Oculus

by S. E. Akers

  “Shiloh… There’s no easy way

  to tell you this, honey, but

  they don’t have any record

  of who bought them…

  They just show them as

  being sold.”

  A dreadful pause flooded my ears.

  “The cutter I signed them

  over to isn’t there anymore.

  The woman I spoke with

  said they haven’t heard

  from him since back in

  March… just after I’d met

  with him. I didn’t tell

  them any more than that,

  not knowin’ if he was

  the one responsible or

  if maybe somethin’ else

  was behind it…

  Now, you listen to me, Shiloh,

  because I’M SERIOUS…

  You’d better call me if

  another one shows up,

  YOU HEAR ME?

  I’m worried about you, Shi…

  all this risky magic stuff.

  I don’t need you leavin’ me too.

  I love you, honey…

  And you’d better take care.

  AND you’d better give

  me a holler, so I’ll know

  you’re all right…

  Phones are for CALLIN’

  and TEXTIN’…

  Not just for PLAYIN’

  MUSIC and GAMES!”

  Shit, I groaned. That was horrible news, on so many levels, especially with the possibly that I may have caused some innocent man’s untimely death hanging out there. And I couldn’t stomach thinking about how much danger I’d put Samuel in, handgun or not. The cosmos had to end its relentless assault RIGHT NOW. I simply couldn’t deal with any more guilt. Its out of the blue sucker-punches were bad enough, but the fact that they were all a result of my personal indiscretions made their clobbers feel even worse.

  Once I’d shot Samuel the Proof-of-Life via text he’d demanded, I wandered through the lonely hallways of the house craving a warm body. I wanted Tanner, but even Silas’ crusty ole mug would do. I spotted them through one of the windows in the study. They were outside in the courtyard, and judging from their body language, I’d say the conversation was tepid at best. Silas paced back and forth, looking as critical as always, while Tanner sat passively posed on one of the marble benches. He didn’t look mad, just unenthused. My ears weren’t burning, so I tallied the two and took that as a good sign. But I wasn’t about to trot out there and interrupt them, not with the serious “Do Not Disturb” vibe hovering all around them like a pungent stink-cloud.

  Seeing I had a bit of a wait on my hands, I checked the rest of my messages. There were four voicemails from Naomi, needing to talk about the wedding. Ty had called, but his message was nothing more than a trail of white noise. Katie had sent me some pictures of her most recent outings throughout Boston. My eyes about popped out of their sockets after counting fifty-four texts from Kara (I shit you not). I’d planned on going back through them all later, but from what she’d wrote in her last few, she was bitching up a storm about something to do with Mike. That led my nose straight over to Tanner’s computer. I didn’t have to scroll down too far down to figure out what all the hi-tech drama was about. Mike was still vacationing in Europe with his mom, but it seemed that the continental divide didn’t hinder the entitled braggart from boasting his adventures via his Facebook page.

  I stared at the picture on the screen. “What a dumbass,” I remarked aloud, head shaking. It was a photo of Mike lounging on some beach in Greece with nine bikini-clad girls hanging all over him. The tagline read, “Never coming home!” I hoped he was seriously going to take his words to heart, because you could clearly tell that two of them were topless, despite their strategically placed drinks. And it totally explained Kara’s comment.

  Two ouches for the price of one. Clearly Kara was friends with the wrong Talisman. Lorelei could swing that one without batting an eye.

  I peeked out the window, hoping to see things out in the courtyard winding down. Nothing had changed. Silas was still strutting back and forth, his mouth going strong, while Tanner remained seated on the bench, looking just as disinterested as before. Though judging from the way his hands were gripping the edge of the bench, he seemed a touch dismissive as well. Considering whose mouth seemed to be monopolizing the conversation, I could totally relate.

  I plopped down on the sofa and called Naomi straightaway. If anyone could put a smile on my face, it was the Mrs. To-be. I thought I was headed for her voicemail when she didn’t pick up after four rings—yet again—and was just about to hang up when I noticed my call-time numbers flash 00:01. I threw the phone up to my ear to hear a winded Naomi belt out, “Well, I suwannee! If it ain’t alive and kickin’!”

