Our Lady of the Heavens

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Lyam's truck had finally warmed up all the way by the time he pulled into the church parking lot, covered in snow. He wallowed in the warm vehicle for a little bit, country was playing over the radio. I hate Colorado. He thought again before he braced himself and exited the vehicle.

Lyam hustled through the snow. All hell it was cold. Why would anyone walk around here in a NIGHTGOWN?! These people were insane. Colorado. Must. Leave. Colorado. When this is all done. He pushed into the oppressive looking church. Lyam and his brother had been raised Eastern Orthodox Catholic by his Ukranian mother... he had to admit Western Catholics were even more dreary than they were.

"Hello?!" He called, it wasn't that much warmer in the church, but he unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. "Father? Is there anyone I can speak to?" He made sure the door was securely shut behind him before he began to make his way between the benches and toward the alter of the small church.

A voice came out of the dimly lit rows of pews. It was soft and feminine, breezy and delicate. "The Father's not here right now. And I am not, by nature, a religious person." A tall blonde sat in the front pew, turning her head slightly to look at him. She was in a dark red dress, her hair down in ringlets. Baby blue eyes gazed at him intently. Without a doubt, she was either the woman in the playbill or very close to it. "But I suppose anyone looking for a church has a reason to find refuge. So feel free. I figure God won't mind if there's more than one of us." She smiled slightly, a faint hint of amusement. "And I won't ask what it is you need to pray for, but I will ask what brings an Englishman to this pit in Colorado." She stood very slowly, holding a clutch purse at her side and dropping an older Blackberry into it. She walked with a grace that seemed otherworldly, lifting a fur coat off one of the pews and throwing it over her arm. "But I have a little time before I have to run. Why don't you explain, and maybe I'll know someone who can help you..."

Lyam was deeply surprised by this turn of events. He paused, back straight, halfway through the benches. She was, he recognized, very, very attractive. His British composure faltered for a moment. He had never considered himself an attractive man and he definitely was not prepared for this occasion. The vision of his wife flashed into his memory and suddenly he felt better, more at ease and calm. "I'm afraid miss, that I am not very religious myself. More superstitious than anything." He shrugged and gave a small smile.

He allowed her to approach, making no move of his own. He watched her move carefully, almost reminded of a predatory cat. He gave an inward sigh. "To tell you the truth. I absolutely have no idea why I'm here. Perhaps I'm looking for something, idle curiosity I suppose. I've gone all around the world a dozen times and for some reason I'm in Colorado." He gave a chuckle. That was accurate enough. "My names Lyam, miss. Lyam Benson. And..." He rummaged around in his pocket, producing the playbill. "Is this you? Or maybe a relative?" He slowly lifted an eyebrow. "People around here think you're a ghost." He chuckled but it was almost forced. Lyam halfway believed it at this moment, in this very eerie place.

"A ghost?" Her hand went to her mouth, stifling a laugh. "Hardly. My name is Trixie. Trixie Carlson." There was a faint southern accent to her voice, and she seemed rather bemused by the idea of being a spirit. "And it's nice to see that you're a fan. I just same to say my prayers for a friends soul, so forgive me if I seem a little off tonight. That is a poster for Miss Trixie Carlson, yes indeed. But I'm not performing tonight. So sorry. And that is such a beat up picture...I wish you had a better one. But they age so poorly." She took a closer look at the playbill, a minute flicker of anger crossing her face. "Wait, this is from before my time. It's close though. I didn't realize how much the old model looked like me. A shame. I think I blow that out of the water, personally." She handed it back, standing fairly close to Lyam. Under her sweet perfume was a faint bitter smell, broken rock and sulfur. She held her ground patiently. "So, where did you find this little old thing, Lyam?"

She was he noted, rather close to him, almost uncomfortably so. Lyam hadn't gave much thought to women since his wife had died. No dates, no one night stands, no hidden desires. This woman distinctly how long it had been since he had known their company... and that made him uncomfortable, made him feel angry. He loved his wife.

