by Will Mosley
“Ma'am?” Heather said. The woman was startled, put her hand on her chest and stopped. She looked at Heather and exhaled loudly. “Oh! Honey, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Then she squinted her eyes in recognition. “Kathy L.?”
“Yes.” Heather replied.
The woman pointed down the hallway ahead of her. “Room 141. You know where it is.” She said. Heather nodded and quickly left the main room. She was relieved to be away from the geriatric perverts, yet, she felt their distant gazing somehow still reached her.
At room 141, Heather gently rapped on the slightly open door and it inched further open. “Mom?” She said. No answer. “Mom? It's me, Heather. You in there?” Heather pushed the door open and peeked in. Kathy Luzader sat in a chair next to the window and stared longingly into some period, not past or future, but into a different time, body and life than she had known. The sun shimmered off of her blond, graying hair and from skin that looked too firm, too young to be sixty and a resident of Autumn's Garden.
“Hi, mom. How are you this morning?” Heather took the vase off of the television set, poured the water out into the bathroom sink and threw the dead Jonquil's she had brought last week into a waste basket. She sat the empty vase on the dresser alongside a row of unique, multi-colored vases.
“Huh?” Kathy only noticed the flowers when she turned around. “Oh, you can just sit those on the TV.” Heather complied and sat down on the sofa.
“So, mom, you still like it here?” Kathy said nothing. “Mom!” Heather spoke loudly and Kathy turned to her.
“Oh! Hi, Denise. You want me? Do I need to stand up so you can vacuum?”
“It's me, Heather. Your Daughter.” The ritual got old, but it had to be played.
“Heather?” Kathy said, then chuckled. “You don't look like my Heather, Denise.”
“I'm Heather, mom. That's why I call you 'mom', and not Kathy.”
Kathy squinted her eyes and leaned towards her. “But Heather's just a little girl. How can you be my –,”
“I've grown up. I'm 42 now.” Heather rolled her eyes and recited her lines as she had done a hundred times before, with the monotonic recitation of a thoughtless actress.
Kathy stared a little deeper wanting to understand exactly where this strange woman had come from and what her intentions were. If the room needed cleaning, she would've gotten up, or left entirely if so asked. But the woman made herself comfortable on the sofa and looked almost annoyed as if something bothered her.
Though, she said her name was Heather, that was not possible, and such a ridiculous notion warranted a laugh. Just moments ago, Kathy had watched Heather burst into the kitchen through the back door, running around the square fold-out table with her book bag bobbing up and down on her back, waving a piece of paper in her hand, yelling, “Mommy, mommy! I made a 100 on my spelling test!” She had covered the girls mouth and shushed her, pointing a stern, quivering finger at her, reminding the little girl that Heath had just got home and was probably resting and didn't want to hear her noise. She congratulated the girl – so tiny with such a big smile, blond hair sparkling, almost bleached in the strong rays of sun cascading through the kitchen blinds. That broad smile retracted into a dour pink line across the child's face as if disappointed that her achievements had not been met with the same fervid reception, and something in her eyes died. Kathy didn't want to reprimand the girl as often as she did, but it was a necessary precaution to protect them, to keep her daughter safe from beatings. Fortunately, it was only beatings and Heath had not wandered into perverse realm of child lust like the bastard who was picking up little boys around Atlanta had done. Kathy thought, and felt comforted by that fact, still rolling her eyes around trying to determine why the woman looked so familiar.
Suddenly, her white kitchen walls turned pink, and a flowery border ran along the top of the wall. She looked at the border trying to figure out how it was pasted so quickly. And her kitchen window was now in the wrong place, and it didn't have blinds, and there was no stove. Kathy recoiled and turned to Heather again.
In an epiphany, Kathy now saw that this woman did look a lot like Heather. So much so, that she could've been her daughter's doppelganger in twenty or twenty-five years.
