Lasting Shadows

by Bonnie Gardiner

  She vanished from the kitchen.

  His phone vibrated.

  “You swear you’re just here to eat?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. You told me you don’t want your husband to suspect anything, and I understand. Not that anything has happened.”

  “Thank you, Mister Tilman.”

  He wanted to remind her to just call him Quinn, but instead, he let it ride.

  “Looks like everything is all better between the two of you?”

  “Things don’t change that quickly,” she said. “But in any case, I don’t feel right talking about it to a stranger.”

  “Of course, I apologize. I should let you get back to work.”

  He set his phone on the table.

  He watched as a couple of groups got up to leave, and another small group came in. All talking and smiling and laughing. He sighed, turning his gaze back to the window.

  He watched Carol step by her husband. He didn’t even glance in her direction, though she stared at him, a little sad.

  A few minutes later, she came around with a big platter carrying his dinner.

  “Carol,” he said as he lifted the napkin. “Can you tell me about the shadow boxes you have in there?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder.

  “I saw them last time I was here but this place was very busy at the time,” he said. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, the first one on the left is when Timothy, my husband, proposed. He did it right here in the restaurant, in front of my father.”

  He smiled at her, watching her face as she spoke.

  In her younger days, she probably had them all waiting in line.

  She was still a pretty woman, though age had taken its toll. But she kept her makeup to a minimum and did not reek of cigarette smoke, so he forgave everything else.

  “The third one is about our daughter. When her boyfriend Tony asked her to marry him.” She leaned in a little closer. “It also revealed she had a little something in the oven. A baby girl.”

  “Ah.”

  “And the middle one is old,” she said. “Was my father’s. Not really sure of the whole story, but it’s the reason why he kept this place open all those years.”

  “I’d love to get a closer look at it.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Might be better after working hours though.”

  “What time do you shut down?”

  “Usually early during the week,” she said. “Around nine. On the weekends closer to eleven.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll make a note.”

  She smiled at him a little nervously.

  “Anything else I can get you?”

  “No, thank you,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  She hurried back into the kitchen, vanishing for a few minutes. When she appeared again she was cleaned up, as if it had never happened.

  He looked down at his dinner. A shadow hid it. He looked up. A man looked down at him, blond, blue-eyed, a big smile, fancy clothes, and strong cologne.

  “I noticed you were asking about the shadow boxes back there.” His voice was a little higher pitched than Quinn expected. He slid into the other chair at the table. “I have two myself. You doing some research on them?”

  “Yes,” Quinn said.

  The man looked like a fashion model, sleek and plucked. He paused as if posing for a camera every time he grinned.

  “There’s so many stories,” he said. He leaned in closer as Quinn took a bite of his meal. “Got three neighbors and they all have at least one. The old lady has two. One from when her cat died.” Both Quinn and the man smirked.

  He stretched out his hand across the table. Quinn shook it, the man’s skin as soft and plastic as the rest of him.

  “Benjamin Maetters,” he said. “Just call me Ben.

  He leaned in close, glancing over his shoulder at his table, whispering.

  “And you are Quinn Tilman if I am not mistaken.”

  Quinn looked into his mirror-like blue eyes. Chewing, he only nodded.

  “And if I can dare be a fanboy for a second, a very handsome man.”

  Quinn stopped chewing briefly. Ben flashed his smile.

  “I know I’m interrupting your meal, but I would be glad to show you the boxes I have if you’d like.”

  He slid a fancy card across the table. Quinn lifted it and glanced it over. It was printed on a transparent plastic material with gold foil. Through it, he saw Ben stand.

  “Well, I’ll leave you be.” He leaned in close to Quinn’s face. “I had no idea how delicious romance authors can be.”

  He stood, touching Quinn’s back and shoulder, throwing him a wink.

  Quinn sighed, looking at the card again. He tried to make out the words across the middle, but the scrolling italic font made it nearly impossible. Below that, he read the man’s name, address, and phone number. A website URL spread across the bottom. He stuffed it in his pocket and continued to eat his meal.

  He watched as Ben and his companions stood up to leave. On either side of him stood two extremely thin women, probably in their thirties, both dressed in what Quinn could only describe as party dresses, the skirts far too high to leave anything to the imagination. On the other side of the table stood another impossibly thin person. At first, Quinn thought he was a girl, but when their eyes met, he knew he was just a very effeminate man. They all walked out arm in arm, Ben between the two women and the other man being dragged along by his hand.

  Quinn settled back into enjoying his meal.

  ***

  A short while later, Quinn stood, leaving another large tip for Carol with a note, telling her thank you for the information about the shadow boxes. He hoped it would make her a little more comfortable with talking to him.

  He fished his keys out of his pocket as he limped out and opened the door to his car.

  Ben and his little collection of friends stood a little away, leaning against a black sedan. Quinn caught the pungent smell of marijuana burning. Ben raised his hand, waving. Quinn ignored him and slid into his car, cranking up and pulling out, stopping at the exit. He heard the car doors and turned, seeing Ben’s lights come on. He turned back to the exit and pulled out, checking his rearview mirror.