  Her mother hen chastising prompted a grin. “Yeah,” I said. “So you can tell Charlie to stop checking all the roadside ditches from here to Welch.”

  “Consider the search called off,” Naomi teased.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t caught up with you sooner,” I apologized. “I’ve been crazy busy.”

  “I hope havin’ fun,” Naomi suggested. “Guy-fun, if you know what I mean?”

  I could picture her eyebrows twitching. “No, it’s my new job,” I explained artfully. “My training’s just going a little rougher than what I expected.”

  “It always does,” Naomi chuckled. “But I’m sure you’ll get the swing of it.”

  If it stops swinging at me, I grumbled silently.

  “So whatcha doin’? Waitressin’?” she asked.

  I hadn’t thought about needing a cover-story. “You guessed it,” I fibbed and quickly flipped the conversation. “How’s the wedding coming?”

  “Darlin’, my rear is plum tuckered out!” she exclaimed. “Between the Drive-In, us applyin’ to get a mortgage for a new house, and tryin’ to pick everythin’ out, I’m ’bout to lose what’s left of my dang mind. I wish you would’ve stayed in town this summer. You could’ve been my weddin’ wing-woman.”

  “Make Charlie help,” I suggested.

  Naomi let out a huff. “And have him drape the church in camouflage? No thank ya!”

  She wasn’t kidding. I could totally see him doing it too. But he wouldn’t stop there. By my calculations, the kick-off of buck firearms season was the same week of their nuptials. Poor Naomi. The ceremony would end up being held near his favorite hunting spot, and she would be picking hunks of yellow corn feed out of her hair instead of birdseed.

  “Hasn’t it been any fun?” I posed, mostly to alleviate a little of my own guilt.

  “Eeh,” Naomi sighed. “’Tween you and me, I really wish we’d just run off and get hitched, but this is Charlie’s first weddin’, and he won’t hear of headin’ over to the Smokies for a quickie.”

  “I didn’t realize Charlie was such an old-fashioned romantic,” I bragged.

  “Oh, he is,” she sang. “Of course it’s hard to tell with all that redneck-hippie coatin’, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “but it’s sweet.”

  “And he’s real thoughtful too,” she added. “I found out last week that he’d called up my little sister and asked her to help me with all the plannin’.”

  “Awww,” I hummed. “How is Yvonne?”

  “No, not her. She just popped out her seventh rug-rat,” Naomi revealed. “Think younger.”

  Her tone held more than a hint of suspect. “Becky Jo?” I asked.

  “Keep a goin’,” she instructed.

  A hush fell over our connection like the slam of a car door. Naomi only had one other sister. “Annabelle,” I replied with a doubtless cringe.

  “Yep,” she confirmed, clearly irked. “She wouldn’t take ‘NO’ for an answer either — none of the daggum bazillion times. I finally threw up my hands just to shut her up. She loves all that fancy-tansy fuss.”

  There wasn’t a delicate way to ask my next question, so I just let it rip. “Does she still l
ive over in Stumpy Bottom?” There were only two things that came out of that section of Princeton in Mercer County: slinging fists and Roma gypsies.

  “Afraid so . . . And I know what you’re thinkin’,” Naomi laughed. “But she’s been warned. If my dress shows up bigger than the cab of Charlie’s truck, I’m stuffin’ the train down her throat till it pops out her rear and she’s headin’ to the morgue in a taffeta body-bag!”

  “Understood,” I laughed. Leave it to Naomi to provide me with a much-needed chuckle. The mental image of her strolling down the aisle in some crazy-big, poofy princess dress was priceless.

  “That reminds me . . . I need you to text me your address so I can send you an official invitation,” she said, aiming for a more refined accent.

  “I’m doing it now,” I grinned and shot her Katie’s address, c/o me of course.

  “Got it,” she announced, not two seconds after hearing my phone “swoosh”.

  “That’s where I’ll be until I get settled into my dorm . . .” A rush of panic swept through me. “In about a month.” Now all I could think about were monsters and failures. Time sure flies when you’re screwing up…

  “Shi? Are you still there?” Naomi asked.

  “Yeah,” I muttered.

  “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “Nope,” I said, rallying my perkiest voice.

  “You know, I’ve not only got a nose for lyin’, but ears for it too, darlin’,” she laughed. “Are you sure there’s nothin’ wrong?”