She leaned closer toward Heather and whispered, “You look just like my daughter.” She leaned back with a broad smile then swiped a picture from her side table and shoved it into Heather's face. “See! Don't you think so?” Heather took the picture, looked at it momentarily and rolled her eyes. “It was a compliment!” Kathy said.
“Good God, mom! Seriously? It's never been this bad before.”
Kathy saw disdain in Heather's eyes that triggered a new memory from her prom. Her smile faded, her jaw dropped in fright. Then, that fright took Kathy through Heather's high school years, through college and her military service in a horrifying instant, as if time had simply skipped tens of years and memories were only snapshots of an imagined past.
“Heather?” Kathy asked. Her eyes glistened and globules of moisture precariously dangled at the lip of her eyelids.
“Finally.” Heather sighed and flopped both her hands onto the sofa.
“You're so – so old. What happened to you?” Kathy asked. Heather stood up and hugged her seated mother. “Not old, but older.”
“I love you too, mom.” She laughed.
“Where has time gone?” Kathy worriedly asked.
“Don't think about –,”
“Where's my kitchen?” Kathy's head swiveled around the room, from object to object. “Why are my walls pink?”
“Mom, you're in –,”
Kathy became stiff, her eyes bulged and she gasped. “Where's Heath?” She whispered.
“Dad's dead. He died twelve years ago, thank God. You remember how he was in Gwinnett Medical with cancer? Remember, mom? You sat with him every day, helped him to the bathroom, shaved him.”
The moisture in her eyes never manifested themselves into tears. “Oh. Oh, right. Cancer.” She said, sullenly. After a moment her smile returned, she grabbed Heather and kissed her forehead. “I'm so happy to see you, dear.”
“I'm happy to see you too. So how've you been? Is the staff treating you good?”
“The staff? Oh, Denise? Denise is an Angel. I told her that she'll have to go back home with me so that I can introduce her to Meredith Anders next door. I think they'll get along nicely.”
Heather knew that she wouldn't be able to take care of Kathy, and Meredith and Paul Anders had moved to Florida years ago. But that knowledge, as Heather had found out when the topic was mentioned on previous visits, only made Kathy withdraw further into her Dementia. “They would get along fine. Same bubbly personality, they’re both very nice women.”
“Don't you think so?” Kathy reiterated. “I can't wait for that. By the way, honey, when am I going home?”
Heather sat down and leaned back on the sofa. “Well,” She placed a finger on her chin in thought. “I'll have to get your room cleaned up first. And there's a lot of heavy furniture in there that I can't lift, so...”
Kathy waved her hand. “Don't rush on my account. I understand, dear. You take your time. I like it here, too. I just miss being in my house.”
Kathy lowered her head and folded her hands across her lap. She seemed helpless and weak, but for most of Heather's life that shadow of a woman is all she knew of her mother. She had seen pictures of Kathy and Heath at several anti-war rallies, and in those pictures Kathy seemed to be the dominant spouse, more vocal, often dragging Heath along behind her. In wedding pictures, Heath's smile was so authentic and pushed his thin cheeks up into boomerangs. In the photo's where they danced, that smile remained. They were happy at some point in the past before her birth, but her existence had changed that.
Heather made light conversation with Kathy about the weather, coming back home, but mainly politics. At which point, she began to see glimpses of a different mother, bold and unabashed, the likes of which she had never known. Kat
hy got so enraged at the George W. Bush administration for war-mongering that she stood up and began preaching; veins surfaced on her forehead and neck and spittle flew freely. Though, Heather had made a very good living from both Bush presidents and the Clinton administration, she nodded at her mother’s rants, shook her fist when Kathy talked of rights for women and minorities, condescendingly hooted when her mother spoke at length on the disparity in the wage scale. Heather knew that the topic of politics would bring her mother to near orgasmic lectures, freeing the woman's mind – though temporarily – from whatever mental demon that forever confined it to the past. Heather didn't agree with much of what Kathy talked about, but she sought to know her mother, as all children do, on a deeper level than that of a room-ridden invalid.
