Vision

by Lisa Amowitz

  Too late. Gabe’s eyebrows shot up in a look of bemused curiosity. “What happened now, Bobby Robert?”

  Mr. Cooper squinted at him. “Something else happened, Bobby?” Then he turned to Gabe. “He passed out cold in my office today. I had to drive him home early.”

  Bobby felt his mouth move like a wide-mouthed bass stranded on the dock. He needed to come up with a good lie. Fast.

  “Wow,” Gabe said, looking him up and down. “You said you’d get that head injury looked at.”

  “Head injury?” Mr. Cooper asked, incredulous.

  Gabe proceeded to recount the entire incident in the woods the day before. Bobby felt his cheeks catch fire and looked frantically for an escape route.

  “I’m fine now. Really. It’s all just—I haven’t been eating right lately. I didn’t really hit my head. Okay?” He felt himself blinking fast, the lies coming in waves. Anything to make them stop asking questions.

  Gabe pursed her lips. “You couldn’t see for a few minutes, Bobby. I never heard of not eating causing something like that. C’mon. You’ve really got to get that checked out. Getting bonked on the head one too many times can be fatal.”

  Bobby sighed, still looking for a getaway. “I—I should get back to work.”

  He turned to leave, but Kenny Cooper had him by the sleeve. “You should take care of your noggin, you know, or I’m going to have to talk to your dad, and that won’t be pleasant.”

  “I will. Promise,” Bobby said.

  “Well, I’d better get back to work, too,” Gabe said, turning to leave.

  “Wait!” Mr. Cooper called.

  Gabe stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

  Mr. Cooper’s voice dripped with excitement, the blue eyes slightly unfocused. “Bobby, do you know who she is?”

  Gabe lowered her head, her hand over her mouth.

  “She’s my boss’s daughter. And if he sees me slacking,” Bobby heard the bitterness creep into his voice and instantly wanted to take it back, “then I won’t have a job, Mr. Cooper.”

  Mr. Cooper still had hold of his sleeve. “I know that, Bobby. But that’s not what I meant. Do you know who she is?”

  Wearing a tight little smile, Gabe was turning a bright cherry red.

  Mr. Cooper continued, unfazed. “You haven’t heard of Gabriella Sorensen—piano prodigy extraordinaire?”

  Bobby shook his head, feeling like he’d missed something. When Mr. Cooper talked, he managed to drop more names than the waiters at the Grill dropped plates.

  Bobby cleared his throat, glad at least that the topic was not him. “Can’t say I have.”

  Gabe had that fidgety look again, like she was about to bolt. “Look, it will all come out in the wash. I should get back to work myself.”

  She darted away, out of the bar, but Mr. Cooper still had him by the sleeve, his fingers now pressing into flesh. “That’s her. Gabriella Sorensen. She made her Carnegie Hall debut at age nine. Her mother is Annelise Sorensen. Surely you’ve heard of the famous opera singer?”

  “What? Her name is Gabriella Friend.”

  Mr. Cooper relaxed his grip slightly and whispered conspiratorially. “Well, it is. But that’s not the name she’s known by.”

  “Known?”

  Releasing Bobby’s arm, Mr. Cooper drained his glass and rested it on the bar. The brunette had started chatting up someone else, but Kenny Cooper didn’t seem to notice. “Known, as in international superstar? Do you know what kind of connection she is?”

  “Connection for what?”

  Mr. Cooper exhaled a sigh and shook his head. “We really have a lot of to work to do on you, Bobby Pendell.”

  Bobby caught a glimpse of Max Friend’s eyes boring into him from the bar entrance. He apologized to Mr. Cooper and scooted into the dining room where the dirty plates had begun to accumulate.

  The special Max Friend advertised had worked. The place was packed solid with diners. Bobby had never seen it this busy on a Monday night. Glad he was too busy to stop moving, another half-hour passed in which he successfully managed to avoid bumping into Gabe or getting scolded by Max. He was baffled by what Mr. Cooper had said. The man was drunk and probably mistaken. At least it had stopped him from harping on what was wrong with Bobby.