  I let out a sigh. If there was anyone I could talk to about man troubles, it was Naomi. “Well . . . There might be a certain guy that’s got my—”

  “Head up your ass?” she posed.

  “Somewhere in that vicinity,” I yielded with a grumble.

  “Darlin’, it happens to the best of us,” she chuckled. “So aside from you needin’ an Ass-ectomy, what seems to be the problem?”

  “Things just haven’t panned out . . . at least not like I thought they would,” I admitted. “I really can’t tell how he feels about me. I keep getting mixed signals, and I’m afraid they’re about to take a turn for the worse.”

  “Sound’s like that cat needs somethin’ to get his tail off the fence, if ya ask me,” she insisted.

  “Maybe,” I mumbled. I tuned Naomi out for a few seconds. I really needed to talk to Tanner. He may have given me a major stay of execution over all those diamonds, but that didn’t mean he still trusted me, with or without my promise — inheritance or not. Knowing he knew about the dreamcatcher just kicked up my anxiety even more.

  Naomi and I chatted for a little while longer, feeling the need to fill me in on all the gossip around town. She did tell me that Charlotte and Chloe dropped by the Drive-In for dinner the other night. Naomi said they looked good, happy and all, and she made a point to mention that she didn’t spit on my mother’s burger…not too much, she’d stressed. Bless her heart. The sweet ’n sassy server was always eager to give someone’s soul a spit-shine.

  I’d just hung up with Naomi when the melodic strikes of a piano snagged my ears. I followed the sound through the house with a slow and steady gait, almost as if the notes were guiding me like a trail of velvety flower petals. Their hypnotic path led me straight to the archway framing the parlor. Tanner was sitting in front of the grand piano positioned by the bay window, stroking the keys. I stood there listening noiselessly as he played. In the half-light and at this angle, the Amethyst Talisman looked as elegant as the hand-carved walnut beauty situated before him. I assumed he could play when I’d first laid eyes on the intimidating instrument, but I had no idea how well. I didn’t know the classical piece he was playing by name (possibly Beethoven or Mozart), but it sounded simply magnificent. His strikes held the weight of a master and the rhythm flowed as gracefully as his hands. Yet again, here was something else the professor excelled at flawlessly. It had been years since I’d delved into the mechanical side of music. I’d resigned myself to strictly an iPod listening bystander once I realized just how bad I sounded singing (private shower songs excluded, of course). The only experience I had playing an actual instrument was in grade school. But that was just a standard-issue plastic recorder passed out to meet a music benchmark in fourth grade, so it hardly counted. But I enjoyed it enough, maybe a little too much knowing my “toots” drove Charlotte a little crazy. Daddy and Samuel called me “The sad little whistle that lost its train”. I doubted if I remembered anything past reading basic notes and a scale of “Do-Re-Mi”, courtesy of The Sound of Music broadcasted every year around the holidays. My lack of musical ability was most likely why I beat a creative path to Art. It didn’t matter how crappy a drawing or painted ended up. Lines and squiggles didn’t possess the power to send hands scrambling to cover a set of ears. You could always pass off your masterpiece as “abstract” if it looked bad enough. No amount of skillful sound dubbing could fix vocal cords that rivaled an alley cat.

  I could tell the song was coming to an end by its dwindling notes. He lifted his head but kept his gaze on the empty music rack in front of him. “You’re not going to extend the first clap?” Tanner posed once he’d finished.

  A smile was the only thing accompanying my steps. “I figured you might find the applause boring, especially when you shine at everything,” I hinted with a twinge of envy.

  Tanner glanced over his shoulder. “I have feelings too,” he sulked and then purposely waited a few dicey seconds before shifting his frown into a grin.

  “It was beautiful,” I acknowledged. “What’s it called?”

  “Moonlight Sonata. That’s its more popular name,” Tanner replied as he played another chord. “Its composer-given title is Sonata Number 14 in C-sharp minor. Quasi una fantasia is what Ludwig van Beethoven dubbed it.”

  “Did he tell you that personally?” I asked, unable to resist testing his temperament.

  He struck a clunky group of chords on purpose and shot me a playfully foul glare.

