The Doorway

by Alan Spencer

  Morty wasn’t sure if being honest was the best option. He’d make himself sound crazy. Suspicious too. The detective was giving him the inquisitive eyes again. The detective could cut him open with that stare if it meant facts would spill out of him. But if he lied and said nothing was going on in his head that night, it might mean the detective spending too much time on Morty as opposed to concentrating on other things that might actually help find Glenda, like the man had suggested.

  So Morty told the truth, though everything in him told him it was a bad idea.

  “It’s going to sound crazy.”

  “Then sound crazy. Just say what you know. That’s all I ask. Let me make sense of it. It’s my job. That’s why they pay me.”

  Morty sensed the shift in Detective Larson’s demeanor.

  “When I couldn’t find Glenda, and I was alone in the house, I smelled something awful.”

  That tidbit made Larson sit up straighter behind his desk.

  “You smelled something?”

  “It was like the smell of burning. I go into my bedroom, and there’s a black outline around the doorway. It was like a charcoal outline. When the cops get there, it vanished. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I’m going to admit it. I think I might’ve imagined it.”

  “Or maybe not.” Detective Larson jotted a few things down on the notepad tucked in his breast pocket. “So the charcoal outline around the doorway isn’t on the wall now?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “But you believe it was last night. Was there anything else around the doorway, or on the wall itself? Anything else, like, forgive me, satanic symbols, or something that would resemble cult activity?”

  “Oh no, Detective. Forget it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I imagined it. It’s nothing like you say.”

  “You should mention everything, Morty. Please, anything else you might know? Seriously. It’s very important I hear it, no matter how strange.”

  “Well, the only other thing is that the outline smelled awful.”

  “And you’re sure nobody was in the house with you last night?”

  “Pretty sure, but then again, I was really worked up. I can’t say for sure.”

  Detective Larson was in his head for several minutes while writing things down. “Okay, Morty, that’s all I need for now. I’ll get back with you very soon.”

  The detective got up and shook Morty’s hands.

  “You have a wonderful daughter, and Hannah, she kept calling our office last night checking in. They’re good people, Morty. We’re going to find your wife. Don’t worry.”

  Morty left the office, and before he reached the car, a young woman wearing a blue dress and overcoat flagged him down. She was a reporter. Her name was Janet Ranscombe. He had read a few of her articles in the local paper. Morty wanted to tell her to go take a hike until she mentioned talking to Hannah and Cheyenne just twenty minutes ago. Janet was quick to mention that the more media coverage there was on the case, the better off they were in regards to finding Glenda.

  Morty really liked that idea.

  It made sense to him in the moment.

  He would later regret it.

  Morty touched on how Glenda was a dedicated nurse, a loving wife, a mother and just a good person, and that made the fact she was missing all the more concerning. Janet asked more details about last night, specifically if there was anything suspicious to take into consideration. He was tired from last night, and Morty didn’t mean for the detail to slip out.

  “Someone painted around your bedroom door?”

  “No, I mean, it’s, I’m not sure what was around the doorway. I might’ve imagined it. Never mind. Please, I’m under a lot of stress right now.”

  Janet didn’t hear the “I might’ve imagined it” part. She was onto something, and she was really cooking.

  “Tracings around the bedroom doorway, huh? So somebody was in the house, possibly? Sounds like foul play to me. Maybe somebody from the neighborhood. What do you think, Mr. Saggs?”

  Morty couldn’t reply. He’d said too much. He had said the wrong things on top of that. He shouldn’t be talking to anybody even if Hannah or Cheyenne already did. They were strong women filled with determination, and he was on the brink of a collapse. Without Glenda, who was he? The reporter wouldn’t understand that. And mentioning the doorway! He really fucked up.

  “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

  Janet was hurling questions at him while in pursuit.

  Morty ignored her, piling into his car and driving as fast as he could home.

