|Let's Start Again (standard:Psychological fiction, 1624 words)|
|Author: Hulsey||Added: Sep 13 2011||Views/Reads: 1919/1056||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Do you believe in reincarnation?|
Luke Gandolfo took in the familiar surroundings as he rode the taxi from Heathrow Airport. Nothing much had changed since he was born, eighteen years ago, but he was overcome by the occasion, his dreamlike state understandable. The taxi pulled up at the given address in Knightsbridge and Luke fought back the tears. He paid his fare and approached the mansion, his holdall hardly containing sufficient clothes for one week's stay. He brushed the blonde hair from his forehead and once more contemplated his decision. He frowned, acknowledging that the gates of the mansion had been painted a puke green colour. Also, he noticed that the windows had been replaced; his beloved stain glass windows substituted with modern panels. He reluctantly pushed the bell and noticed that the security camera was focusing on him. “Yes, can I help you?” came the voice from the intercom. It was a male voice that Luke did not recognise. “My name is Luke Gandolfo and I've travelled from the States to see Christine.” There was a pause, before the man from the mansion responded. “What business do you have with my wife?” The words hit Luke, and it seemed like a dagger had been lunged into his heart. He felt sorrow and betrayal, but then realised that eighteen years is such a long time. The tears streamed down his face, as he attempted to control his imperfect speech. “My business with your wife is personal... It's difficult to explain, standing here... Please, I've come such a long way to see her.” There was another prolonged silence before a female voice could be heard. “Who are you? Why do you wish to see me?” Luke stared at the camera. Can't you see me, Christine? Why don't you recognise me?" “C...Chris,” stuttered Luke. “Listen, my business concerns David.” Luke yawned and heard the click of the gate. He entered the exclusive grounds of the mansion, his walk towards the Georgian structure inhibited by his jetlag and his nostalgia. He smiled, admiring the pristine, manicured lawns and the neatly pruned shrubs. Christine had inherited his meticulous manner. He wandered along the gravel pathway until he reached the stone steps. He stroked one of the magnificent, stone lions that guarded the huge red door of the mansion; the very same beasts that he had purchased in another era. The door opened and Christine was standing before him, her now grey hair swept into a tidy bun. Her face had developed wrinkles since he had last set eyes on her, and he realised that she was now fifty-two years of age. She still however retained her childlike figure and the glint was still present in her eyes. She was wearing an emerald green gown, his favourite colour. “So who are you and what do you want?” groaned Christine's husband. He was wearing a navy-blue, open-collared shirt and beige trousers. He addressed the American stranger suspiciously. Luke could not avert his gaze from Christine, and he was certain that she was familiar with him, even though his features were now different. “My name is Luke Gandolfo and I was born eighteen years ago, the very day that David Markham died in a hit and run accident.” Christine gasped, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Her companion shrugged. “So what?” Click here to read the rest of this story (141 more lines)
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