The Realm of Realism Read online

  The Realm of Realism

  The Angels & Magic series Book Two

  R.M. Gauthier

  Copyright © 2019 by Starlight Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-0-9949489-9-1

  For my Family

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Next in Series

  From R.M. Gauthier

  About the Author

  1

  The Stage is set.

  Aaron stands on his mark.

  A spotlight illuminates him as he waits for his cue.

  The audience is attentive, patiently awaiting the dazzling demonstration that will transpire once Aaron begins. He’s spent his entire life practicing for moments such as this. There’s no greater feeling in the world than to have a theater full of people completely enamoured by his show. It’s his passion—his love—his calling, and he’s grateful for every moment he’s fulfilling this lifelong dream.

  In that moment, for a split second before the curtain rises, Aaron wonders why—for the billionth time—the incident happened in the first place. It’s not as if he was sad, depressed or miserable with his life. So, why’d he do it? Even more important, why’d he hurt his mother in such a fashion?

  Aaron doesn’t remember the incident at all. His only memories are waking up in the hospital to the hysterics of his mother—who almost squeezed the life out of him—despite being ecstatic he was alive.

  When he blinks his eyes open, the first thing he gazes upon is his mother’s head lying beside his hand. He reaches over and brushes the hair out of her face, causing her to wake. Then, all hell breaks loose as she screams and cries, asking him over and over—why?

  At first Aaron has no idea why she’s so upset, but after glancing around the room, it quickly becomes apparent they’re in a hospital and he is the patient. He tunes into his mother’s pleas, trying to comprehend how they ended up here and most importantly, why she’s so upset.

  “Why would you do such a thing, Aaron? Why?” his mother keeps asking as tears roll down her cheeks.

  Aaron stares at her, waiting to hear what happened, but his mother just keeps repeating the word ‘why’.

  Finally, a man in a white lab coat enters the room and stands at the foot of Aaron’s bed. A tablet in his hands, his gaze fixed on the screen.

  “I see our patient is awake.” He glances up at Aaron. “How are you feeling?”

  Aaron tries to speak but his throat is too dry and raw, so only a squeak escapes.

  His mother sits up straight, grabs a plastic cup off the side table and brings it to Aaron placing the plastic straw to his lips. He takes a sip, then pushes the cup away and attempts to speak once again.

  “Why am I here?” His gaze snaps to the doctor. “What happened?”

  “You don’t remember?” the doctor inquires.

  “No.” Aaron’s eyebrows scrunch together as he tried to think. “The last thing I remember is getting ready for my show.”

  Suddenly his face drops and he struggles to sit up.

  “My show,” he calls out, as he attempts to get out of the bed. “I have to go.”

  “No, Sweetie. It’s been taken care of, don’t worry,” his mother says, as she pushes on his shoulder to make him lay back down.

  Aaron stops struggling and relaxes back into the bed.

  “Aaron? Have you been feeling depressed or sad lately?” Mr. White Coat asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

  “No,” Aaron scoffs, thinking this is some sort of a joke.

  “Have you been having issues at work? A girlfriend maybe?” the doctor continues to pry.

  “No. I have a great life. In fact, I’m supposed to be doing a show right now. What time is it?” he asks anxiously.

  “Honey, your show’s been taken care of. Don’t worry. When you’re better—”

  “Better!” Aaron shrieks. “What’s wrong with me?” he asks as panic sets in.

  “You really have no idea why you’re here? What you did?” the doctor pipes up.

  “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Aaron’s voice echoes off the walls in the quiet room.

  “You tried to kill yourself, Son. It was touch and go for a while…”

  The doctor’s voice fades in Aaron’s mind as he fixates on the first few words, “tried to kill yourself”. He rolls those words around his head, knowing they should mean something, and it should be crystal clear, but for some reason they sound like a foreign language to him.

  Aaron strains his mind for his last memories. He was in his room, getting ready to leave for the theater. He has a routine he follows, but he has no memory of accomplishing it. Frustrated, he returns his attention to the doctor, listening to what he’s been babbling about.

  “We’ll be keeping you here for a few days—”

  “No way,” Aaron snaps. “I have a show to do. A life to live. I can’t just stay here for a few days.”

  “It’s not an option, Aaron,” the doctor says in a soothing tenor, but Aaron’s having none of it.

  “I didn’t try to kill myself and I can’t stay.” Aaron flings the blankets off and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Aaron, you swallowed a bottle of pills. Was that an accident?” the doctor asks, still attempting to sound soothing.

  “I don’t know,” Aaron shouts out. “I don’t remember.”