  Mr. Cooper paid his tab, waved to Bobby, and left with the brunette. Bobby speed-walked through the hall that connected the kitchen to the dining room, his mind now fully focused on gathering more dirty plates and depositing them in the sink, when someone grabbed him and pulled him into the supply room behind the maroon velvet curtains.

  “Shh,” said Gabe, her face stern.

  “Hey! Your dad will kill me if…”

  Gabe’s lower lip jutted out ever so slightly. Bobby bristled. It was the least attractive expression he’d seen her make.

  “I will kill you if you breathe a word of what your teacher just told you.”

  “Huh? It’s true? I thought it was another of his wild brags. Once, he claimed to know the Queen of England.”

  “It is,” she said, her eyes wide, her mouth tight. “But no one in Graxton had a clue and that’s the way I liked it. Until your idiot teacher showed up tonight and outed me.”

  “Hey,” Bobby countered, indignant, “Mr. Cooper is no idiot, he’s…”

  “Whatever,” Gabe cut him off. “Promise you’ll keep your lips sealed.”

  At the mention of lips, Bobby couldn’t help but stare at hers. And damn him if she didn’t notice. Her voice softening, Gabe leaned in closer to him, close enough to smell the musky tang of her perfume. Sweat popped out on his forehead as he choked out a lame joke. “So, you’re in the witness protection program?”

  “Very funny. It will be our little secret, Bobby Robert. Can you keep a secret?”

  “I’m pretty good at that, actually,” he said, composing himself.

  “I sure hope that’s true.” Gabe stared at him a beat, then whirled out of the supply closet.

  How on earth was he going to survive this?

  Taking deep breaths, Bobby peered out from behind the curtains and stepped out. The dining room had completely cleared out. Max Friend walked over to him and patted him on the back. “Great job tonight, Bobby. I had my eye on you the whole time. You were working at hyper-speed. Since it’s slowing down, this might be a good time to take your break.”

  “Sure. Okay. Thanks, Mr. Friend.”

  Bobby’s stomach fluttered. He wondered what he would have done had his boss caught him with his daughter. After that dust-up he’d overheard, Bobby didn’t imagine he’d take too kindly to her fraternizing with the help.

  He hadn’t had his usual burger yet, but still reeling from the close encounter in the supply room he didn’t think he could handle the heavy food. Instead, he walked through the kitchen, grabbed a banana, and headed out the service entrance to the back alley. He needed air. Fresh, cool night air.

  Except the back alley was filled with the rancid smell of rotting garbage. Bobby sank down onto the back step and ate the banana, his heart still racing. His mind ran in circles, his earlier problems with headaches, red blindness and frightening visions forgotten.

  Gabe was going to be the death of him. One spark was all it would take for him burst into flame. But he couldn’t let that happen. One wrong move would seriously impact his finances. He had no doubt that if he laid so much as a finger on Gabriella Sorensen Friend, Max Friend would give him the boot.

  The realization fell like the crack of a gavel. But still, that did little to slow his pulse rate. He was a goner. A stupid, mindless goner.

  Bobby ate the banana slowly, staring at the cracks in the cobblestone alley. He was tired; the only thing keeping his body going was adrenaline. He glanced at his watch. Nine thirty. The restaurant closed in thirty minutes. Then came cleanup, and by eleven fifteen he’d be headed for home and his nice, soft pillow.

  He lived for that moment. Moment by moment. That’s how he would do it. Eventually, he’d be over her.

  H
is break done, Bobby walked to the Dumpster, tossed the banana peel inside, and turned to go back to work.

  The cries were so soft at first, he thought what he’d heard was the distant yowl of a stray cat. Then his skin began to crawl, the now-familiar throb of a headache drilling its way up the base of his spine. Something was pulling him toward the Dumpster.

  No. Please, no.

  The muffled cries became shrill, pitiful screams. Thin red streaks criss-crossed his vision. The headache bore down on him like a sledgehammer.

  There’s someone in the Dumpster.

  He had no time for the blindfold to shield him from the headache’s aftereffects. Someone needed his help.

  Bobby scrambled up the side of the Dumpster, leapt over the edge, and landed in a heap of stinking garbage.

  He felt the pull of certainty guiding him—someone was buried under the refuse. The cries grew louder, more desperate and raw. There was no time to call for help.

  “Help me! Please, help me!”

