The Perfect Place Of Knowledge

The Perfect Place?

Elaine Fields Smith

Published by Blazing Star Books at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 – Elaine Fields Smith

ISBN 0982769008

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN 0982769008

Any reference in The Perfect Place to characters, places or things is purely from the author's memory and/or research and it is not intended to be a historical account of any particular happening.

Part One

The Journey

Hey, Cricket! You want to go for a walk?

The black and tan Dachshund gave her answer by hopping into a chair and disappearing under a fleecy throw. With a sigh, I stepped through the front door. Cricket wanted nothing to do with rain. Neither did I, but an important letter was due to arrive. After walking only a short distance from the porch, I suddenly stopped. Rain was falling, just as the intelligent little dog perceived. But it wasn't raining on me. Well, this wasn't exactly rain. It was a cold, February drizzle that filled the air, finding every crack and surface imaginable. But no moisture could seem to find me. The thought crossed my mind that usually when faced with such unpleasant circumstances; I would retreat into the safe and dry space within my home to curl up with a treasured quilt and a good book. But that course of action was not an option at this particular moment—nor was it necessary. Curiously, my body was warm and dry, safely shielded from the nastiness of the day. Simultaneously, I sensed my current location was in a place far different from my well-known and well-loved home in the country. That in itself was somewhat disturbing, as I had just gotten bundled up and walked outside to go to the mailbox—some quarter of a mile from my house.

Directing my attention to the sanctuary shielding me from the disagreeable atmospheric conditions, I focused on more immediate surroundings. Describing this phenomenon as a sanctuary seems accurate as that is exactly how it felt. Warmth, love, and caring were in the very air around me. The sensation led to the revelation that the space within the sanctuary held three separate personas in addition to myself. Further, it was rather astonishing that I felt no fear whatsoever, as each of those personas was known to me.

Before these thoughts could further develop, the sanctuary propelled me to walk along a sidewalk. This was an inner city sidewalk unlike anything I had ever seen in real life. Similar surroundings could be seen on television shows set in big cities. But no such location existed in my little world in the country. Wrought iron railings guarded large cubic voids drenched in darkness and drizzle. We, (this we is expressed as the grouping of those of us within the sanctuary), glided effortlessly across the concrete walkway. The sensation was quite odd—like walking on one of those long, moving sidewalks in a big airport. With one step, my body smoothly moved forward much further than humanly possible. The airport apparatus is somewhat similar to an escalator, but on a solely horizontal plane. A brief idea flashed across my mind that such a contraption should be called a levelator as we took these giant, gliding steps along the sidewalk. But that play on words was quickly cast aside when the sanctuary suddenly halted.

The three personalities gently guided me to the end of one of the numerous, identical wrought iron railings. We turned, and as a unit descended the concrete stairway. Each tread was covered with a dark green anti-skid compound of some sort—an unnecessary feature since my boots did not make contact with the textured surface as we descended the stairway. Rather, the four of us—linked together—glided downward into the darkness and through a large door. The unit that was us quickly and easily separated, allowing me to be me again. Squeezing my eyes shut and pressing the tip of my right middle finger with my right thumbnail to induce a physical pain reaction verified I was indeed present and intact. This realization was undeniably a relief.

The basement door had not been opened—that was a certainty. A suspicious glance toward that door revealed it to be a large, seemingly solid wooden slab with no windows. The door had six picture-framed panels and an average looking doorknob with a separate deadbolt lock. My brow creased, as confusion and a bit of concern clouded my mind. But any distress was quickly dissolved as a large, weathered hand appeared before my eyes. The fingers of that hand gently smoothed the frown away.

It’s all right, Katie-bug, a soft bass voice said to me. The words didn’t actually enter my consciousness through anything as physical as eardrums. But I definitely recognized who was speaking.

Daddy? My actual vocalization echoed loudly in the dark basement-like room. There was no audible answer—but my father’s presence was unmistakable. Then I heard another voice, higher in timbre, even a bit squeaky with an adolescent quality.

Hi, Katie. Remember me? Memories did indeed flood my mind. This was a friend—a boy from my childhood—whose young life was tragically cut short when he was killed in a construction accident some