prove it, which was one of the reasons she kept him around. There were others when the occasion required a more prolonged appropriateness, but it was Craig who remained Mr. Reliable, primed to hop when instructed how high. Just then, he appeared to be wound up sufficiently to the task. Before satisfaction was guaranteed, she put a pause to the activity. Denying him would sharpen his focus. Tension was required today.

      This is Sarah, my, aah, partner, Craig managed, remembering his line.

      Sean’s eyes remained captured, though they were vacant; his mind was replaying her movement up the stairs and the visible enjoyment she cast back at being observed.

      Sarah, at this point, was savoring the conquest. Guys, she gloated, they are so simple, so predictable. A nervous twitch pulled at her smile.

      The pause had made Craig nervous; the conversation had not begun as planned. When they rehearsed, she had kept after him that he was lousy at improvising—that he must remain on-script the entire time. Any screw up would be due to him. The promised reward of laters would be diminished suitably with the measure of her ire.

      He was suffering, so reluctantly she broke the moment. Hi Sean! Craig has told me so much about you!

      I have told her all about you, he echoed weakly, realizing it had been his line, but uttered too late.

      She stepped on his foot indicating for him to carry on.

      Ahmm! Sarah here, she has been interested—she stepped harder on his foot—keen really, to meet you.

      I really have been, Sean. You are a painter. That is so interesting! The way Craig went on and on about your famous works, I just had ta meet ‘cha! She leaned a shoulder towards the door.

      Ah, oohm. Could we come in?

      Well Craig, baby. Maybe Sean is busy just now. We are probably disturbing him. As she spoke, more lean was applied to her shoulder.

      Sean followed that lean and what it brought. As his hand thoughtlessly brushed across the paint-stiff smock, he said, No, don’t be silly. Come in. The stare was broken off to look piercingly at Craig before adding, Both of you.

      They followed through the entryway. Craig hurried to catch up after shutting the door. The massiveness of it had gotten away from him, making a loud slam. The hardness of the floor amplified the sound. Sarah strained to not flinch while maintaining a smile.

      Sidelong, Sean had been watching her face intently; it was a skill he had perfected, the sidelong gaze. This was an opportunity, or was it? Something seemed amiss, like the scene had been played before. Or was it that the moment was condensed? He was at a loss as for what—a memory that would prefer to stay lost.

      Remaining silent, he led down the hallway until the end, before turning into a room. Upon entering, Sarah almost stumbled from the largeness.

      Craig had told her

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