  “I’m coming! Hold on!” Bobby dug through the layers of slop, the back of his head blistering with pain. The red streaks were filling in. He was losing it. Losing it.

  By the time his hands bumped against something cold and solid, he could barely see past the red veil. He pulled hard. “It’s okay, I have you!”

  With one last tug, he yanked the wailing victim from under the piles of garbage.

  He screamed, but his lungs couldn’t pull in any more air, sickened and horrified at what he cradled in his hands.

  The last thing he saw before collapsing backward into the piles of garbage was the body of a girl, hair matted with blood, her eyes and mouth covered with duct tape, her throat slit open.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Bobby had no idea how long he lay there in the stinking bed of garbage. With the headache hacking away at the back of his head, he slowly opened his eyes.

  It was as he’d feared. Thick red soup.

  The body. Somewhere in this Dumpster was the body of a girl.

  Nauseated, he groped around for it. Nothing. How would he know if he’d really seen it?

  Oh, God. Oh, God.

  It had been solid in his hands. It was real.

  Bobby rose to his feet and sank knee-deep into the festering muck. Reaching upward for the rim of the Dumpster, he grabbed hold and hauled himself over the edge, stumbling to his feet on the cobblestones.

  I’m going to be sick.

  He felt his way to the far side of the Dumpster, where he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pavement.

  He couldn’t go back inside the Graxton Grill. They’d think he’d lost his mind. Max would fire him on the spot.

  But he had to tell someone what he’d seen.

  He needed to find the back door to the Woods Café. Edging along the cool bricks of the alley walls, he counted doors. If he was right, the Woods Café’s was the sixth one down.

  By the time Bobby got there, his vision had returned in smeary patches of light and dark, enough to make out the distinctive mustard color of the café’s back door. He was shaking, his shirt soaked through with cold sweat, the grisly memory of the body with the slit throat seared into his brain.

  He was going to be sick. Again.

  He turned the knob. The door opened and he fell inward, hitting the linoleum hard.

  Bobby fought to get to his feet. Fought to find his voice, but it all slipped away from him down a tunnel of darkness and silence.

  He came to, sprawled on the leather couch in Jerry Woods’s office, a crowd of indistinct faces peering down at him. It could have been ten people huddled around him, or it could have been two for all he knew. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there in the first place, until it all came crashing back in horrifying detail.

  Bobby blinked to clear his vision, but everything was fuzzy, like looking through a steamy shower door.

  “What the hell happened, Bobby?” Jerry Woods’s deep, reassuring voice boomed.

  “A body,” Bobby gasped. “There was a body in the Dumpster.”

  “What?” Now it was Coco’s voice.

  Then came the sound of rushing feet. More voices.

  “Is he here?” Max Friend asked calmly. Shit. This was it. He was going to lose his job.

  “What’s wrong with his eye?” he heard Coco say. Sounds were weaving in and out, distorted, rubbery. Bobby tried to stand, but couldn’t.

  “I found a body in the Dumpster,” he muttered, his stomach clenching with nausea again.

  “Shock. He’s in shock,” said Jerry. Bodies shifted around the room. Lights flickered, but nothing came into focus.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Max Friend asked impatiently. “One minute he was at work. The next minute he’s gone.”

  Gabe’s throaty voice cut in. “He hit his head yesterday, but he refused to go to the hospital. Maybe he’s having a delayed reaction.”

  “Stubborn ass,” Jerry muttered. “Is this true, Bobby?”

  Bobby shivered, his teeth chattering. The idea of Gabe seeing him like this made him feel even sicker. “Yeah, but I’m telling all of you that there’s a dead body in the Dumpster. Shouldn’t someone go and check it out?”

  Sheriff Barclay’s gruff voice chimed in. “I’ll go out and have a look. Someone oughta take the kid to the emergency room. Look at him, he’s in a bad way.”

  “No! Just take me home. Please. I’m just sick from what I saw. It was—oh, God.”

  He felt the seat sink beside him. The smell of musk. Her. He buried his head in his hands. “Please go, Gabe. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to know about what I saw out there.”

  “It’s okay, Bobby Robert. Someone get a cold cloth, okay?”