When Kathy finally sat down and took a breath, saying that her ramblings were trite and would never be heard unless Hillary Clinton or, 'that black fellow from Chicago' were elected, her eyes turned back to the window as if something outside had beaconed, ceasing her attention. When Heather called out, “Mom?”, and Kathy turned back to her, she quickly saw that the lure of days gone by, the seduction of those old memories had been too great to resist. There was distance between them again, and Kathy turned back to the window because, in her mind, the word mom had no meaning in the present, but lived lovingly, with quiet hugs, gentle kisses and soft spoken 'I Love you's', in the past.
Down, though not defeated at what tiny progress was made with her mother, Heather walked over and rubbed Kathy's shoulder. “Bye, mom.”
Kathy didn't react.
As she started toward the exit, Kathy turned to her and said, “Ma'am? I have a question for you.” Heather looked back but continued on. Kathy tapped the window with her finger. “Who – is that man there? He looks like my Heath.” Then softly, “I wonder if he's coming to pick me up. I still have an hour left to work.”
Heather left the room, gently closing the door upon entering the hallway. A male attendant was hovering around the hallway in front of Kathy's room. He shot cool glances at Heather until she finally looked up and noticed him. He pushed his squeaky wheeled cart to her side.
“How is she doing?” He asked. His face bore a natural glumness due to his large black eyebrows connected by the shadow of his over hung brow and large mouth.
“She's... been better. I hoped this wouldn't last, but who am I fooling?” She said.
“I'm sorry for –,”
Heather shook her head. “Forget it. It was bound to happen.” Her mood lightened in a instant. “So, what's up?” Heather asked. The man looked over both of his shoulders with the inconspicuousness of a yard dog taking a dump. Another purple scrub clad attendant was walking in their direction. “You should probably hurry up, James Bond.” She smiled.
He slowly handed her a bar of soap. “Ok, ok. Same as usual. No one's been here for any reason to check up on –,” He nodded toward Kathy's room, looked back at Heather and raised his eyebrows. “Lady X.” Then, he winked. Heather couldn't help but to mentally chuckle at his attempt at covert operation.
“Fine, Larry. Just fine. Are there any guests I should know about?”
Larry furrowed his brow. “Other... Oh, yeah! Uh, the uh, other guest,” He winked again. “Checked in and decided that room 107 was to their liking.”
“Beautiful. Anything else?” She asked.
“Nope.” He said, finally putting the bar of soap into her hand. She walked past him and turned back. “Oh! And thanks for the soap!” She said just loud enough for the attendant close by to hear. “I'll leave it in the bathroom when I finish.”
At room 107, Heather stopped. She had noticed two security cameras on the hallway ceiling before approaching the room, and hoped that they were already disabled. Putting her ear close to the door, she heard talking and muted laughter. She turned the knob, but the door was locked, and the sounds from inside of the room stopped. Then, she knocked.
“Yes?” An old male voice asked.
“Hi, Aunt Dorothy. It's Anna. You mind if I come in?” She asked. “I talked to Uncle Daniel and he said that the children were not behaving themselves.”
A second later, the lock on the door clicked and Heather turned the knob without delay.
Inside of the room, Lucas Haskert and another man sat around a sheet-less bed covered in large portrait photos, two laptop computers, and an array of cabling equipment, in very casual dress: T-shirts and shorts.
“Lucas.” Heather nodded.
“Madame.” Lucas remained seated, smiled and tipped his nonexistent hat. “This is my buddy I told you about yesterday, Brian Goldman. And Brian, this is the infamous Heather Luzader.” Brian labored to his feet.
“Brian.” Heather nodded to him.
“Hi, Heather.” Brian smiled broadly under his thick beard and his eye's twinkled. She could almost see tiny cartoon hearts floating around his face.
“Cameras. How are they?” Heather asked.
“Not so good.” Lucas said. “It appears that they aren't working properly. Apparently, the camera's are on, but the feed is only coming to this room and to that monitor.” Lucas pointed to a 22 inch LCD computer screen placed on the counter beside him. “Weird, huh?” He smiled and returned his eyes to his reading material below the edge of the bed. “The security company told the front desk that they'd be here within the hour, so whatever you're planning, we need to get on the ball.”