  “Just kidding,” I insisted, flinching on the inside.

  “Well, I’ve seen your iPod,” he assured with a smirk. “And a few of the tunes I stumbled across more than show your age.”

  Talk about a major embarrassing invasion. “Hey — Celine Dion and Peabo Bryson singing Beauty and the Beast is a classic,” I defended. “And so is a Whole New World from Aladdin.”

  “Fitting for a little girl,” he teased.

  My arms dove into a defensive fold at my chest. “Those songs are from two of my favorite movies when I was a kid. And besides . . . Who wouldn’t want a genie?”

  Tanner tossed his eyes, almost cringing. “I don’t know . . . They could be more of a headache than you think. Lest you forget the trouble you had corralling your faeries,” he submitted. “Do you really think a pint-sized version of yourself would have had better luck?” His head rocked with several slow shakes. “I seriously doubt it.”

  I brushed off his insinuation. “That’s neither here nor there. Just know that the next time movie-night rolls around, I know exactly which one I’m picking,” I vowed with a tight smirk.

  “I’ll stop teasing right now,” he said and held up his hands adamantly. “Anything to prevent that.”

  I shook my head. And I sat through Scarface… “And for the record, I’ve scrolled through your iPod too, and I don’t recall seeing any classical compilations hiding anywhere — unless you count Classic Rock.”

  Tanner whipped back around to the keys and hammered out an undeniably iconic rock riff. I couldn’t help but rouse a laugh after hearing the beginnings of Old Time Rock and Roll scoring the air.

  He stopped just shy of the first chorus and turned around. “Better?”

  “Better fit,” I elaborated.

  Tanner gave the empty spot of leather beside him a few pats. “You have to remember, my years have granted me an extremely wide range.”

  “Which do you prefer?” I asked as I lowered myself onto the bench.

  He paused, looking thoughtful. “I do
n’t linger in the past . . . though sometimes it’s irresistible to reminisce. But I think my tastes have adapted to the times appropriately, despite what’s considered mainstream music today.”

  “Careful,” I warned, noting his sneer. “Now you’re showing your age.”

  With a blazing grin, Tanner tipped his head and stroked out a few notes. The arch of his brow ascended right along with them. “Wouldn’t you like to know what that is?”

  He clearly wasn’t taking the bait, and neither was I. “Does it really matter? Old is old,” I submitted, getting in one more dig. The keys his fingers had halted on sounded as flat as his stare. I smiled and simply issued him a shameless shrug. Our long established mentor / protégé relationship seemed the same on the surface, take away the side-eyes he was presently shooting me, but it was what lurked underneath that had my doubts all knotted. No one knows a duck is fretting until you look under the water and see how fast whose webbed feet are kicking. And it wasn’t like Professor Grey not to stretch his fussy legs the least little bit. That was bothering me most of all.

  Tanner motioned to the keys. “You’re welcome to play something if you would like,” he offered.

  “I’m afraid a rusty version of chopsticks is the only thing I have to offer,” I admitted. “And I know enough about sight reading music to make me dangerous — but in a bad way.”

  “Oh,” Tanner hummed. “Like shooting arrows?”

  “Precisely,” I said, making sure my brow was furrowed enough to make him think I was offended.

  Tanner placed his hands on the keys and commenced with a series of ginger strikes. “You’re more acclimated than you think,” he assured. “Beatrix could play, quite beautifully in fact . . . So it stands to reason that you can too.”

  I roused a subtle grin as I thought about my truth-seeking mission at Beatrix’s house last fall. The console piano was one thing I never questioned. Though I honestly wouldn’t have known she actually played at all if I hadn’t stayed the night so many times. Ray Charles never struck the first chord around me, purposely. The Golden Topaz Talisman only tickled the ivories when she thought I was sleeping, and it was ALWAYS THE SAME SONG. But it wasn’t a classical score, far from it. The tune sounded more contemporary, like from the 70’s or 80’s, maybe? It called to mind one of those easy-listening ballads you could imagine some lounge singer crooning while couples slow danced all around. It was undeniably beautiful, though equally sad at the same time. Judging from the number of occasions she played the moving melody and the deliberateness of the hours she chose to do so, I could tell it was something she cherished immensely.