In part two of this episodic psychological thriller, Nicole Jeffords. convinced that healer, Victor Goodlove, who disappeared ten years earlier is buried under her studio, continues her search for him, contacting old patients all over Austin and dis...
By the time you read this, I will have returned from my trip to Romania where a few truly shocking things happened to me. But first I have to come clean about my studio floor. The contractor and his crew dug it up with Ramona watching as the linoleum was rolled back, exposing wood planks and then the ordinary dirt underneath. There was no evidence of a grave. No coffin-sized hump, no suspicious slab of concrete, no bones or artefacts, no nothin'. I had totally duped myself and, by association, all of you. I admit it, I was the
FOOL
who went on for a whole year about Victor Goodlove being buried beneath my studio while in reality he was probably buried beneath the tiny house where Cecily Rose had been incarcerated. It's been two weeks and still no word on that, but just for perspective here's a creepy basement in a farmhouse owned by my cousin, Eddie, in Transylvania.
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Eddie is the son of my father's brother, Frederich, who fled Nazi Germany shortly after Hitler came to power, emigrated to the States, joined the US army and became a paratrooper. Because he spoke fluent German, Fred was dropped in enemy territory where he had to act like he was a citizen and disguise the fact that he was a Jew. Fred was also used as a translator at the Nuremberg trials. After the trials, he returned to the States with an Austrian wife and spent the next few years in California, raising a family.
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Frederich Schindler
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Eddie
I don't want to go into the story of Eddie's childhood which was pretty fucked up. His formative years were spent in California, but at thirteen his dad took him to Europe and he never lived much in the States again. Eddie is a major traveler, going from place to place — Peru, Chile, Guatemala, New Zealand, Thailand, Tibet — you name it, he's been there. An itinerant teacher, he's lived in Japan for the past two decades, working at different universities, acquiring a wife and then a son. He adores his little boy, but is rarely allowed to see him because the wife, who basically used Eddie as a sperm donor, kicked him out immediately after the birth. Imagine the sting of having a twelve-year-old boy you love with all your heart, and who's embarrassed by you because you're European and not Japanese. This past year Eddie was forced to retire and leave the country — no more teaching visas allotted to my cousin. So now he lives in Sighisoara, Romania, where life is cheap and one can buy fixer uppers for practically nothing.
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Sighisoara, Romania
When we went to visit Eddie this summer, we had some big surprises in store, starting with the peculiar way people stared at me everywhere we went.
