The Kaleidoscope

by B K Nault

  “Put it on!”

  “What? Now?”

  “Here.” Rhashan stepped in, and took the tie from the desk where Harold had tossed it. “Take that one off, let’s see how this looks. The color really picks up the red in your hair.”

  Harold undid the knot in his gray tie, and slid it off. Rhashan stood behind him and flipped up his collar. He draped the new one around his neck and began working the ends over each other.

  “I’ll do it.” Harold usually watched himself in the mirror, but he was able to effect a decent Windsor from memory. “That was very…nice of you.”

  “Magnificent.” Rhashan grinned. “My Leesa made this for you last night. She is starting a handcrafted clothing business to make more money while I am in school. She’s very clever.”

  It occurred to Harold he was being pitched. “How much do I owe you?”

  “No, mon! This is for helping me with the application.”

  “Please tell her thank you. I’ll be sure to wear it on special occasions.” He started to remove it, but stopped when Rhashan’s face fell, and so he acted like he was only loosening it. “Um. I hope she makes plenty on the new business.” He tucked the end behind his belt. Longer than the polyblends he usually wore, it was also filmier. And gaudier.

  “That’s the spirit.” Rhashan stood admiring the garish tie for a moment, then stepped back into the aisle. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  Rashan’s catchy melody earwormed into Harold’s head as he tried to get back to work.

  “Love that guy, don’t you?” Millie was passing Harold’s station. “That tune he always whistles, ‘Moondance,’ is one of my favorites. New tie? I like it.” Humming, she returned to her desk.

  Midway through the afternoon, Harold sensed someone in the aisle, and turned to see Keith.

  “Here’s your new ID. The picture came out well.”

  Glad he still had his conservative tie on for the photo, Harold ran a finger over the raised 3D logo in the corner. He hadn’t realized how far back his hairline had receded. He clipped the new one onto the lanyard. “Thanks. No worries.”

  “I wanted to tell you…” Keith paced the small space. “I spent my lunch break calling my folks.”

  “Oh?”

  “That gizmo. The whatchacallit that showed me their faces.” Keith wiped away the sheen that had appeared on his brow. Unusual for the usually stoic man. “But my mom…” His lips thinned, and Harold discreetly glanced away in case Keith wanted to cry or something. “She wants us to visit.”

  “That’s fine.” Harold knew what it was like to miss your mom. “I hope you can mend your relationship.”

  “I was wondering. How much would you take for that?”

  The Kaleidoscope was still nudged up against the stapler where Harold had tossed it earlier.

  “I-I’m not sure that’s something I could do.”

  “If you change your mind, I will buy it from you.”

  “What is it about the ’scope that has you interested in owning it?”

  “It has the power to change lives. Maybe even see the future.” Keith’s walkie chirped, and he listened for a moment. “I have to go, but if you change your mind.”

  He sprinted out, leaving Harold to wonder what he’d gotten involved in when the mysterious object was forced on him.

  “What do you want from me?” He poked at it with a pencil. “What are you?”

  “You okay in there, Harold?” Millie called to him.

  “I’m all right.” Harold’s hands poised over the keyboard, and he stared at the screen, trying to ignore the object that was slowly changing his world.

  ****

  “Hey, old timer, want a ride?”

  Walter slowed, straightened his spine, and considered the offer despite the disrespect. The walk from the bus stop had been uphill, and the pack was beginning to feel like a bag of bowling balls. “I’d appreciate it very much.” His graying temples and stooped posture were probably to blame for the kid thinking he was older than he really was.

  “We’re going all the way up the mountain. Pound on the roof when you want out, and I’ll stop.” Sporting a stubbly beard, the driver thumbed into the truck bed. Another hitchhiker, Walter assumed, already sat in the back leaning against the wheel well, arms crossed, and dozing. A young woman and a black and white dog watched him through the cab window.

  Climbing in with a bit of difficulty, Walter settled onto the metal floor, leaning against his pack, letting his tired back relax.