  The room tilted and rocked. Lights blazed and dimmed.

  “Shock’ll do that to a person,” said Jerry. “Sheriff Barclay’s gonna go out to have a look, Bobby-boy.”

  Someone had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He felt ridiculous. Helpless. But he knew if he stood, he’d fall to his knees.

  “Uh, Bobby,” Max Friend said from somewhere nearby, “what do you say you get that head injury checked out? Take a few days off to get better.”

  “I’ll take a day off, Mr. Friend. I promise I’ll come back Wednesday.” He hoped his desperation wasn’t too obvious. He also hoped nobody noticed he could barely see.

  “Take two, Bobby. And bring me a note stating that you’re fit to work. Okay, kid?”

  Bobby nodded. A few minutes later, the room filled with mumbling and whispers.

  “Well?” Jerry asked loudly.

  “Nothing out there,” the sheriff pronounced

  “I know what I saw!” Bobby struggled to stand, but the room pitched sideways. Someone coaxed him back onto the couch.

  “It’s okay,” Gabe said softly from beside him.

  Bobby shivered. Maybe he was crazy, plain and simple. It was so real. Had he imagined the scrap of cloth in the tree? The vision of the girl racing through the woods? All of it?

  Maybe his physical symptoms were a part of it. A hysterical illness. He pressed his hands over his eyes. What was he going to do?

  “I’ll take him home,” said the Sheriff. “Give me a chance to talk to Sam Pendell and figure out what’s going on in that house.”

  Nuts. That’s what they all thought now. That he was nuts.

  “Can you stand up, Bobby?”

  “I don’t know, Sheriff.”

  He felt their pitying eyes on him. They cleaned him up, helped him into some of Coco’s clean-smelling but too-long pants and a T-shirt, and hefted him to his feet, the ground beneath him liquid. His arms flung around their shoulders, he was walked outside, the night air hitting his face in a cool and swirling blur of light and shadow.

  Once in the car, Bobby slumped lower in the seat. What would Aaron think when they carried him in the house like this? He felt a tear trickle down his cheek and wiped it quickly away.

  Sh
eriff Barclay got in the car, his acrid blend of strong cologne, body odor, and cigars overpowering the lingering stench from the garbage bin. Bobby turned toward the bulky mass of uniformed flesh in the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “No trouble at all. I lied to those folks back there, you know, Bobby.”

  “What?” Bobby sat up straighter.

  The sheriff started the engine. The car rolled backward in reverse, then made the turn out of the lot onto Route 23.

  “Last month, Carol Ann Deumont, from Clarksville in Renssalaer County, vanished right after her high-school prom.”

  “It was all over the news. Was that her in the Dumpster?”

  “I didn’t find no body in the Dumpster, Bobby. Did you know Carol Ann?”

  “N-no. I didn’t.”

  “I gathered that, Bobby.”

  Bobby let his eyes slip closed. The blur of flashing lights was aggravating his headache.

  “I found something else. Sticking out from under the garbage was a torn-up blue silk gown.”

  “I never saw any gown, sir.”

  “I gathered that, Bobby, or you would have said so. And I’m not sure what you did see. But I’ve got that gown in an evidence bag in the back seat. It looks a lot like the gown that Carol Ann was wearing the night she disappeared.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “And you had no idea the gown was there?”

  “What? No! How would I know that?”

  “Then, Bobby Pendell, what the hell were you doing climbing into a Dumpster in the first place?”

  By the time the sheriff’s car drove up the long, steep climb to his house, Bobby was nearly able to see normally again. At least out of one eye. The view from the right eye was still a watery, blurred mess. Bobby got out of the car. Still shaking violently, at least he could stand now without falling over.

  The body, the slit throat like a ghastly smile, the blood caked around it. He knew what he’d seen. He’d felt the weight of it, smelled the putrid decay. Could the sheriff be lying? Or were his hallucinations that vivid?

  Bobby heard Pete’s excited barking from inside the house and knew that what he could use right then was a good dose of doggie love. Sheriff Barclay insisted on helping Bobby into the house. Insisted on plopping heavily onto the living room couch beside Dad’s easy chair. Aaron had gone to bed, thankfully, while Dad snoozed through an infomercial about miracle egg slicers.