  “I see,” the doctor mumbles as he glances at the tablet in his hands. “Regardless, you’re on lockdown,” he glances up. “It’s protocol.”

  Frustrated and unsure what to do, Aaron turns his glare on his mother.

  “Mom. You know me.” He begs her with his eyes. “Tell them I wouldn’t do this.”

  She glances at him, judging the validity in his statement.

  “Honey, perhaps you should give it a few days,” she replies in a soft manner.

  “What?” Aaron blurts out.

  “You need a rest. You’ve been working so hard.” She grasps his hand in hers, as more tears roll down her cheeks. “A little rest will do you good.”

  It’s decided and Aaron has no choice but to go along with their decision.

  2

  Thinking back on that dark moment is all the encouragement Aaron needs to give the performance of a lifetime. With something to prove, he intends on demonstrating that tonight—with this audience—on this very stage. The events of the incident took place over a month ago, and with hard work
, he’s back to where he was before the incident. At least he believes that.

  Did he figure out what happened that dreadful night?

  No.

  What’s clear is he can’t dwell on it forever. So, he pulled up his big boy pants and did everything required of him to convince the doctors, and his mother that he’s mentally stable. With no recollection of that evening, not even a glimpse of what was running through his mind, he decided to move forward. He still hasn’t a clue where the pills came from, but he knows in order to rejoin life, he had to get his act together—and quickly.

  And, that’s exactly what he did.

  He entered therapy and quickly found out the difficulty of working through problems you never knew existed. His sessions are interesting, and he’s worked through some hidden emotions about his father’s passing.

  As for the incident, without knowing why he ended up in the situation to begin with, it’s impossible to figure out the reason behind it—in his mind, anyways.

  Now, standing on the stage as the curtain rises in front of him and the spotlight beams down blinding his view of the audience, he’s stronger than ever. Several lights stream across the auditorium, offering him a perfect view of the people in attendance at tonight’s show. It’s a full house.

  Nerves rumble through his veins and his stomach twists into a knot. It’s his return to the stage, and apparently, they’ve missed him, noted by the size of the crowd. Or maybe, they’re here to see if the magician will lose it on stage and go crazy in front of a theatre full of patrons. They’ll be sorely disappointed because Aaron has no intention of giving them any show—except magic, of course.

  Aaron gets into position to perform his first trick of the evening. It’s a fairly simple one consisting of cards and sleight of hand. Easy enough to maneuver, and starts any show off with a bang. Years of practice have given Aaron a sense of ease as he moves from trick to illusion without much thought. He knows his routine so well he could almost do it in his sleep, but because everything comes down to timing and performance, remaining present in the moment is vital.

  From the audience’s applause and gasps, he knows the trick has gone well and he slides into the next one easily. As he’s setting the stage for the next astonishing illusion, which happens to be a trick with a mirror and a real bird, his thoughts slip back to his first appointment with the therapist.

  Sitting in the small waiting room of his therapist’s office, anticipating his allotted time, Aaron’s leg bounces up and down and he breaks into a cold sweat. Talking to a therapist was never on his agenda. He’s not sure what to expect and has less desire to spill his secrets to a total stranger. However, it’s part of his recovery, a demand placed upon him by his medical doctor, even though he didn’t try to hurt himself. To get the doctor and his mother off his case, he’ll gladly oblige.

  The office door swings open and a gentleman steps out glancing around the boundaries of the room until his eyes settle on Aaron. A smile spreads across his face, giving him a warm, welcoming glow.

  “Aaron?” he questions.

  Aaron quickly stands and shuffles over to the man. “Yeah, that’s me.” Aaron extends his hand to the man.

  The man takes the offering and gives Aaron’s hand a firm shake, then he motions Aaron inside. “Welcome. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, as Aaron slips past him and steps over the threshold.

  The man is about two inches shorter than Aaron’s five-foot-nine frame. He has black hair cut short in the back and over the ears, a typical businessman style. He’s wearing a beige cable-knit sweater with brown dress pants. Shiny black loafers peek out of the bottom of his slacks.

  Aaron stands awkwardly just inside the doorway and glances around the room. It’s a typical therapist’s office, or Aaron assumes having never actually been in one before. There’s a desk on one side of the space, with a big, leather chair nestled behind it. Beyond the desk is a wall-to-wall bookshelf overstuffed with books. On the opposite side of the room there is a couch pushed up against the wall with an armchair off to one side of it. As Aaron’s eyes fixate on the couch he wonders if he’ll be required to lie down. His eyes roll at the prospect.

  “Have a seat, Aaron.” The doctor closes the door, then motions to the couch. “I’m Dr. Swanson.”