  The truck pulled onto the tarmac, the wind and road noise preventing more than the initial exchange of pleasantries. The other rider closed his eyes again after shifting so Walter could stretch out. He removed a shoe and rubbed a blister that had complained for the past hour. No one had followed him when he got off the bus in the mountain town, zigzagging the narrow streets. Just in case someone had followed him.

  Walter pulled out the napkin where he’d jotted down the directions Luke gave him, and he searched for landmarks guiding him to the turnoff to his final hideout.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hello, Harold.”

  He turned toward the cheerful greeting. Again, it was his neighbor with the dog. Today’s headscarf was a silky blue and green number, knotted at the nape of her long neck. He thought of the tie Rhashan had given him, and remembered an argument he’d had with Georgia over his lack of imagination when it came to clothes. Maybe he’d wear the tie after all.

  “Pretty scarf.” He fumbled his keys, his right hand with that slight tremble he got whenever an attractive woman spoke to him.

  “Tut-tut! Not so fast, you dropped something.” She held up the Kaleidoscope just out of his reach.

  The clip usually made a sharp click when he removed it from his pocket, and he couldn’t recall hearing it. “How did that fall? Thanks.” Harold scanned the names on the bank of mailboxes. Gave him a chance to control the shaking. Her mailbox read S. Eubanks. When she’d first moved in, they had exchanged names, he was sure of it, but that must have been at least three years ago. He guessed she was an artist of some kind. At least she dressed that way.

  “Sure is a pretty one. I had a cardboard one when I was a kid.” Before he could warn her, she jammed it up to her eye. A penciled brow curled over it. She dropped her arm, and with a stomach clench, Harold knew.

  She had “the look.” He willed his hand to steady and lightly touched her elbow to guide her inside. She threw her hand out like she was going to faint.

  “Sit down a minute, I’ll get you some water.”

  Miss Eubanks sank, zombie-like, onto one of his kitchen chairs. Her dog trotted past Harold before he could protest, tail whopping back and forth as it sniffed his furniture. Worried it would lift its leg, he filled a plastic bowl of water, hoping to trap the dog on the linoleum. “Here, dog!” Harold set the water down, and the dog trotted over.

  Lolling laps of water all over his floor and up the side of his cabinet, the dog made itself at home, then flopped down on its side, panting.

  “I thought I’d seen everything, but I’ve never seen anything like a psychic Kaleidoscope.” Miss Eubanks had watched him interact with the dog with some amusement.

  Harold’s shirt buttons pulled at each other on the inhale. “I don’t really believe in magic or that sort of thing—”

  “I don’t care whether you believe or not, that’s what it is.”

  She met his eyes as if she could see into him. Or through him. “You don’t remember my name, do you, Harold?”

  “It’s just that I’ve been busy.”

  “It’s Pepper.” She pointed to the dog. “And that’s Glenda.”

  “Glenda?”

  At the sound of her name, the dog jumped up, tail wagging. She whisked her nose into his crotch and slimed Harold’s pants.

  “Mind your manners, pookie, come here,” Pepper commanded, but the dog ignored her, clicking over to inspect Harold’s trash can.

  “Why Glenda?”

  “Y
ou mean why do I own a dog I can’t train, or why did I name her Glenda?” Pepper’s remark was light, but Harold still pulled her collar to get her away from the trash.

  He shrugged. “Both I guess.”

  “She’s not that bad, just needs more exercise than I can give her lately.” She scruffed Glenda’s head. Her tone fell. “My ex took me to see a performance of Wicked about the time I found my lump. He left me the next day. A couple weeks later I went out to the rescue shelter when I just couldn’t stand to return to an empty apartment ever again. Do you ever feel like that?” She got up and strolled over to the photographs on his wall. “These are pretty.” She straightened one of them. The attention somehow endeared her to Harold despite the way she ignored the dog’s disappearance into his bedroom. “Yosemite?”

  “Yes.” Georgia had tried to get him to go to more theater, but large crowds made him queasy, and people randomly singing and dancing made him uncomfortable. It was unnatural.

  “How come you never make it to any of the complex parties?” Without waiting for an answer, Pepper headed for the door. “I better go. Thanks for the water.” Hand on the doorknob, she paused, eyes locked on the Kaleidoscope. “But I will not thank you for showing me that creepy toy. Come on, Glenda.” She patted her leg to coax the dog to her side and rushed out as if she’d just remembered leaving something on the stove.

