The Locket

The Locket

by

Inge Moore

On his way to the kitchen to prepare an early lunch, Bruce Marks heard the first explosion from the mountain. For an instant, he’d thought it meant war. Then he realized what it must be—the same thing that had been happening all over the world. The reports and images of disasters—floods, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, tornados—had clogged the news for days. It had started in Japan with a tsunami. Next was Africa with a huge fire. England had been hit by tornados. South America by earthquakes. Now he guessed that it was their turn.

He turned and walked back to the bedroom. As he walked through the doorway, he saw Cheryl’s face pale against her ruffled lace pillow, the heart-shaped locket at her throat gleaming a rich gold. She'd be thinking it meant God's wrath.

"It must be the volcano, Dear," he told her calmly. “That’s all.” Then patted her thin hand as he switched on the bedside radio.

"The danger zone extends one hundred and fifty miles from the mountain. We repeat, Mount Harper is erupting. If you are anywhere within a radius of a hundred and fifty miles, evacuate immediately If you can't leave, take shelter in your basement following emergency procedures for natural disasters. Residents of Harpertown are advised to—"

Bruce switched it off as he admired the violet and blue flowers on their bedspread: he'd never really noticed them before.

"How far away are we, Dear?" his wife asked, clutching her locket in her closed fist.

"Oh, about forty or fifty miles."

“Nobody warned us about the volcano. They always said Mount Harper was a dormant volcano.” A tear leaked out of her eye and onto her wrinkled cheek, tracing a river through her face powder.

“Yes, they did. But, it seems they were mistaken," he said with a touch of regret. “If it hadn’t been the volcano, it would have likely been something else. Earthquake, maybe. Who knows what?” He looked over and smiled at her, patting her hand that held the locket so tight.

Sitting beside his wife on the bed, Bruce Marks turned to look toward the bedroom window and as he did, he saw the eerie light from outside, casting ominous shadows across the room, the walls, the floor. Shadows as big as vultures. He felt his wife shiver beside him. From beyond the window came the rumbling of the mountain. He sat motionless, staring out.

"What is it, Dear?" she finally asked. "What do you see?"

Not taking his eyes from the window, he spoke slowly. "I see a wall of grey smoke. It's several times the height of the trees and it's coming our way. It looks like ... I swear to you it looks just like a mass of ectoplasm eating everything in its path. The Blob That Ate Harpertown!”

He gave a short laugh. Just a few seconds earlier, he'd had a violent urge to do something—to run, to fight, to hide—anything. But his car was at the service station, his wife couldn't walk, and they had no basement.

These were the facts.

After locking the windows, he went down the stairs to the kitchen, prepared juice, fried eggs and toast, then set it all on a tray and carried it back up to the bedroom. As he walked, he noticed the tray was made of reddish wood and the handles were ornate brass. These details were important. He placed the tray on the bedside table and began to remove his clothing, folding each item neatly onto a chair until he wore only his undershirt and shorts. Then he climbed under the covers beside his wife.

He and Cheryl had slept in this same bed for the entire forty-two years of their marriage. For the last two years, Cheryl had been confined to it for most of the day: he'd almost grown to think of her and the bed as one melded being.

When he'd gotten comfortable, pillows plumped behind his back, he looked over at her. She was smiling.

"Because we have no basement?" she asked.

He nodded. "Because we have no basement."

"We should have built one," she cried, slamming her fist into the mattress at her side, making barely a rumple in the covers.

He turned and took her match-stick body in his arms.

Again, the mountain blasted. Fierce winds drove, screaming, against the window of their bedroom which was dark now, except when lit by flashes of lightning. From the roof above them came the pounding of hail.

Cheryl spoke. "And God said, 'the end of all flesh has come before me, because the earth is full of violence as a result of them; and here I am bringing them to ruin together with the earth.'"

Bruce helped her sit up and adjust herself in order to eat the lunch. He placed the tray across her legs, and once balanced, transferred her food onto it, setting his own plate directly in his lap.

"Did He not make a covenant stating that there would never be another flood?" he asked quietly.

"He did," Cheryl replied. "The sign of the covenant was the rainbow. Are there any rainbows out there? Is this a flood?"

He watched her slice an egg with her silver knife, the rich yellow yolk running across the embossed white plate.

Then her hand fell from the locket and she turned to him, her voice rising in pitch and volume: "A loud voice issued from the sanctuary of the throne, saying, 'It has come to pass!' and lightnings and voices and thunders occurred such as had not occurred since man had come to be on the earth, so extensive an earthquake, so great. And a hail with every stone about the weight of a talent descended out of heaven upon the men!" She lowered her head, eyes squeezed shut, and was silent.

"It's Armageddon you're speaking of then," he said after a pause.

She lifted her head, held it almost proudly. "Of the great day of God the Almighty I'm speaking, yes."

"And the rider on the white horse and his army will win this war, hurling the wild beast and false prophet into the fiery lake and the angel will chain Satan for a thousand years?"

Cheryl's neat gray head nodded. "Then after a thousand years Satan will be released and in the next war he will be thrown into the lake of fire and heaven and earth will be destroyed and born again and God will live in the new Jerusalem with the faithful and the pure. It's beginning!" She smiled, her meal cooling.

Taking her tray, he set it on the floor. "Do you believe that?" he asked her.

"Yes. Do you?"

He looked at her. "I believe I love you."

***

"I love you too," she replied. Then she took her husband's dear and familiar hand and brought to her mind all of the men and women she'd known who deserved God's wrath.

There was quite a list, but she saved her anger—God's would surely suffice. And as the house began to break and fill with smoke, she saw the Holy City coming down out of heaven from God, with a radiance like a most precious stone, as a jasper stone shining crystal clear.

***

Bruce pulled the covers over both their heads, fending off the smoke now pouring through the shattered windows. In the dark beneath the covers he reached around the back of his wife’s neck and unfastened the locket’s chain. He took the locket into his hands and brought it to his lips and kissed it.

***

Suddenly, Bruce found himself in a meadow awash in red and yellow flowers, sitting under a shade tree. He looked around. White clouds dotted a cerulean blue sky and a stream burbled nearby. Still holding the locket, he turned to smile at Cheryl, shocked to find her the raven-haired beauty she’d been the day he’d first laid eyes on her. Her smile radiated warmth and joy. Carefully he lifted her thick mane of hair and refastened the chain of the heart-shaped golden locket behind her neck. Her mother had given it to her on the day they were married, promising that it would keep the two of them forever together.

The End