  Sure enough, they turned the same direction. He frowned.

  Maybe I’m imagining it.

  He decided to go a little further. He cruised right out of Nock as if heading to the city. Once he merged on the highway, he made sure to go quite a bit out of his way and loop back around. A half-hour later, he made the turn back into Nock, going down to the other end of Cutting Road across the northern tracks. He turned off the headlights just before the bend at the house and curved into the driveway in the dark, parking as silently as he could.

  He had forgotten to leave the porch light on but for once he was okay with that. He slipped up in the darkness, fumbling for his keys. The door creaked open. He held his breath. Suddenly he felt a cold blast of icy air, almost as if it twisted like a tornado around him. Ben smiled at him, a drink in his hand.

  “Quinn! Glad you finally arrived.” He turned to the house and shouted. “The man of the hour is here!”

  Quinn staggered into the room, helped along by Ben, gripping his shoulders. A chorus of happy shouts echoed from the living room. Thick thumping music suddenly blasted all around him. Quinn squinted as he entered.

  The two women from the restaurant were there, smoking and dancing, the girlish man between them. Tamara and Megan sat on the recliner, fawning at each other, their shirts off. Megan winked at him and both blew kisses. One of the women broke away from the dancing to walk up to Quinn. She blew nasty smelling smoke in his face and took his arm, folding it around behind her waist. She handed off the joint to Ben who lifted it to his lips, smiling, his eyes slanting away. The woman danced him around the room, shoving him into the now vacant recliner. She pushed him back, unfolding the chair and straddling him. He stared up into her face, seeing not an ov
erly made-up woman but something like a clown face, with blue glitter, pink lips, and black eyes. He wanted to run, to scream. Instead, he laid there, his mouth open in shock as she moved in close. He felt and smelled her breath, wanting to choke, to vomit. Instead, Megan and Tamara shoved her off, both of them pushing each other away as they tried to crawl up on top of him. The ugly one caught his eye, crouching between his legs, a horrible toothy smile on her face.

  Confusion twisted them all into a swirl of paint, light, and wind. A thump made his ankle ache. He cried out.

  Megan and Tamara kissed his face and chest as the ugly woman’s hands caressed him. He felt the cuts of her freakishly long nails.

  Another thump made a sharp pain in his leg.

  He opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep at the wheel, the car crossing over first one set of tracks and then the other, heading away from the house.

  He stopped the car, gasping for breath. The pain in his ankle raged at him. He turned around and pulled into the driveway. The porch light was on.

  He sat there a long moment, just breathing. He trembled all over.

  What was that?

  He got out and limped up the stairs, steeling himself as he touched the doorknob.

  Locked. Hallelujah.

  He went inside, locking the place up tight before limping around the house, checking every room, making sure every door was closed up tight. Satisfied, he made himself an ice pack and a drink and sat on the recliner, at first a little wary of the thing. Flashes of the dream continued to haunt him. He shook himself and tried to relax, lifting up his phone as he sipped. After a long moment in the still and quiet, he texted Kate.

  “I think I’m going out of my mind Kate. I fell asleep at the wheel tonight. Dreamed some crazy shit about a few people I met at the diner. I guess this place is getting to me. Anyway, I’ll explain it all later. I hope you had a better night than me.”

  He dropped the phone on his chest, rubbing his face with his hands. He jumped when the thing vibrated.

  “Oh no, Quinn! Are you okay? What happened?”

  “Oh, Kate… I wish I knew where to start. Have you heard anything from Jack?”

  “No. He’s been quiet. Maybe he did go home. But that means he’s waiting and I have to go back tomorrow. I have to get back to work.”

  “Anywhere you could stay where you would feel safe? A girlfriend’s or something?”

  “I don’t have any friends other than you, Quinn.”

  Silence crackled over the phone. Finally, she spoke again.

  “What happened tonight?”

  “I went to a restaurant for dinner, the only restaurant in Nock actually, and some guy named Ben approached me. A fan apparently. He gave me his business card and told me to contact him. He owns a couple of the shadow boxes. I finished my food, came here and he and the people he was with were all here in the house, having a party.”

  “Oh my gosh! But how did they get in?”

  “It wasn’t real, Kate. The train tracks woke me up. I had fallen asleep behind the wheel and was dreaming. But it seriously shook me up. And my ankle… god!” He hissed.

  “What happened to your ankle?”

  He explained about the smoke and falling off the porch.

  “My god, Quinn! That house is out to get you!”

  “Sometimes it sure seems that way. I’m amazed the old woman across the street wasn’t cackling at me like a crow.”

  Another brief silence. He listened, rubbing his ankle, the pain beginning to throb again. They both spoke at the same time.

  “You could-”

  “I think I-”

  “-come here.”

  “-need a painkiller.”

  “Kate, I really shouldn’t drive that far. I’m not even sure if I can. It about killed me going to dinner.”

  “Then I’ll come get you. I’ll take care of you until your leg gets better.”

  He sighed, groaning to himself.