He hid his turmoil well though, focusing on the odd way she spoke. "You're a model? Here? In the middle-of-nowhere Colorado?" He looked at her and then the picture again. The resemblance was uncanny he had to admit. Was everyone here crazy? His face expressed doubt. "Miss this playbill was here before the mine collapsed, before Hadestown was sealed off. There's no way you could be the new model. No one has seen Hadestown in 70 to 80 years." Things were getting screwy now and things inside his quickly moving brain were starting to send off warning bells. What the hell was going on here? Who the hell was this woman? And why the hell was he still in Colorado? The feeling that he was trapped in one of his own books came creeping back over him, more persistent this time. I feel like the Bait... but then again I'm probably as loony as the rest them, bugger all.

"You take the opportunities that you can, Lyam. And my chances led me here." Trixie leaned against a pew. "And just because we can't see things doesn't mean they don't exist. Hadestown is still down there, isn't it? Buried under the walls of rock? Or did it just blip out of existence as soon as the collapse happened?" She glanced around slightly, as if looking for a sign. When nothing seemed to happen, she turned her attention back towards Lyam. She batted her eyelashes a few times as she pondered her next words. "So what brings you here? A new book, I presume. Something about mine collapses? How droll. I don't get many books, but I borrowed one of yours. It wasn't bad, but could have been a little crisper. I couldn't see it as a movie. A shame, too." Trixie paused. "Well, it seems I have some time before I have to get going. So we may as well talk a little. I meet so few people."

Lyam blinked. It was the blink of a man who had been just slapped in the face unawares. He didn't say anything for a while, just weighed her words carefully in his head. He was a meticulous man. Words meant a great deal. He started slowly, watching her move very carefully, as if she might disappear if he looked away. "It seems my works are fairly popular in this small town." He began to stroll idly between the bench seats, he removed one glove and gently dragged his hand along the old, weathered mahogany, feeling the smooth grain under his fingers. It helped him think. A part of him felt that this had become a game, he was wrapped up in something now, something at the edge of his comprehension. For better or worse, he had to play his words intelligently.

"My works were never intended for the theater, at least not the movie theater. There's no way to capture the essence of emotion and suspense without knowing the mind of the protagonist." He paused, watching her. "It's one thing to watch, it's another to truly understand and feel. " His lips wrapped up in a bitter smile. "I've had this conversation a thousand times. With my wife."

He shook his head, resuming his idle walk around the small church, always semi-facing her, walking backwards when necessary. "You spoke of crisp. My work is not crisp." He chuckled. "Life is not crisp, crisp is for movies. Our lives are not vivid, nothing is certain, that's why we fear, because of the unknown things that are our undoing. It's my job to obfuscate things, to make them not crisp." He paused and eyed her. "What about you, Trixie? You seem to be an enigma yourself. You're obviously not from here, and you speak in a circular pattern that leads me to believe you are educated. A beautiful woman, a strange chance meeting in a church. Seems things are definitely less than crisp." He gave a sardonic chuckle.

"Maybe they aren't crisp, Lyam. But they would make for a good scene. Maybe on stage, not on film. As for me, I've simply chosen to take up residence here, the same as you have." She kept her eyes on him, always tracking his movements. "What happened to your wife, Lyam? If I might ask." Her tone was polite, inquisitive without being prying. "I am educated. I've been to college. Lived in New York and Los Angeles. Performed on stage and screen. I've traveled around, attempting to make it. And finally I found a way that I could. So I seized the chance. Let's not talk about things elsewhere than this church for now. I came here to pray for a dead friends soul. What did you come here for? What are you looking for? Like they say, what is your motivation?" She held her clutch purse close to her, staying in one position and following Lyam with her eyes alone.

