On Tenterhooks
Page 11
Steve Connor — dec. Julie(wif)- auto — CLT, NC - letter
“Okay,” said Martin, “so we’ve got you and me, and these two others — Abigail and Veronica?”
“Right.”
“And that’s all that was on the list?”
“Well, that’s all that was in the file I downloaded. I couldn’t find anything else. And believe me, I tried.”
“Okay.”
“And my notes—I was trying to figure out the commonalities,” said Steve, pointing to his handwritten additions. “My wife was killed in a car accident. The list says ‘auto.’ Your daughter—I wasn’t sure if it was osteo whatever it is. It’s a kind of joint—“
“Yeah. Osteochondritis dissecans. It’s a condition in which cracks form in the articular cartilage and the underlying subchondral bone. In other words, the ends of your bones get brittle and break off, because the flow of blood is interrupted.”
“Wow. That’s a mouthful.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a couple customers with the condition. They come in regularly for pain meds. It can be painful at times, but not usually life-threatening. And that’s not what got my Maggie, anyway. She was taken by the other OD. I still can’t explain exactly why.”
He paused.
“But make no mistake,” he said angrily, bunching his fist, “it was an accident. It was NOT on purpose!”
He stared at Steve, challenging him to argue.
“Martin, look man, I am not here to pass judgment. If you say it was an accident, then it was an accident, okay?”
Martin looked down at his clenched fists. He breathed deeply and relaxed, opening his hands to rest them palms-down on the table.
“Sorry, Steve. I don’t want people thinking badly about my Maggie.”
“It’s forgotten. Let’s move on,” Steve said, gesturing toward the list.
“So, we’ve got our names here and the names of those who died, apparently tying us together somehow,” said Martin. “It tells us how they died, sorta, where they are and—what is this last part? Letter, radio, online?”
“My guess is that is how we received replies back. I got this handwritten note, you heard your daughter through your radio. . .”
“And so Abigail got it online and Veronica heard it through email,” said Martin, completing Steve’s sentence.
“Or will get it. I don’t know if those two others have seen anything yet. This might be a master list of what they will do or what has already happened.”
“Yeah, okay,” Martin nodded, “that makes sense.”
“I got your number pretty easily. There only two Abingdons listed in Suffolk, you and one other.”
“Yep. My lovely and independent ex-wife.”
“Right, okay. I got a long list of Veronica Ryders in New York, but I brought it with me. And I didn’t find anything specific to Abigail Nikko in San Antonio, except a social networking page. But I did find this. It’s from a college newspaper for Southwest Texas Tech.”
Steve slid several printed pages across the table to Martin:
There was a picture of a smiling kid, Martin guessed him to be in his early twenties. He had short blond hair and he was wearing a football jersey. He had a crooked, charming smirk that looked like he’d just gotten away with a harmless prank. Next to it, a headline:
S Tech’s Zack Nikko Dies in Freak Sideline Accident
The S Tech community mourns today for the passing of one of our best and brightest. Last night, after leading the Armadillos through three strong quarters against the Jersey College Devils in a home game, starting quarterback Zack Nikko was injured on the sideline. Eyewitness accounts say he was struck on the head by his own helmet. He was rushed to Southwest General Hospital, where he was later pronounced dead.
Nikko was a junior in the department of Animal Science, planning for a career in veterinary medicine. Friends have already established a makeshift memorial for him at the stadium, leaving notes, flowers and pictures of Nikko. The University has announced that a candlelight vigil will be held Wednesday, beginning at 8PM on Botten Field.
“There were several more like that in the stack, much of the same,” said Steve. “The kid was a great athlete, a good student and had a large circle of friends. One of the articles mentions a sister, Abigail. She’s only 18. I found her online. It was pretty easy to get her parents’ address, after I got their names from the articles. So we kinda know how to reach her. . .”
Martin nodded, skimming the other articles.
“Hey, I have a question for you,” said Steve, “and this is gonna sound weird. Have you talked to a preacher lately?”
“A preacher? You mean like the pastor at my church?”
“No, I mean like a stranger. Well, he was a stranger to me, kind of. I met this bizarre guy, dressed like a preacher, in the airport this morning, but I’ve seen him before. I think he knew who I was and—”
“Was he super pale? Like his skin was . . . translucent?” Martin interrupted.