  “Pleasure,” Aaron responds in a condescending tone.

  His gaze flickers from the couch on the left side of the room to the chair in front of the desk. Decision made, he strolls over to the chair in front of the desk and plops down.

  Dr. Swanson makes his way to the leather chair facing Aaron, separated only by his desk where he takes his seat and gets comfortable. He shuffles some papers around, then flips open a folder and glances up at Aaron.

  “Is there anything you want to talk about?” he asks.

  Aaron shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze roaming the room. “Not really.”

  “Okay, then,” Dr. Swanson replies, and returns to shuffling paperwork.

  Time passes slowly as they sit in silence, the only sound coming from a clock resting on a side table under the window. The doctor appears to be working and Aaron glares at him. He wonders if this is normal procedure—to ignore the patient. He scans the room once more spotting diplomas on the wall. On instinct, he rises and wanders over to the documents hanging securely by their frames and begins inspecting each one carefully.

  “Good schools?” He glances over his shoulder at the doctor.

  Dr. Swanson peeks up from his paperwork. “Yes. They are.”

  “You must be very smart,” Aaron assesses.

  “I suppose.” Dr. Swanson drops his pen on top of his paperwork and leans back in his chair. “Did you attend college?”

  “Umm… only for a semester,” Aaron responds, his gaze returning to the documents. “Wasn’t my thing.”

  “Couldn’t find anything that held your interest?” Dr. Swanson inquires.

  “No. I already knew what I was going to do with my life, so college seemed like a waste.” Aaron turns and wanders over to the bookshelf peeking at the titles.

  “What do you want to do with your life?” Dr. Swanson asks, a genuine curiosity in his attitude.

  “I’m a magician.” Aaron replies, his gaze remaining fixed on the titles of the books.

  “Wow. A magician. I don’t think I’ve met one of those before. Are you any good?”

  Aaron catches onto the doctor’s game. Surely, he knows the answers already— after all, he has Aaron’s file.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty good,” Aaron scoffs, still avoiding eye contact.

  “Do you have a following? Groupies? Do magicians have groupies?” Dr. Swanson questions, his curious nature still evident.

  Aaron shrugs a shoulder. “I suppose I have people who come to a lot of my shows. Some follow my social media pages,” he responds, then finally turns around giving Dr. Swanson his attention.

  He strolls back to the chair in front of the desk and resumes his seat.

  “Yeah, I have groupies. I don’t call them that, though. They’re fans. Fans of my work, and they’re important to any performer.”

  Dr. Swanson considers his answer, then scribbles something on his notepad before returning his attention to Aaron.

  “So, if you’re doing what you love and have a good show, I assume that’s how you earn your living?”

  “Yes,” Aaron replies.

  “Then, what brings you here today, Aaron?”

  “You tell me.” Aaron shifts in his chair, crossing one leg over his knee and places his hands on his lap.

  “Unfortunately, that’s not how this works.” Dr. Swanson smiles at Aaron. “It’s up to you to figure out what happened. Why you took a bottle of pills.”

  Aaron glares at Dr. Swanson for a moment, shifting in his seat once again, switching his crossed legs from one to the other. He lets out a huff of air. “That’s the thing Doc. I have no idea why. It’s why I’m here. To figure out what happened—I guess.”

  The audience gasp
s as Aaron reveals a live bird, its feathers flapping frantically, yet it remains on his finger. Clapping and applause erupt from the audience causing a huge grin to cross his features. He’s missed this feeling—success, accomplishment—love. There’s no greater feeling on the planet than when an audience is with you, cheering for you and admiring what you do. Aaron absorbs the moment as he moves to each side of the stage revealing the white bird in his hands.

  He moves to center stage taking one final bow as the bird flaps its wings and the house lights go dim. The spotlight flashes across Aaron temporarily rendering him blind. Automatically, he shuts his eyes as another white flash disturbs his sight.

  When his eyes open, he’s flat on his back staring up at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. She has long, flowing, blonde hair which hangs past her shoulders almost to her waist. Her bright, sparkling, golden eyes focus on Aaron as her gaze travels from his head to toe. She’s wearing white pants, a white shirt all trimmed with gold and knee-high white boots covered in gold specks.

  She smiles down at Aaron, giving him a sense of peace.

  He shuts his eyes tight, once again.

  The applause of the audience snaps him back to reality, but he’s off-kilter wondering about the vision of the goddess. He’s never seen the woman before, so how he conjured her up at this moment bewilders him. While he attempts to shake the image from his mind, his thoughts race through several questions. Who is this woman? And, why is this happening now?