“Didn’t you find it odd that a ‘cowboy’ wasn’t the owner of a Ford Bronco or a monstrous Chevy truck?”
“Yeah, totally shocked! I was thrilled when I went outside and caught a glimpse of the wheels I won,” he said. “It still needs to be insured, but my name is on the title.”
Had the mysterious spending spree ceased with the car, my suspicions would have died down, but his room was suddenly replete with a slew of electronic devices. He had a specious answer as to how the Kenwood stereo found its way into his bedroom, and how he acquired state-of-the-art headphones.
In a town the size of Wilkinson Creek, he was shining a bright spotlight on himself. We all knew it would only be a matter of time before the sheriff began poking around for answers. Any lead surrounding the bank robbery had produced a null result. We all knew the police department would start looking in places that were just marginally irregular. Anyone with a lick of common sense knew that Taradiddle Tony was incapable of pulling off an armed heist. To that point, it was conceivable that he may have stumbled upon the loot.
Finally, Kip Jones came with me to confront Tony about all of the cool gizmos and disposable cash he was throwing around. Kip finally pounced on him and threatened that if he didn’t come clean, we’d be done with him forever.
“Guys, relax,” he screeched. “I can explain what has been happening, but you will have difficulty believing any of it.”
“We don’t believe the bullshit you’ve been spewing this past week,” Kip barked. “Tell us something that has the slightest resemblance to reality.”
He opened the closet and moved aside some shoeboxes, revealing a large red duffle with white handles. Tony explained about finding the duffle in the forest. He went on to say that discovering the duffle was the result of a wish he made after leaving the movies. Since he generously sacrificed his rare penny, he was convinced that a leprechaun left it behind as a token of appreciation.
“Inside that gym bag is about $130,000—give or take,” he revealed. “I spent quite a bit on some enthusiastic hookers last weekend in Chicago. Between the hotel suite, the broads, and constant room service, I dropped quite a few bills.”
“You are so full of shit,” Kip stated. “Nothing is probably in that bag but some cleats, an old t-shirt, and a dirty jockstrap.”
“Let me show you,” he said, making a motion for the bag.
“Tony, don’t open the bag,” I warned. After a hesitation, I spit out the one sentence that blew Kip’s mind. “We both believe you 100%.” Those words had never been uttered in reference to anything Tony had ever claimed.
I had to make a stern face to get Kip to back down. A bag containing that much cash was undoubtedly from the bank heist. I felt uneasy without seeing the contents. I was not about to get mixed up as an accessory-after-the-fact. By not actually seeing the money, Kip and I had deniability. We’d just chalk up his confession as another pile of steaming shit. After we left his house, we vowed to stay away until he was back to bumming comic book money again.
Two days later, his mother found his room ransacked with no sign of her son. By the end of the afternoon, she reported Tony missing to the police. Since his car was gone, we all figured he was spending more lucre on tramps—and God knows what else. Even with his snappy clothing and sports car, Tony stood no chance of procuring female companionship without dipping into his wallet. Anyone with street smarts could see that “loser” was stamped all over his featureless face.
The next morning, a hiker discovered Tony’s body hanging from an old oak tree a few miles up the creek. Not only had his hands been tied together, but he was also stripped down to his boxers. The only item in his possession—other than a new rope fitted around his windpipe—was the empty red duffle bag draped around his shoulder. No one misplaces $175K and doesn’t come looking for it—especially armed criminals.
Tony had been briefly enriched, but the cash quickly disappeared along with his final breath. His death distracted me long after grass seed was scattered over his burial plot. I became convinced that the wishing well possessed some malevolent influence over weak-willed individuals that made ludicrous requests. I grew so obsessed with this theory that I warned my friends to avoid tossing any pennies down the wishing well. Most of the guys would have been wary of a bag full of cash appearing in the woods. Tony, on the other hand, was a charlatan that bought into a preposterous discovery because it was the type of bullshit he made up regularly.
Regardless of how openly he had advertised his expanded liquidity, the bank robbers located him quite fast. I heard that his bedroom had been scrubbed of the stereo, television, valuable baseball cards, and anything of marginal value. The robbers must have made him account for each dollar spent. When he came up short, it was the one time he was unable to bullshit his way out of a mess.
The unsolved murder was baffling. When I went to the academy, I vowed to eventually look into his murder case. After graduation, I moved to Bluff Ridge where the memory of Taradiddle Tony faded—as most friends do after a long-enough absence. Regrettably, I never delved into the case. Although the duffle may have been placed in the woods to look somewhat serendipitous, I’m suddenly suspicious that it had been stashed under those limbs as a form of trickery. I’m not suggesting that this Abbey was in any way responsible for my friend’s unexpected murder, but bestowing that much money on a guy like Tony was leading him directly into a catastrophic situation.
I am seriously considering the possibility that a female entity may be granting wishes that lead to a reversal of fortune. The events Mandi illustrated may be nothing more than an alcohol-induced delusion, but I’m leaning the other direction. I can’t deny the skullduggery possibly at play—both related to a wish made in the same hole cut into the ground.
