by Mark Lukens
Victor looked like he’d been slapped. “I wasn’t spying. I was just … I came down here to get something to drink from the kitchen …” Victor paused, still watching her with those eyes that sometimes seemed to stare right through her. He had been renting a room from her for years and they had gotten to know each other pretty well by now. “Can’t I just be concerned without you jumping down my throat?”
Carol walked past Victor on her way to the kitchen. “Thanks for your concern, I’m fine. I’m going to make some sandwiches for lunch if you want one.”
Victor just stared at Carol as she walked away.
Carol entered the kitchen and began the preparations for lunch. As she grabbed a loaf of bread from the pantry, her mind slipped back to her prayers. She’d seen something during her prayers, a vision of some kind. She’d seen him. Not in any great detail, just a shadowy figure really. But she knew it was him, she could feel it; she could sense it with every molecule of her body.
Yes, she thought, he was coming back very soon.
A shudder rippled through her body, tickling over her skin on little spidery legs as she laid out an assortment of meats and cheeses. She worked slowly, her body still slightly numb from both the vision she’d seen and the presence that she’d felt in the den. She was both excited about his return … and terrified.
3.
On the other side of town, the side of town that wasn’t as nice as Carol’s side of town, Amber got ready for work in her small house. After she was dressed and ready to go, she studied herself in the mirror that was attached to the back of her closet door. Her uniform consisted of a pair of white short-shorts and a tight blue, low-cut T-shirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her dark hair was pulled back in a French braid. She had a little make-up on even though she didn’t need it. She grabbed her apron, her purse, and her ticket book and she left her bedroom. She locked her bedroom door, but she knew that it didn’t matter whether she locked it or not.
She walked into the living room and Gary sat in his recliner, sprawled out, a can of beer in his hand. His shirt was off revealing his massive bulk – it used to be muscle years ago but it was quickly turning into a landslide of flab. He watched her walk to the front door.
“You look like a fucking whore, you know that?” he said.
Amber ignored him as she checked to make sure she had her house keys. She had to constantly check her keys in the door because every time Gary would get mad at her (which was often) he would change the locks on the door. She opened the door and walked outside; she slammed the door shut without a word or a glance towards Gary.
She walked out into the afternoon light which was still warm, but she knew the colder weather would be coming soon enough. She saw her friend’s car driving down the street towards her house. Thank God Michelle wasn’t running late, she didn’t feel like waiting out in front of her house any longer than she needed to today. She didn’t want Gary staggering out onto the front steps and hurl more slurred insults at her.
She wished she could afford her own car.
She wished she could move from this house. From this town. From this state.
Michelle’s car pulled up next to the cracked sidewalk and Amber got in the passenger side and they drove to Charlie’s Pub.
4.
In a different area of Edrington, closer to the edge of town, closer to the woods, Walter left his small but tidy home and got into his car.
Walter had been visited by the man in his dreams lately, but he couldn’t make out the man entirely because he seemed to stay in the shadows of the dreams, in the darkness where something dripped. Walter had a feeling that his dream visitor was injured somehow; no, he was more than just injured, he was mutilated. Even though Walter couldn’t see the man, he could hear the man’s voice from the darkness very clearly. The voice seemed slurred just the slightest bit, not from alcohol or drugs, but from an injury to the man’s mouth.
“You need to dig it up, Walter,” the dream-man had said to him.
“I want to help you,” Walter whispered back.
“This will help very much. You need to go to the place in the woods and dig it up.”
“Whatever you need me to do.”
Walter drove away from his neighborhood and out onto Winter Road. He followed the road that twisted up into the mountains and through the dense woods until he came to a smaller road that led even deeper into the woods.
He found the spot.
He parked his car at the side of the road. It was still early in the afternoon, still plenty of time, he didn’t think it would take him too long to hike into the woods, dig it up, and bring it back with him. He grabbed his pick and shovel from the trunk of his car and then he hurried into the woods.
He had seen the spot in the woods in his dreams – it was right in front of a massive oak tree that had been struck by lightning some time ago. But the tree had survived the lightning strike somehow and another part of the tree had grown out from the twisted remains of the trunk.
When he got to the tree, he used the pick to break up the dirt and any roots in an area five feet in front of the base of the trunk. He didn’t want to bury the pick too deep in the ground and possibly damage what lay buried beneath. He used the shovel and took his time digging up the dirt.
Then his shovel struck something hard under the dirt. He dug around the object carefully, scooping out small shovelfuls of dirt. After a few minutes of unearthing, he could see the object.
It was some kind of suitcase, but a little smaller than an average suitcase.
He tossed the shovel to the side and dropped down to his knees and used his hands to push the dirt out of the way. After a few moments of excavation, he pulled the case free from the dirt. He wiped away the dirt and cleaned it up as best he could – he would clean it better when he got it back home. The dark brown suitcase seemed to be made from a hard shell, but it wasn’t deteriorated at all after being buried. Two thick leather straps were folded over the suitcase, and each strap was held in place with a small padlock locking the latches shut.