  “I didn’t tell you to look in it,” he said to the closed door, and glared at the ’scope. It had rolled in between the salt and pepper shakers. He lifted it to the light streaming through the blinds. The same swirly colored glass chips floated and fell into a random pattern.

  Still nothing.

  Associate names with something concrete you will recall easily, the book advised.

  “Pepper,” he repeated, replacing the ’scope next to the crystal shakers on his table next to the salt. “Pepper and spice. Pretty, perfect Pepper.”

  ****

  Walter pulled the hoe through the hard earth pocked with weeds, turning the dense soil. He’d worked all morning, hand-plowing the thawing soil enough to plant the tomatoes he’d coaxed to sprout inside the shack. Drifts of gray ice and snow still huddled next to the cabin walls, but the sun had appeared for three afternoons in a row, and he was anxious to get his vegetables planted from the seeds he’d brought along.

  He’d managed the past few weeks by hiking into town and rummaging through the town dumpsters, but as the weather changed and the flies buzzed, he found it more and more difficult to find anything edible in the rotting slop. And his body craved fresh food, no more leftovers from skiers’ hasty lunches purchased at the deli on their way back to the flatlands.

  Walter straightened, then twisted at the waist until his spine popped. The sun’s afternoon rays penetrated through to his stiff muscles. He headed inside, leaving the gardening. Before it grew too dark to see, he wanted to read over the material he’d carried up the mountain. He knew buried in there somewhere were clues that would prove his innocence.

  With the ’scope finished, he had time now to work on the ciphers and figure out who wanted him dead.

  ****

  The next day at lunch, Pepper floated into the courtyard, and saw Harold, her mouth forming an “oh.” He didn’t know how to accept the smile that bloomed as she crossed over and plopped down on the bench next to him. Her nose had a tiny bump, but was otherwise as refined and balanced as her other features.

  “What a fantastic day.” She faced the opposite wall, her shoulder to his, and lifted her face to the sun. “Sorry I was so short with you last night, Harry.” Her scarf had slipped back, and a tuft of springy dark hair peeked out. A ragdoll losing her stuffing.

  “You don’t have to apologize.” Harold worked open a plastic lid to free his bologna sandwich. If the images were going to continue upsetting people, he would have to keep the ’scope hidden. “You work in this building?”

  “Yep. I was at a firm across town until my chemo kicked me to the curb. They didn’t exactly let me go, but when I went back they’d hired someone else. I’m a legal secretary.”

  “That must be interesting.”

  “Can be. This firm’s a lot bigger. They have more cases, more than just divorces and child custody like the last one I was with. Depressing.” She’d removed a tub of something gray-ish and stuck a carrot stick into its center. “Hummus?”

  He declined. “Mind if I ask what you saw? In the Kaleidoscope?”

  “My grave.”

  Harold spit out his mouthful of V-8. Without hesitation, Pepper reached over to wipe his chin for him. “How do you know it was yours?” His back tingled.

  “Pretty obvious.” She traced letters in the air with the soiled napkin, spelling out imaginary words. “Suzanne Morton Eubanks.” She cocked her head in his direction. “It’s hard to believe it was someone else’s tombstone with my name on it.”

  The “S” on the mailbox was for Suzanne. “It would be quite a shock to see your own name on a headstone.” When his Uncle Ricky had died, Grandma had dragged Harold to the funeral, but he hid behind a potted plant while everyone talked about the tragic death. “I’m not surprised you were upset. That must have been… upsetting.”

  “I went home and had a long talk with myself.” Pepper’s sandaled feet swung back and forth, making her thin body rock. “I said, ‘Self, you can choose to dwell on death for the rest of whatever life you have left, or you can get up and live life.’” She bumped his shoulder. “And guess what, Harry. I choose life!” She yanked off the scarf and dropped it into his lap, climbed up on the bench and began leaping from one bench to the next, her sandals slapping the concrete.

