He who seeks shelter from the storm shall find eternity...
Brodie Banks stopped to exhale. Her breath hovered in a formless cloud of mist, dissipating quickly in the dry, frigid air as she adjusted her long woolen scarf. The slim butch woman's eyelids fluttered momentarily as she gazed up at the thick blanket of rolling gray clouds overhead. It snowed the night before and the temperature plummeted, glazing the ground beneath her feet with a glittering crust of ice. Crunch, crunch! The world stretched before Brodie, dreamlike, closing the distance between her and an eerily static thicket of trees; the outer reaches of Seaton Dells.
There once was a trail here somewhere, but slowly over time, nature had taken its course and reclaimed the land. Seaton Dells was never a popular spot to visit according to the locals, although it was beautiful—breathtaking—as far as Brodie was concerned. The land made up part of an almost 3,000 acre tract of dense woods, freshwater ponds and streams, and dolomite cliffs that once belonged to the local forest preserve district. But the lack of visitors restored the sprawling landscape to an unparalleled natural beauty. Lately, it had been Brodie's refuge; a place to search for peace and solace. Alone.
Brodie paused for several seconds to admire the dense, dark canopy of trees when she entered the woods. She stood in the nave of this winter cathedral, taking it all in. A twisted network of bare branches reached towards the heavens, and somewhere she could hear a hollow ghostly wail. Brodie pulled a bit of her scarf up to cover her mouth and nose, shuddering against the intense chill.
The butch woman paused for another few seconds, propping herself against the trunk of a stately old birch tree. Brodie's once slim, athletic frame was noticeably pale and gaunt. Her very short tapered brush cut turned silver gray seemingly overnight. It's been three, maybe four days since the last time she'd eaten anything, but Brodie didn't care. Not anymore. It seemed like a lifetime had already passed since she last saw Grace, her partner of over 10 years. But what was the point of sitting down to a meal these days with no one to share it with?
Brodie Banks was a Phys Ed. and Wellness professor at Darby College in Hanover. For 27 years she called the idyllic campus her home and the small student body and faculty her second family. They'd been very good to her. They did what they could to soften the blow and ease the pain that, in a matter of moments, transformed her into a bottomless withered vessel of misery and inner frost.
"Hello, Brodie. Why don't you have a seat? Here, take the high back and make yourself comfortable."
Brodie closed the office door behind her. The Phys Ed. professor's spindly frame settled tentatively into the only other chair in the department head's office.
Amos Stanieck cut a tall, strapping figure of a man. He was in his early 60's and had been teaching at Darby College for longer than anyone else in the athletics department. "I know you've been extremely busy today, and I wanted to respect your valuable time—" The man's voice was cut short by a volley of raps against the office door. "Ah, Dr. Geddes, thank you for coming. I understand Dr. Kjellstrom is busy tending to...the matter at hand." He said. He was referring to the chaplain, Dr. Norbert Kjellstrom. Brodie knew the man, but she rarely spoke to him besides the usual greetings and small talk.
Brodie stared straight ahead. "Afternoon, Helen." She delivered this neutral greeting, wondering what this was all about. Her hazel eyes watered, becoming glazed behind the frames of her glasses. Dr. Geddes softly returned the greeting. The woman stood beside her now, next to the desk.
"Brodie—how long have we known each other?" Amos snatched up a pile of papers on his desk, shuffling them mindlessly before tossing them aside.
"For almost thirty years now..." Brodie's voice trailed off as she struggled to fight the feeling of dread rising from the pit of her stomach. Her colleagues could scarcely hide their strained expressions. And why did they mention Dr. Kjellstrom? Something wasn't right.
Amos turned to the bookshelf behind him. "Care for a drink?" He reached for one of three crystal decanters and produced a small glass from the bottom desk drawer. "If you ladies would forgive me, but...I certainly could use one."
"No, no thank you." Dr. Geddes replied.
Brodie also declined. "You said something about Norbert Kjellstrom. Did something happen recently?"
Amos eyed his seated colleague in grim silence for several seconds, thinking about what he was going to say. He liked Brodie and thought she was a damn good teacher. He wanted to choose his words carefully, but...what was he supposed to say? "Helen, would you like to tell her, or—"
"I think that would be for the best." Dr. Geddes replied. There was no denying the somber tone of her voice, and that God awful feeling of dread grew in the pit of Brodie's stomach. "Something about Grace, then." Brodie's voice had an obvious edge. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She felt trapped.
"Dr. Geddes called me over to Kimzey this morning." Amos paused. He reached for the decanter and replaced it back on the bookshelf with the others. "Simply put, there was an accident in Hanover, on 12th Street near the J.C. Penney downtown." Amos stared directly at his bespectacled colleague, and there was another seconds long pause. "Shit...might as well come out and say it." He sighed audibly. "Grace was on her way to campus and her car was—ah—broadsided..."
The corners of the butch woman's mouth twitched spasmodically. She glanced down at her lap for a moment, not knowing how to answer—or if she should at all. A hand closed over her shoulder, delivering a sympathetic squeeze from Dr. Geddes. "The other driver ran the stop sign." She said plaintively. "Grace was pronounced dead at the scene."
And just like that, Brodie Banks felt the world crumbling and slipping away in a cloud of ash. The corners of her mouth twitched again, and she suddenly let loose with a ferocious cry, startling Dr. Geddes who stumbled back a couple paces, bumping against the wall. "I ah—discussed the matter with Dr. Kjellstrom. That is why he isn't here. He...suggested that it would be best if I relayed the news to you myself...in light of your...living arrangement."
Dr. Grace Kruse, English professor, shared space with Dr. Geddes and four others in Kimzey Hall located next to the Condon Arts Center. For over 10 years, Brodie and Grace had been lovers, sharing a large two story house together in Hanover. Dr. Geddes leaned in to extend her hand across the desk to Amos. "I need to get back to Kimzey...there's some administrative things that need my attention, you understand."
Amos Stanieck replied with a stoic nod. The man's mouth stretched thin as he took the woman's hand and exchanged their goodbyes. "If you need anything, Brodie...someone to talk to..." Dr. Geddes' voice trailed off. It was clear that Brodie wasn't listening.
It was at that explosive, traumatic moment when Brodie realized the strange similarity of time and water; that it can pass slowly, one drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by, sweeping everything away. The arrow of time is measured and constant; a comforting reminder of a world both ordered and deliberate. But now the arrow meant nothing. It was now a weapon of destruction and torture, gouging the seated professor as shock provided a momentary reprieve from physical pain. Amos sensed the shock and emptiness that gutted his bespectacled colleague. He wanted to say something. He knew he needed to say something, but what?
"Brodie, you're one of the kindest, most dedicated instructors on this entire campus...we can't turn back time. It is what it is." The man's mouth stretched in a grim line across his face. "I saw Grace yesterday. Just said 'Hello' and that she was running late for class..." The man stopped. He knew he was rambling and it wasn't helping the situation.