To process everything, I pull into Comic Emporium’s parking lot. The regulars don’t see me as a police officer when my uniform is hanging in the closet. I’m just one of the guys that talk conspiracy theory and discuss ideas about creating new superheroes and villains.
For as much as I love comics, I can’t profess to be a massive fan of the Marvel and DC movies ruling the multiplexes. Due to their reliance on the green screen and post-production effects, it often feels like I’m watching a videogame opposed to a movie. That’s why I enjoy reading a comic book because I like some mystery between each frame. With so many superhero movies these days, not much is left to the imagination. At least when I come here, it feels like some new worlds and concepts have yet to be explored.
Comic Emporium is located in the basement of a less-traveled strip mall. Entering the store requires walking down a dangerous metal staircase. Anytime, I cross the threshold, it feels as if I’ve reverted back to pre-adolescence. The room has a heady feeling from the black walls combined with the bright colors bursting from the comic book covers. In addition to rows and rows of almost every comic imaginable, the place has a game room with vintage arcade machines like Monaco GP, Asteroids, and a Kiss pinball machine. Any time of the day, at least a dozen guys are usually milling about. It’s the den of the disenfranchised.
This is one place where I can always hang and blend in with the regulars. None of the frequent customers have a criminal history, so I rarely need to be concerned about anything being discussed. Outside of smoking a little herb in their bedroom and masturbating to Jessica Jones on Netflix, these guys keep a comfortable distance from mayhem.
Whenever I’m here, it becomes painfully apparent that I’ve strayed miles from my life goals. After graduating from high school, I just wanted to write stories and work part-time at a record store. I actually settled on the police force because my parents were in a big hurry to see me enter adulthood. In truth, they just wanted to move away from Wilkinson Creek without uprooting an additional kid. It was drilled into my head that earning a steady paycheck would be difficult as a fiction writer. My mom would talk about employment benefits and the great pension that came with being in law enforcement. I bought into the idea becau
se I thought it would either be a temporary situation or would lead to important government work. I’ve yet to be on a case with any FBI involvement other than our muddle with Agnew.
I don’t share my passions with everyone because it allows people to have expectations for my life. I may tackle a lot of responsibility with my job, but I often feel like a kid wishing he could be Indiana Jones after watching Raiders of the Lost Ark for the first time. Those thoughts get lost when settling a dispute about a pet owner letting their dog shit in the neighbor’s yard. Admittedly, dealing with Mandi’s predicament has been the first time I’ve felt on the cusp of something beyond the scope of scientific awareness.
“Officer Friendly, long time, no see,” Travis greets, pulling his eyes away from the latest issue of Hellcat. “You haven’t graced our establishment in months. We figured we lost your business to some website offering sizable discounts. Fortunately for you, I’ve been putting your regular comics into an envelope so you won’t have to comb the store for your reads.”
As far as guys go in the area, I have more in common with Travis than anyone else. Unfortunately, he is 23 and lives with two of his friends. Their place is like an unaccredited fraternity for the community college graduate. They have a billiard table, three 50-inch LCD screens, and always have a keg on tap. Because of my job, I can’t comfortably hang out with a bunch of dudes in their mid-twenties. Life has its share of rules; being on the force has many more.
As you get older, I’ve discovered that making friends with people my own age is challenging. People have become so suspicious of each other that many have trouble letting me into their life until they need a favor—usually to get out of a speeding ticket that someone else handed them. Upon erasing their little setback, they fade from my life faster than water evaporating off a hot sidewalk. People are never too busy when an act of kindness is required.
One could argue that I should associate with guys on the force. They either talk about the day’s arrests or incessantly discuss which baseball team is leading which division. I get bored with that type of dialog in about ten minutes. Dealing with it at work is one thing, but I can’t listen to the same shit when I’m off the clock.
“Thanks so much for setting those aside,” I tell him. I intended to get here weeks ago, but I’ve been so busy regaining my sense of direction. What I find entirely unusual about the store is that five teenage girls are browsing the comic shelves. Typically, this place is a dude fest. Naturally, I bring the female traffic to his attention.
“Ever since DC and Marvel started pulling in huge numbers at the box office, we’ve been getting some girls crossing our threshold,” he says. “The girls aren’t here looking for a boyfriend, but they will talk to us. None of us are getting iced like back in high school. Since I’m an expert about superheroes, I’m able to keep them interested in a conversation for more than a few minutes. It’s quite the unusual twist getting a genuine smile from a sexy girl.”
“Speaking of unusual twists,” I say, “could I bend your ear on something?”
“Sure, what is it?”
I could internalize everything Mandi told me or use my reputation as a science fiction writer as a springboard to sound this out with Travis. From previous discussions, he is quite astute about what is possible in the area of time manipulation. As long as I can talk in general terms without mentioning her name, I should be able to connect a dot or two. I’ll treat her confession as a book concept opposed to a real-world scenario.
“As a time-travel enthusiast, I was hoping you could help me flush out part of a story I’m writing.”
“Are you suggesting that my opinion may help to shape the future of Derek Delaney’s forthcoming novels?”
“I’m not sure if anything I write will end up being so popular.”