  Why do I tell her? Why do I do this to myself?

  “It’s alright Kate. I just have to stay off of it a few days. I have enough groceries to make it. I’ll just try to rest, get some typing done.”

  She stayed silent a long quiet moment. The screen on his phone went dark just as she responded.

  “Alright.”

  “Have a good night, okay?”

  “Okay, Quinn.”

  He waited, watching, knowing what she wanted to say, but the screen faded to black again.

  He wrestled himself to stand and hopped down the hall toward his bed.

  Chapter 13

  TRYST BY MY CRYPT

  Quinn rolled over yet again. The pain in his ankle woke him repeatedly during the night. Multiple ice packs and painkillers seemed to do nothing. He vowed to visit a hospital if it continued but tossed and turned anyway, trying desperately to sleep. He gave up and got up, half hopping to the shower to start his day.

  Just as he went back in the bedroom to dress, the morning train passed by. He pulled on some loose sweatpants and an old comfortable t-shirt and limped back to the front of the house. Something shiny caught his eye on the floor of the living room. He bent over with some considerable agony and lifted it up. It was the business card the man called Ben had given him the night before. He tried to decipher the scrolling fancy text again.

  Clairvoyant?

  He shook his head, rolling his eyes.

  “That probably explains his odd company.”

  He tossed the card on the table by his laptop and limped over to the counter to make himself breakfast. He thought about the dream again and then meeting the man at the restaurant.

  “Might have to make him a character in the next book,” he said. “A confused young man, torn between which side of the fence he prefers. A girlfriend and a boyfriend. Might be an interesting twist to the series.”

  He turned to his voice recorder and repeated his words, making a note saying ‘future story’.

  He went back to cooking. He sat at the table, eating the omelet and checking his phone.

  Only one text flashed there, from Carol.

  “I need to talk.”

  His brows raised. He texted her back.

  “Hello, Carol. What’s wrong?”

  He stared down at his phone waiting. Instead, it rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Mister Tilman?”

  “Carol, please, just call me Quinn.”

  He heard her hesitation.

  “Alright, Quinn.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Tim gave me the day off,” she said.

  “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “No. He’s hired two new waitresses. He says he’s tired of me being underfoot and arguing against everything he does. He’s doing everything my dad said not to do, Quinn. He’s going to run the place into the ground.”

  She broke down in tears. He waited for a few moments as she cried.

  “Look, Carol, I can’t help you with what your husband is doing,” he said. “But I do think you need a hug, and that’s something I can do. Can I come visit you? Or is there somewhere we can meet?”

  She went very quiet.

  Thinking it over.

  Come on.

  Come on.

  “Alright.”

  He grinned.

  “Tim is afraid of the cemetery,” she said, sniffling. “Have you been there?”

  “Yes, I have. Amazing history there.”

  “Yes. I have a few stories I can tell you about the place from my own family.”

  “Then there you go. You can tell him I wanted to interview you for the next books.”

  She went quiet. He waited, listening to her sniffling and breathing.

  “I’d rather he didn’t know anything, Quinn. I don’t really know what he’ll do.”

  “Alright,” he said. “But an honest story upfront might be better than sneaking around. It makes something very innocent seem mighty suspicious.”

  “I know you’re righ
t, Quinn,” she said. “But I just… I can’t…”

  “I think I understand,” he said. “So, what time do you want to meet?”

  “Right away if we can,” she said. “It’s so busy right now I know for sure he’s working.”

  “Well then, I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said. “And Quinn, thank you for listening.”

  He ended the call and stared at the phone for a long moment.

  She’s not as pretty as Lily, but she’s far more desperate. Not telling her husband what’s really going on makes me wonder…

  “What are you up to, Carol Lambert?”

  He smirked but hopped to the room to dress.

  ***

  He dressed as quickly as he could with the pain in his ankle and left the house, popping two painkillers in the car. He drove straight to the graveyard and got out, wandering around the entrance, looking at the headstones and family plots. A blue crossover pulled into the parking lot a little away from his sedan. A woman got out, a scarf wrapped over her head and enormous sunglasses on her face. He smirked.

  Too many movies.

  “Quinn?”

  “Carol?”

  She lowered her glasses. Again he laughed a little inside, not letting her see his amusement. He took her arm, gently wrapping it around his, and guiding her deeper into the cemetery.

  “I think Tim’s planning to run the entire thing into the ground, Quinn. He knows what I’m worth. He knows we don’t have to work. He knows that I consider it an obligation to keep it going. I made my father a promise. And I intended to keep my word.” She sighed, shaking her head. “If my dad knew what he was doing… ugh… He’d roll over in his grave.”

  “If you don’t have to work, then why not let Tim quit and let you manage the restaurant?”

  “I considered it,” she said. “But he’s a spender, Quinn.” She met his gaze, shaking her head. He patted her hand. “We’ve already had some trouble with him taking on credit cards and loans. He blew all that and was about to take out another one when I finally gave in and let him have an allowance. I set aside money for him to spend as he wishes and he plows right through that and still demands more.”