Walter wasn’t supposed to try and open the suitcase; the dream-man had been very specific about that.
His job was just to deliver it, that’s all.
He would follow instructions, because to disobey could be dangerous.
Walter didn’t even bother filling the hole back in. It wasn’t very deep; the suitcase had only been buried a few feet down. He grabbed his pick and shovel; he carried these in one hand and the suitcase in his other hand as he walked back through the woods to his car.
CHAPTER THREE
1.
After a three and a half hours of driving north on the county road, Ryan finally saw a sign declaring that Edrington was only a few more miles up the road. As he got near the limits of the town, the woods gave way to homes and then to plazas, businesses, restaurants, and banks. He stopped at a red light and looked around at the intersection. On one corner of the intersection was a shopping center with a supermarket, a dollar store, some kind of boutique clothing shop, a dentist’s office, and a Chinese restaurant. Across the street was another shopping center with another supermarket. Next to the supermarket were more small businesses. They all seemed to be newer construction.
The traffic light turned green and Ryan drove deeper into the center of Edrington; he passed Tenth Street, Ninth Street, Eighth Street. Quaint small-town businesses lined both sides of the main street – it seemed like the townspeople of Edrington wanted to keep the small-town feel downtown and keep the newer businesses and plazas on the outskirts of town.
As he drove Ryan glanced down at the passenger seat where the small, folded-up piece of paper from his wallet sat. He didn’t need to open the paper and look at the address; he’d memorized it. The address wasn’t hard for him to remember, it was the only clue he had to a life he couldn’t remember.
Ryan slowed down and turned left onto Fourth Street. He drove down the wide street that was shaded by massive trees. The ho
uses on this street were large and old, set far back from the roads on meticulously manicured lawns.
Ryan slowed his car down.
There it was – the same address that was scrawled on the paper. 246 Fourth Street.
The house looked like a large Victorian, three stories high with a stately front porch that ran the length of the front of the house. The roof of the front porch was supported by four wooden pillars that had been painted a bright white. The house looked to be nearly a hundred years old but it had been updated with vinyl siding and new windows. The house was surrounded by neat landscaping. In the middle of the vast front lawn was a Room For Rent sign.
Ryan pulled up into the gravel driveway and he could hear his tires crunching over the tiny rocks. A little farther up, the driveway turned to concrete. There were two cars parked next to each other underneath an awning constructed of wood and trimmed in white, just like the pillars on the front porch. Gigantic trees loomed behind the house in the backyard. Ryan parked behind the other two cars, and he sat in his car for a moment with the motor rumbling as he stared at the house.
What was he supposed to do here at this house? Meet someone? Get something from someone? He didn’t know. He didn’t know what to even say to whoever answered the door. Would they recognize him? Would they ask him for information that he may not have because of his lost memory?
But he couldn’t sit here all day. He still felt the constant urgency coursing through him, humming like live electricity just under his skin. He felt like he needed to find these answers before it was too late. Like time was running out.
He shut the car off and got out. He stepped out onto the driveway, his sneakers grinding down into the gravel, crunching it like the tires of his car. He glanced at the Room For Rent sign in the yard. He could ask whoever answered the door about the room for rent – he needed somewhere to stay the night anyway.
The walkway up to the front porch was made up of pieces of flagstone set down in the grass like stepping stones. He climbed the steps of the front porch and walked across the wood floorboards to the front door. His sneakers clomped on the wood deck of the front porch; it was a loud sound and he almost expected someone to come rushing to the front door just from his loud approach.
But no one came.
He pressed the doorbell button, and then he knocked on the door. He waited and glanced around at the neighborhood, trying to see if anything jogged his blank memory. On his drive into town he hadn’t seen anything that triggered any memories, yet he couldn’t help feeling like he’d been in this town before; he wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he was so certain.
The front door opened and tore Ryan from his thoughts. A woman stood in the doorway. She was small and thin, late forties or early fifties maybe. Her dark hair was just beginning to show strands of gray and she had it pulled back in a severe bun. She had an even more severe look on her face. She stood there in the doorway for a long moment, saying nothing.
Ryan wasn’t sure how to react – he’d been hoping for some clue from whoever answered the door as to why he had this address written down on a piece of scrap paper in his wallet. But this woman wasn’t saying anything, and he sure didn’t see any kind of recognition in her eyes.
“Uh … I was just wondering about your room for rent,” Ryan finally stammered out.
2.
Carol eyed Ryan for a few seconds like she was sizing him up. “Just one of you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You smoke?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Any pets?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I need the first month’s rent up front, along with a security deposit. Is that going to be a problem?”
Ryan shook his head no and tried a smile on her. “Not a problem at all.”
She didn’t smile back. She opened the door wider and gestured for him to come inside. “The room’s upstairs.”
For a moment Ryan thought of telling her about the scrap of paper with her address on it and about his lost memory. But he decided against it. She didn’t seem to know him and he didn’t want to freak her out. She might kick him out of the house, and he didn’t want that to happen because he was sure that he needed to be here.