  Chapter Six

  Morty had trouble breathing on the way home. His chest was full of pain. His breaths were shallow. It felt like someone was pressing against the bones of his sternum and compacting his lungs. Was he having a heart attack? A panic attack? Some kind of attack?

  He breathed and breathed to steady his body and thoughts. So what if he told some dumb reporter about the doorway? He could deny it if anybody asked. Then again, he told Detective Larson about it being altered. He couldn’t deny it.

  Worry overcame him. He was pouring sweat, so worried about the doorway and the state of his sanity.

  I’m going to end this nonsense right now. If I do this, I won’t have to think about it anymore!

  Morty pulled up into his house, stormed into his bedroom and stared hard at the doorway. It was just a doorway. Nothing more, nothing less. He wasn’t crazy.

  You see, it’s nothing.

  God, what does Cheyenne think of me? I looked like a crazy person when she came into the house this morning.

  She doesn’t think anything.

  Nobody thinks anything.

  This is about Glenda, not me.

  Morty decided the best thing to do was call Cheyenne’s cell and stay busy. Keep himself occupied so his mind wouldn’t turn up the volume on the things that made no sense. He called and met Hannah and Cheyenne at Hammond Park. Cheyenne, Morty and Hannah split up, each taking a heavy stack of printed flyers. Seeing recent pictures of his wife and the word MISSING above her gave Morty a start. This was really happening. Glenda could be found dead. She might never be found at all. The weight of it was impossible to overcome, so Morty threw himself into the effort of putting up flyers and asking locals and friends, shop owners and literally anyone he crossed paths with if they’d seen Glenda Saggs, and would they please take a flyer and call the police if they knew anything?

  How many flyers had he handed out? Hundreds? Hannah was the one who created the flyer, purchased the copies and was adamant about keeping the search going. Carol Myers and Brenda Jacoby, the other two women who drank wine and played board games at Morty’s house last night, joined in the effort. Each was very disturbed that Glenda’s whereabouts were unknown. After canvassing the neighborhood, they ate a late lunch. It was already three in the afternoon.

  The four ladies, including Morty’s daughter, kept spinning the scenarios as they waited for the food at Mac’s Diner, a popular local eatery with hamburgers, shakes, and their famous chili fries.

  Glenda was home at ten-thirty last night. Glenda was happy. Glenda didn’t act strange, nor had she acted strange in the previous days, or weeks, before that night. Morty returned home at a little after midnight, and Glenda was gone, so that meant somewhere between ten-thirty and midnight, something had happened to Glenda. Glenda didn’t leave on her own accord, because her purse, keys and car remained on the property.

  Morty chimed in whenever he could, repeating facts, repeating times and repeating the question: where could Glenda be? What else could he do, or anyone, without any real evidence or leads to Glenda’s whereabouts?

  They talked more. Morty nibbled on his food. He couldn’t force much down. Every small bite upset his stomach. He wasn’t hungry. He wondered if he could ever eat again.

  After leaving the diner, there d
idn’t seem to be much else they could do, so they returned home. Hannah and her two friends returned to their homes, and that left Cheyenne and Morty alone.

  It was four-thirty in the afternoon now. Cheyenne was calling her husband and giving him updates on what was happening.

  I’m not sure when I’ll be home/how are the kids?/Morty’s hanging in there/it’s hard on all of us/no telling where Mom is/it’s a mystery right now/I’ll tell Dad you said hello and to hang in there.

  Off the phone, Cheyenne had that exhausted look on her face. She woke up in the middle of the night and drove into town to help her father. Morty loved his child in this moment. She was everything a parent wanted out of a kid. Responsible. Hard-working. And loving. So loving.

  Morty ran his hand through her long black hair.

  “Why don’t you lay down and take a nap?”

  “You need some rest too, Dad.”

  There was a knock at the door. Morty feared it was Detective Larson with bad news, or that Janet Ranscombe reporter with more questions or another attempt to make him look and feel like a fool.