  Harold was afraid she would slip and fall, and wondered whether he should first call someone, or check her for ABC’s if she did. But she jumped lightly, a sprite among the forest of potted birds of paradise. Airway, breathing, c…what was the C for?

  “I’ve always wanted to do this! Haven’t you?” Where the benches were too far apart, Pepper scissor-kicked to the ground and danced. Harold could breathe as long as she was safely on the ground, her arms aloft, her body swaying. Then she would leap up again, the sun reflecting off bald spots between shags of spirally hair. And she laughed. Not a scary, maniacal sound, but a child-like whiffle that whisked Harold back to the elementary school when Edna Velasquez had tried to jump around the lunchroom but fell and broke her arm when she slipped in pudding. Harold was the only one Edna didn’t pester to sign her cast. Circulation. That was what C stood for.

  Pepper collapsed next to him, panting, her caramel skin aglow. She was a china doll with kewpie lips and taffy-pulled earlobes. “That felt good, Harry.” She dabbed at her upper lip with the scarf, a tiny rattle in her breath. “You should dance more. We should all dance more.”

  The warmth from her body awoke something in him that had long been dormant. Confused emotions tangled somewhere in his soul, and he met her gaze.

  “What makes you dance, Harry? What stirs your soul?”

  She’d dared to pull at the thread he’d buried underneath years of proving himself worthy, smart. Sane. “I find satisfaction in my work.”

  “And what is that? No, wait. Let me guess. You’re a Pez-head designer. No, a sign spinner for discount plastic surgeons. I could use one of those by the way.”

  He knew better than to acknowledge her cosmetic surgery remark. Honest answers to conversations beginning with “Am I pretty enough?” and “I’m thinking of getting work done” had never gone well with Georgia. “I’m a fraud investigator.” There was a more complicated title, and his job went beyond the scope of that, but this answer usually earned him a less puzzled reaction. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Like a cop?”

  “Sort of. More like a private eye. Loss prevention, things like that.”

  “It sounds very important, Harry. You must be very brilliant.”

  The door opened, and some people stepped outside. Harold turned toward the noise, glad she didn’t see his face. He was
surprised at his own reaction to her praise. Ruddy complexions were like skywriting, a girl in high school had told him once. The message may appear slowly, but everyone can see it for miles around and remember it for days. “I have to get back to work.” He gathered up his trash and headed for the can. When he turned around, Pepper was standing close, nose to his chin. “Tell Glenda hello.” Before he could go, she grabbed his arm.

  “Harry, I really mean it. I am glad I saw…what I saw. Where did you get it again? Could I get one like it, or is that a one-of-a-kind thing?”

  He told her about the encounter in the park with the homeless man. “It’s a mystery why he picked me.” He pictured the day of the handoff, the police hurrying the old guy away before he could explain himself. The police responding to his own complaint about the vagrants camping out. She was the first person he shared this with.

  “You have been given much responsibility in many areas.” With that, she stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek. “You have been given a gift. Thank you for sharing your magical looking-piece with me.”

  “Um. You’re welcome. And thanks.” He demurred, dropping his hand from her grip. “But I don’t believe in magic.”

  “A man of science and numbers, I get it.” She tipped her head sideways, considering him. “The mysteries of the universe reveal more than we see with our eyes or hear with our ears. If we slow down and really absorb what it’s trying to teach us, we might be surprised and delighted.” She poked a slender finger at his chest. “I choose to keep my mind open to the possibilities. What about you, Harry?”

  ****

  The next morning, Harold defied tradition and passed the coffee cart in the park without stopping, eliciting a surprised glance from Morrie. He stepped around a mud puddle, then cut a beeline for the oak tree. Harold was done with whatever game this guy was playing with him. He had lost sleep and fallen behind on work. He had to know more about it, and why he was supposed to be in charge of its powers. Or curse. Whatever it held. It was time to get rid of the thing so he could concentrate on preparing for the interview.

  He stopped short. The ground beneath the oak tree was raked clean, no bodies lined up swaddled in hills and valleys of cast-off blankets. Even their hijacked market carts weren’t around. A police chopper whumped the sky, crisscrossing the park’s valley set in the midst of the high rise buildings.