Carol closed the front door after Ryan stepped inside. Ryan looked around at the formal living room he was standing in. There were two antique couches and a recliner situated around a small coffee table in the middle of the room. There was no TV, no computer, no signs of recent technology. The whole room seemed like it had been decorated around the time the home was built and hadn’t changed much since.
Ryan followed Carol to a wood stairway at the other end of the living room that led upstairs. A hallway to the right led to more rooms, and an archway to the left led to a dining room with an immaculate dining room table and chairs that looked like it hadn’t been used in decades – saved for special occasions, Ryan thought.
Carol climbed the steps quickly and Ryan followed her to an upstairs hallway under a high ceiling of rough and uneven plaster. She stopped at the first room on the right-hand side of the hallway. She dug an old-fashioned skeleton key out of her front pants pocket and unlocked the door.
As she unlocked the door, Ryan saw something move out of the corner of his eye; he turned and looked down the hallway and he saw a door shutting very quietly, making no noise at all. Someone had been watching them, and now that person had closed the door.
“You coming inside?” Carol asked.
Ryan looked back at Carol who was already inside the bedroom, waiting for him to enter. She stared at him with a disapproving look. He smiled and ducked quickly into the room.
The bedroom was larger than Ryan expected. There was a bed in the middle of the room; the bed was neatly made and its headboard rested against the wall. There was a bright comforter folded up at the foot of the bed – it looked handmade. Across from the foot of the bed was a dresser against the opposite wall with an ancient TV balanced on top of it. A bookcase crammed with books was pushed up against another wall. Homey pictures of country settings hung on the walls. An area rug was laid out on the wood floor between the bed and the large window set in the far wall – the window looked out onto the branches of one of the gigantic trees in the backyard.
Ryan stared at the window – there was something about the window. One of the large tree branches was right outside the window, only inches away from the glass. A perfect place for someone to sneak out, he thought to himself, yet he wasn’t sure why that thought had occurred to him. Smaller branches sprouted off from the main branch and their leaves filled most of the window.
“There’s a closet over here,” Carol said, snapping Ryan’s attention back to her.
She walked to the closet and opened the door. “It’s not a walk-in closet, but there’s a lot of room in here.”
“I don’t have much luggage with me,” Ryan said and then wished he hadn’t volunteered that bit of information when he saw the look on her face.
Carol sighed and gestured across the room at another door. “There’s a bathroom over there; your own private bathroom. That makes this room a little more expensive than the other two rooms I rent out. The other two tenants have to share the bathroom at the end of the hall.”
Ryan nodded. He was about to walk towards the bathroom to check it out, but a scratching noise from the window stopped him in his tracks. His eyes darted to the window. A breeze blew and the branches of the tree brushed against the window and scratched at the glass, making a high-pitched scratching sound, like fingernails on a chalkboard.
Carol studied Ryan as he stared at the window. “I intend to have those branches cut back soon.”
Ryan nodded. He looked at Carol and smiled. “I’ll take the room,” he told her. He dug out the wad of money from his front pants pocket and counted out eight one hundred dollar bills and handed them to Carol. “Is this enough for the rent and deposit?”
Carol counted the money in her hand, and she seemed a l
ittle surprised. She looked up at Ryan and nodded. “This will do just fine.”
Carol nodded at the TV on the dresser. “You have cable TV up here. Basic cable. Meals are included with the rent if you want them. I cook three meals a day, but I don’t take any requests. You eat what I prepare, or there’s always the McDonald’s on the outskirts of town.”
“Fair enough, ma’am.”
Carol eyed Ryan. “I don’t make anyone sign a lease. You can leave whenever you want; I just require a week’s notice.”
Ryan nodded in agreement.
“I have an understanding with my tenants. I can evict you at any time if there’s any sort of trouble. Believe me, I know the police pretty well.” She paused for a moment and stared at Ryan. “There isn’t going to be any trouble, is there?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good,” Carol said and turned to leave the room. But she turned back around and stared at Ryan. “And you can lose that ma’am crap. Just call me Carol.”
Ryan smiled at her. “Okay, Carol.”
Carol turned and left the room without another word.
3.
Ryan grabbed his only piece of luggage out of the trunk of his car and went up to his room.
In his room, Ryan sat down on the bed and looked around again. He was hoping to see something that would make him remember his past, or at least some kind of clue or hint. But he still couldn’t remember anything.
He got up and walked over to the bedroom door. Carol had left him a skeleton key in the lock. He locked the door – it made a loud clicking sound – and then he pulled out the key and slipped it into his pocket.
He went back to the bed; he lifted up the mattress and flipped it onto its side, revealing the box-spring below. He set his duffel bag on the box-spring and unzipped it. He laid out the stacks of money in an even layer all over the box-spring, and then he pulled the mattress back down over the layer of money. He adjusted the bedspread and eyed his work – it looked pretty good to him.