  Could you tell more about the doorway tracings? Paint a picture for me, would you? You really are crazy, Mr. Saggs. Clearly you murdered your wife, so let’s go ahead and get that confession out of the way. Just let me hit the record button on my tape recorder.

  The person at the door was Bruce Spaniel. Bruce was Morty’s best friend ever since high school. They called him “The Spaniel”. They both played high school football. Morty was the quarterback, and Bruce was his best wide receiver. Bruce used to be tall and lean in high school, but now he had a huge gut and a bald head. He was stern-looking to those who didn’t know him, but Bruce was one of the most fun-loving, joking-around kind of people Morty had ever met.

  “I heard about Glenda. I want to help in anyway I can.”

  “I’m not sure if there’s a lot anyone can do but to keep looking for her.”

  Morty told his daughter he’d be outside talking to Bruce. Morty led his friend into the backyard and onto the back deck that faced the RV. They smoked cigarettes together, and Morty explained what exactly had happened last night with Glenda. There wasn’t much to tell except “my wife is gone and I don’t know where she went”.

  “I hope nothing bad has happened to her. I’m full of all kinds of terrible feelings. Something’s not right. I know it. I’m not sure what I’d do without Glenda.”

  “You can’t talk like that,” Bruce said. “You say you didn’t fight, and that she wasn’t mad at you. You know women, pal. They get worked up over something, and you wouldn’t have a clue. Something might’ve been riding her mind you didn’t even know about. Who knows?”

  “If it’s that easy, it’d be a load off of my mind. Seriously. But I swear there wasn’t anything wrong. I miss her, Bruce. I’ll go crazy without her. I don’t like to be alone. I hate not knowing what’s going on. I know I haven’t been the best husband in the history of husbands.”

  “What do you mean?” Bruce blew a jet of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “That’s not true. Everybody has their bad spells and rough patches, but you’re not a bad husband. You are good to Glenda. Valarie and I have gone through some shit too, especially when she lost her job and we went into debt. Oh my God, you have no idea how bad it can get. That’s probably why we divorced. Money puts two people against each other like no other. But you two are rock solid.”

  Rock solid, Morty thought. That wasn’t always the case. Not early on in their marriage at least. Morty couldn’t help but let it all out. He hadn’t told this to Bruce, or anyone, ever.

  “God, I remember back in high school when we played for the Grizzly Bears. Every girl would lift up their skirts at us. Those were the fucking days. But that’s what I enjoyed about Glenda so much. She didn’t play into that popular quarterback bullshit. Glenda didn’t care who you were. She was only impressed by the things that counted.

  “It’s funny, because I wouldn’t have met my wife if it wasn’t for that game against Fort Osage high school. Remember that one, man? I was going to throw a Hail Mary into the end zone, but one of the defenders bashed into my left side. My throw went wide, and I mean wide! The football sailed into the stands, and it hit Glenda right in the nose. You could hear the breaking of her nose from downfield. I think the whole county felt that hit. I basically punched Glenda in the face with a football.

  “I stalked the hallways the following week to apologize to her. She had that giant bandage on her nose, and around her nose was all purple and swollen. I was so sorry, and she said it was okay in the way that you knew it was most definitely not okay. Glenda became my obsession. I had to win her over at any cost. I wasn’t getting anywhere. She wanted nothing to do with me.

  “Then it occurred to me, I worked at that Kroger grocery store. Her father was the manager. I don’t know why I did this, but I apologized to her dad about the football to his daughter’s face. Funny thing, he’s a very religious guy. Super Christian. Fire and brimstone and damnation and all that stupid shit. But he loved football! I was this guy’s hero. So I do what every father loves, and I ask his permission to take out his daughter to the prom. And I’m the only guy he’ll let take his daughter to the prom, because he’s so religious and protective of his daughter. I mean really overprotective to the point it’s borderline psychotic. He’d cut your nuts off if he found out you’d even touched his daughter the wrong way. So it’s either Glenda goes with me, or it’s no prom for her at all, right?