Lyam stopped his little walk, in the walkway halfway between the alter and the entrance. He gave her a long stare at the question. He never spoke of it, not to anyone. People had just stopped asking him about it after a while, and the people closest to him had begun to worry if something had snapped in Lyam Benson's soul. For himself it wasn't a worry it was a certainty. "I lost her and my daughter in a car accident to a drunk driver. Two years ago." He said, without emotion. The words came out of his mouth on their own, as if the memory was spilling from him. "My wife died in my lap. My five year old daughter was... unrecognizable. I broke my femur and three months in traction. Then I came to Colorado." He paused, he felt like a zombie. "I came here to discover how to write again. So I can find release." Release, release from what? "There Miss Trixie. Here in this place of sanctuary, you've heard a story I've told no living mortal. I guess God does work in mysterious ways." His smile was not a happy one, it was the smile of a man staring into oblivion.

She kept the eye contact. "That's the beauty of the church. I came to pray for a murdered soul, and you found a release for a damaged one. And now you're looking for a release from something...your own guilt, your past, your pain - that doesn't matter." Trixie walked towards Lyam, embracing him for the briefest of moments and letting the sense of loss be shared. She stepped back quietly, smoothing her dress. The moments ticked by in silence. Trixie fiddled about with her purse in the silence. "Tell me, Lyam. It's been two years. How much longer are you going to let things haunt you without finding your relief?" She shrugged on her fur coat, watching him. "There's a lot more to this town than you would think. Maybe it'd be best for you to keep moving. Before you become wrapped into something else you aren't prepared to deal with it. For your sake." She smiled sadly, a waning grin that faded quickly.

Lyam felt a certain numbness spread over him at her contact. Neither pleasant nor unpleasant, wanted or unwanted. It just was. It was almost like a handshake. He had no more words really. He had spoken a lot. Truth was, he wasn't sure what to do anymore. He was teetering on a precipice. He could go back to his home in Yuma, pack things up and leave Colorado forever. Or he could press on and figure out all those things about this town he had barely enough foresight to comprehend. The new him wanted to give up, but the old him screamed out in curiosity. Who was this strange woman and what about this Atlantis lost deep beneath Colorado?

"I'm not sure. It's hard to let go of people that you cherish so much. I'm getting too old to start again. But I don't just want to give up or go out quietly. I... I don't think I'll be leaving this town just yet." He put his glove back on, the decision of it all seeming to take the sadness from his eyes. "I'm a British boy, a Chelsea fan at that. We can take care of ourselves." A slow grin split his lips.

"Its always very hard to move on from those that you care for." In her mind, Trixie recalled her fallen friends and comrades for a moment, looking down at the floor. Somewhere behind the church, a train whistle sounded into the night, causing Trixie to glance up again. "You just have to be careful not to lose yourself when you live in the past. For your sake and for theirs." She bowed her head slightly. "If you choose to stay, you choose to stay. I just warn you that things are never simple here. And watch out for the Hill. I don't know what they want here, I just know they aren't the best group to be around. I hope you find what you're looking for, Lyam. And if you ever need to talk...I'll put your name on the list." She reached into her purse, pulling out a small paper and handing it to Lyam. It was a train ticket, old and battered but still good. "I only have the one, and the schedule is odd. But if you can ever catch the train, you'll want the ticket. We'll see each other again, I'm sure. And you take care of yourself, and all the other lost souls that find the way here. They always do."

Lyam took quick glance down at the ticket as she handed it to him, his eyebrows raised questioningly. "Wait, I don't understand all this mysticism. What do you mean, lost souls? Who and where are the Hill? And what is all this craziness doing in Colorado of all places?" He grunted his frustration. No answers just more questions. Was he dreaming? Was this all just an illusion? He couldn't really tell if he was lucid or not. Where had that train come from?

Trixie turned smoothly on her heel. "Sinai Hill is a research company, we're all lost souls until we find a purpose, and why not Colorado? Believers say miracles can happen anywhere, so why not anomalies? I have a man to see about a business deal, Lyam. It has been a real pleasure, though. I'd give you my phone number, but I don't get signal often. So I guess we'll just wander until we find each other again...but I'll bring you a better poster. One actually of me." She walked briskly from the church, passing by a parked car and turning down the road until the clicking of her heels faded out.

[-end scene-]