Blink of an eye (Part 3)

If you haven't read the previous parts of the story, you can find them here: Part 1, Part 2.

With the sun once again shining its brightest, Maggie and the boy sought refuge under the shades at Gustav’s place, where the only non-alcoholic beverage on offer was lemonade, tepid, but liberally sprinkled with mint leaves.
‘I’ve never met Grandpa Douglas, you know, him and my Dad haven’t spoken in years’.
‘I can take you there if you want’.
‘Maybe, if we have time…’
The boy didn’t look anything like Douglas. He was rather short, a bit skinny and so pale he looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in a long while.
'City kids', Maggie thought.
Even if he was old man Brent’s grandson, she didn’t much like the idea of him being around and messing with her world. Better keep him under observation until he leaves with his flying unicorn or otherwise.
‘What did you mean earlier when you said that thing about making me leave? You know you cannot do that - I live here and you’re just a visitor?’
‘Doesn’t matter. Forget what I said’, the boy replied hurriedly and buried his face in the big glass of lemonade.

Maggie loved the noon hour, when the town grew quiet. Theirs was a peaceful town, that lived by the old ways and everybody hurried home to get lunch. If you walked down the street you could smell what everybody had on their tables - the strong aroma of roasted meat, the sweet smell of mashed potatoes or the annoying whiff of steamed cauliflower. She envied those who had family to share a meal with. Not that she dwelt much on such thoughts. She had more important things to focus on, like making sure nothing bad happens to their town.

The long wail of a fire alarm pierced the silence, making Arthur jump in his seat.
‘Don’t worry, there is no fire. Major Bob uses the alarm to scare the crows off his land’, Maggie laughed.
Arthur did not seem to hear her. He was staring straight past her, his eyes fixed on the newspaper stand across the street. The boy was trying to steady the world around him, she realized with a sigh of relief. He was special, just like her, someone she could talk to. Someone who could understand the burden she’d been carrying since Grandma’s death.
‘It’s alright’, she tried to calm him, ‘I don’t sense anything wrong at the moment’.
The boy kept staring ahead, now completely oblivious to Maggie or anything else, murmuring under his breath: ‘Please, don’t. Please, don’t do it’.
‘Arthur, look at me!’ Maggie screamed. ‘Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you to the farm’.
The boy came to, turning his sorrowful eyes to Maggie.
‘Too late, now. I should get going’.
He didn’t move, though.
‘What, is Beanie coming for you already?’ It was a joke meant to make him smile, for she knew there was no magic unicorn.
‘No, Beanie cannot come to this world. I made that up’.
‘Where are you going anyway? Back home?’
‘I don’t know where am I going. Some other place, I guess. I hope. All I know is I cannot stay here. You cannot stay, either.’
The air started shimmering and the boy was growing white as a ghost, almost translucent.
Maggie tried to focus on something that was real, but it didn’t seem to be working. Not this time.

The man perched precariously on top of the church tower was aware there wasn’t much time left. He could hear Father Callahan screaming at the top of his voice: ‘Douglas, come down. Come down, son.’ The priest couldn’t come up, not with his bad leg, but others would.
Holding with one hand to the iron cross on the roof, Douglas Brent looked one more time to the neighborhood where he’d lived for the last 25 years. He couldn’t see his house, but that didn’t matter - no one was waiting there for him now and the good memories he’d buried them all when he buried Arthur. Everyone he’d ever loved was gone now. Even their memory was fading. He tried to imagine the town he grew up in, but all he could remember was a face or a house, disparate images of a place frozen in time. ‘Maybe I should have gone back and let the old man meet Arthur’. Too late, now. Even Arthur’s face was becoming insubstantial. He wasn’t sure if it was Arthur he was remembering or the idea of Arthur. His Arthur, the one running around all day or throwing pebbles in the fountain. Not the other, the one waving goodbye as he rode his bike down the street, never to come back.
The long wail of a firetruck alarm pierced the air. They’ll put up a ladder to get to him. He had to do it now.
Douglas Brent took a step closer to the edge, holding tight to the stuffed unicorn. Time for Beanie to fly.

Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge, today's prompt was: 'fire alarm'! Check out her blog and join our freewrite community.

Thanks for reading!

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