“And the –,” Heather began.
“The recordings are safe.” Brian said. “All footage from two minutes before we entered until now has been confiscated.”
“Your imputable, highness.” Lucas added. “What's next?”
Heather took a seat next to the window, Lucas turned his attention to her and closed the book he was reading while Brian spread large 8x10 photos across the bed.
“What about Phil?” She asked. “Someone was trying to follow me here.”
Lucas groaned. “That meat head? Probably on his way to find you – us. Certainly they've seen that I'm not coming back from lunch, and they definitely will want to talk to me once they try to retrieve any of their sensitive data. But the tail is standard. You know that, Heady.”
“Yeah. I wasn't sure whether it was Phil or not. He knows what I'm doing. I just hope he doesn't take it the wrong way.”
Lucas laughed loud and obnoxiously through his nose. “Tied to a toilet with his pants? Priceless! How many volts did you hit the guy with, 'cause he was still dazed when we got to him.” Heather smiled dryly, shook off the comment and briefly thought whether what she was about to do was acceptable. She had no problem trying to obtain things to benefit herself, but going contrary to the country she had sworn an oath to protect? That question nagged at her for years, but now was the time for decisiveness, for action. When Noah called the sinners to the boat not only would she be going at it stag, she would be ready for the flood.
She cleared her throat, crossed her pristine legs and leaned forward. “Everything we talk about in this room is to remain confidential.” Both men nodded. “I don't believe that I need to reiterate that point, but it does bare acknowledging. No doubt you both know the consequences of revealing the information that you receive here.” Again, they nodded. “Then, we shall begin. In 1994, Whitewash LLC hired me after interning there for three months. Apparently, I showed great aptitude for directing field operations, and later I would prove that. After my first two successful operations which are not of any concern to the current assignment, I was put in charge of a relatively small, but eventually turned into an important operation. The crew of nine, including myself, was small, but highly effective. We stayed there –,”
“Where?” Lucas asked.
“That doesn't matter. We stayed there from 1994 until March 2003. At which time our work was... nearly done, but we were forced out.” She slid her purse into her lap and unzipped it. Then, removed her cell phone. “While there, one of our members inadvertently keyed his mic while in the field. We recorded all information tha
t came to us live. Well, that particular day, I gave my guys a break and I took control of our command center and I received the feed as it came in. I attempted to reach them after the feed came through, but when they answered, they sounded as if they had no idea what I was talking about. I understood why. Once we got everyone back home, one of the members took me aside and gave me a piece of information...” Heather paused and relived that moment in her head, trying to decipher the code in the man’s eyes then, and now.
“What was it?” Brian asked.
“It – it was...” Her eyes searched the floor for more input on the riddle. “He said... now you must realize that it was not just the words he said, but the expressions on his face and the tone in his voice that will help us here,” Both men grabbed notepads and pens, returned their eyes to Heather and waited. “He was smiling, and in an excited whisper – if you can imagine that – he said, 'We did something over there – did something big, Heady! I can't tell you until we get alone, but it's – it's – it will rock your world! Trust me, okay? Just trust me. If something happens to me, we all know about it, so just tell one of the other guys that I told you about Eral. That's E-R-A-L.'. Soon after, he left to be debriefed.”
Both men were scribbling furiously. Lucas stopped first, looked up at Heather and said,
“Okay. So, he didn't mention this 'Eral' thing in the debriefing?”
Heather smiled and leaned toward Lucas. “Debriefing?” She laughed and shook her head. “What debriefing? These guys were doing sensitive, covert work for the United States government, through a private company, Luke. Do you really think the CIA would allow private citizens whom they have no governance over to walk back into society without some... assistance? I wish I understood that at the time. They went into that room with Tom Kimble, with Stuart Hunt, with Dr. Brunstrum –,”