“Dude, we’re all excited about seeing your first book coming out in the near future,” he says. “If I’m able to steer you in the right direction, I’m game. Hang on.” He motions to Randy—a high school kid working on an “hours for merch” basis. “I need you to handle the counter for a bit so I can talk with Derek in the lounge.”
We adjourn to a small reading area on the other side of the game room. The plush armchairs are soft, and the walls are covered in promotional posters for new comics I’ve yet to discover.
“So, where exactly are you having an issue?” he asks, excitedly. “Typically, you are quite private related to the plots of your stories. Dude, you must be dealing with something outside the periphery of your understanding.”
After hearing “sir” and “officer” said to me so often, “dude” takes some adjustment.
“Actually, I comprehend the concept quite well. It’s just that I usually find a hole in a time-travel flick that wasn’t completely thought out. Some major movies have dropped the ball on crucial points. Look at the original Total Recall. Some people say the second half of the movie was the implant and not reality.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
“It couldn’t be,” I explain. “With an implant, Quaid wouldn’t have shot his wife in the head. Not a chance. After leaving Rekall, Quaid would think Lori was a spy and kill her for real—suddenly facing a life sentence for murder. No company would risk their implant having repercussions of that nature. Therefore, it had to be a real scenario. I realize it’s a movie, but I could only consider it from that standpoint after she was shot.”
“Dude, I’ve seen that three times and never tied that together, but you are absolutely right. Shit. Maybe you shouldn’t be asking me since I was unable to detect something so blatantly obvious.”
“Actually, you are the perfect person to talk with concerning it,” I say, backpedaling slightly. Before mentioning Mandi’s dilemma, I go over a few time-travel movies to point out odd little moments related to the concept of bending time. For example, Christopher Reeve’s pocket watch from Somewhere in Time could not have been created because the old woman gave it to him in the present and he brought it back in time, so it was caught in an endless loop.
“So where are you needing my expertise?”
“In my case, I’m concerned about the realism surrounding a girl wishing her life would change. After making the wish, this gorgeous woman transports the girl 25 years into the past to remove an item that will change her life significantly if it disappears. When she returns to the present day, she steps into the parallel body that had lived since her adjustment in 1994. She wakes up to find that everything is different. Would everyone’s lives change radically over a single item being removed in 1994? Seems improbable. That’s where I’m hitting a wall.”
Travis relates a few theories as to how her world would change. Unfortunately, everything he tells me is straight from a movie or a comic book. I often forget that certain people accept the ideas that the entertainment world presents to them rather than questioning those concepts. He’s also only 23 and hasn’t experienced much life outside of this county.
“I read an online post about this music writer that had Fred Durst of Limp Bizkit in his car a few months before the band broke out,” he finally says. “He brought up an interesting point. Had they been involved in a fatal crash that night, it would have changed music history forever.”
“I liked Limp Bizkit back in the day, but I hardly think the absence of that band would have changed the landscape of music.”
“Dude, millions bought those first two records, and they played in front of tons of people worldwide,” Travis points out. “Think of the riot they incited at Woodstock! The loss of the band would have changed lives globally.”
“A case like that would inarguably cause a massive shift in the world. However, could a single item cause a girl to have a different vocabulary and stronger penmanship upon taking over her body upon returning to the present?”
“At what age was the girl when she changed the timeline?”
“Let’s say five. Oh, and the girl’s uncle no longer went to prison because the item she removed kept him fro
m being arrested.” Revealing these details may be too close to the facts for comfort, but I’m risking it. It was imperative to give my inquest a fictional spin related to my writing. Otherwise, Travis would have been pushing to meet the girl that conceivably traveled through time. There would be no way in hell he could have ignored news that someone claims to have bumped elbows with the supernatural.
“Now, this just got more engrossing,” he says, leaning forward in his chair. “A traumatic family event of that magnitude would inadvertently modify anyone’s behavior.”
“The plot gets more complicated,” I explain. “Since the uncle wasn’t arrested, he married a woman. Together, they have a child that grew up to be a mass murderer.”
“Dude, let me be a beta reader. I’ll even sign a release. Shit, I’ll read it in front of ya if you want.”
In actuality, this does sound like an idea I should consider writing. I explain that her mannerisms are entirely different than the original girl the officer knew previously. After presenting him with a few more details, he looks to be puzzled.
“Delaney, it sounds to me as if you’ve flushed out all the key plot points.”
“Would a reader believe such a setup?”
“First off, you are the master of whatever universe you create, so write it however the hell you want. Secondly, don’t pander to the reader’s expectations. You’ll end up constructing the story with a set of contrived rules that won’t serve your ultimate vision. We wouldn’t have X-Men and Fantastic Four if Stan Lee hadn’t pushed creative boundaries. From what you’re telling me, I can already buy into your premise and want to find out what happens.”
“There are a lot of peculiarities,” I admit. “This private investigator has had a recurring dream where he saves a girl that had been stabbed. As she’s talking about her parallel life, she tells him that he saved her life on a desolate highway. It turns out to be her life before she altered time and—”
In Dark Places Page 20