  “I don’t know why I thought Glenda was super religious like her father. That’s why I was shocked when before the dance, she offers me pot. Glenda’s already got friends who can hook us up with booze after the prom. She’s very much one of those wild childs pent up by their God-fearing parents. So after I apologize a million times about her nose, we realize how much we get along. We get drunk after prom, and one thing led to another, we have sex in my truck. The thing is I was stupid. I didn’t use a condom. I didn’t even know what pulling out was, or how to do it, and Glenda gets pregnant.

  “Holy shit, her dad wanted my head on a platter. Our parents meet up in our living room after Glenda’s pregnancy was made known. My mom offers them cookies and tea, and they talk things out like rational people. Can you imagine how awkward that was? Me, an eighteen-year-old sitting in my room as these people are talking about me and my future?

  “The final outcome of the conversation is what my parents and Glenda’s parents both decided. I was to get my high school diploma and then work full-time. I was to marry Glenda, support her and let Glenda go to nursing school. I heard Glenda’s dad really dig into my parents. The guy was a mean old son of a bitch. I hate talking ill of the dead, but he’s a fucking piece of work. According to that asshole, I wasn’t going to deny his precious daughter a single thing out of life just because I couldn’t keep my hands off of her on prom night. So I was to finish the few weeks of high school I had left and start working fulltime.

  “I watched Glenda go to college, do well, become a nurse, and I started harboring this resentment towards her. I hated my job. I really hated it. I was trapped in that goddamn factory. I loved her, and I loved Cheyenne. Don’t ever get me wrong on those two things. But I started to think about my future, and my life. I suddenly couldn’t sleep at night. I would go out at night and drive around. Just around, I wasn’t going anywhere. Glenda thought I was going out drinking and cheating on her. I didn’t blame Glenda for thinking that. It looked suspicious. What else would a woman think when their husband sneaks out at night, right?”

  He hadn’t told Bruce this before, and the man was very curious about his story. Bruce wore a strange expression. Something was constantly on the tip of his tongue.

  Whatever it was, Bruce wasn’t saying.

  “So what were you doing at night? Where did you go? Don’t tell me you got into trouble.”

  Morty eyed the RV and couldn�
��t help but tear up.

  “I drove around town and tried to figure out what I was missing out on. It’s like everybody conspired against me when Glenda got pregnant. Life stopped being about me and started being about everybody else. I did this for months, trying to come up with the answers. Then I come home real late one night, and there’s a note on the refrigerator that says: If this isn’t what you want, then you need to tell me. I love you, but I’m not doing this anymore, Morty. I did love her, and being at the house alone, like I was last night, it filled me with terror. A worse terror than working a job I fucking hated for the rest of my life. Being without her, I just can’t imagine it. I won’t. I refuse. My life is so much better with Glenda in it. So I figured out my shit real fucking quick. I quit my job, found a new job at the post office and the rest of my life has been great. Swear to God. So we do have a strong marriage, you’re right, but it wasn’t without its pitfalls. So I really don’t get why Glenda would up and leave. After everything we’ve been through.”

  Morty was out of stamina to talk.

  Bruce removed that odd expression.

  Whatever was on his mind, it was gone.

  “I never knew you went through that, Morty. You could’ve told me way back when, you know that? I would’ve listened.”

  “Sorry, man. It was very personal, what I was going through.”

  “No worries. I get it.” Bruce flicked an ash off of his cigarette. “So what’s going on now with the search?”

  Morty talked about the flyers, spreading the word in the neighborhood, and how the police were going to take the next step in performing a wider search soon.

  There wasn’t much else Bruce could say.

  Morty didn’t have much of anything else either.

  Bruce wished Morty the best, and if there was anything he needed to just ask. His friend went home. Morty walked back inside the house.

  Cheyenne was sound asleep on the couch. Morty put a blanket over her and let her rest. He needed to sleep too. They were both exhausted. He laid in bed, closed his eyes, and hoped his missing wife would turn up soon.