“Yes! You’ve seen him?”
“I think so. But . . . it was in my dreams.”
“Your dreams?” Steve repeated, eyes wide.
“Yes, well, more like nightmares. I keep having this nightmare about how Maggie died. And he’s in it. He’s the one who kills her.”
“The same thing has been happening to me, too, Martin. I have the same dream over and over. In it, I am with my wife when she had her car accident. The driver of the other car is that man. I think it was the same man I saw today at the airport.”
“He was in my store this week. At least I think he’s the one. I got a photo off the security cam, but I can’t be certain that’s who it is. This is too much coincidence. What the hell is going on, Steve?”
“I have no idea. It must be connected, but I can’t figure out what it all means.”
“Then what next?”
“I dunno,” said Steve. “I guess maybe we should try to contact the others on the list, see if they’ve had a similar experience.”
“Good idea. So what about the one besides Nikko. . .Ryder?” Martin asked, looking back at Steve’s list.
“Well, here’s a list of a bunch of Veronica Ryders in New York, but I have not yet figured out a way to tell which is the right one,” Steve admitted. “I also did several searches on Helen Ryder, her mother, and this is the only thing I found, which I think might be right.”
He passed another article across the table to Martin, this one from The Elysburg News & Advance. It was an obituary for a smiling older woman:
Helen Ryder, ELYSBURG — Helen Louise Ryder, 64, passed away January 13, 2010, in Cozumel, Mexico. She was born in Elysburg, Pa, April 9, 1946 to the late Robert and Eustacia Ralston. Mrs. Ryder was a retired home economics teacher for Elysburg Public Schools. She was a longtime member of Elysburg Church of Christ, where she was an active teacher and participant in the adult Bible classes. She is remembered as a wonderful mother, mother-in-law, grandmother and a good friend. She was preceded in death by her husband, Raymond Ryder, and sister, Constance Albert. Left to cherish her memory are her daughter, Louise Weldon and son-in-law Marcus; daughter Veronica, now of New York City; grandchildren, Nicole Weldon and Thomas Weldon; and a loving group of extended family and friends. A graveside service will be held at 10 a.m. Tuesday, Jan. 19, at Azalea Memorial Park. Stone Brothers Funeral Home is handling the arrangements. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Elysburg Preservation Society.
“Okay,” said Martin, “so she died in Mexico, presumably SCUBA diving?”
Steve shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. If this list I found is accurate. The article doesn’t mention how she died.”
“So we’ve got a long list of Veronica Ryders in New York City,” said Martin. “But since I’ve never heard of it, I am willing to bet Elysburg is not a big place. Maybe we could get ahold of somebody there, somebody in this obituary, and get better contact info for Mrs. Ryder.”
“Good idea,” said Steve, nodding. He scanned th
e article. “Let’s try this other daughter, Louise.”
“Okay, but how do we get her to give us Veronica’s info? I don’t think you’re going to get much out of her if you try to tell her what’s going on here, do you?”
“No.”
Steve studied the stack of articles.
“I have an idea, though. I think I’ve got a perfect plan of how to do it!”
Chapter 24
“Hello, this is Veronica Ryder,” said Veronica, into the phone.
“Veronica? Hi! My name is Steve Connor. You don’t know me, but I need to talk to you. You’re from Elysburg, Pennsylvania, right?”
“Yes,” said Veronica, with hesitation. “How can I help you?”
“Right. Well, I, we, need to talk to you about your mom’s death in Mexico.”
“I’m sorry, who did you say you’re with?”
“With? Uh, no one. I mean, this isn’t a business call at all. Look, Ms. Ryder, we need to talk. . .in person. I think we should do it soon. Have you seen a preacher?”
“Look, Steve is it? I don’t know who you are or what kind of scam you’re running, but I do not have the time or the interest to continue this conversation. Do not call again.”
Steve heard the line go dead and then switch back to dial tone.
“Well?” asked Martin, sitting across from Steve.
“Well, I think that could’ve gone better.”
Steve and Martin were sitting in the lobby of their New York hotel. They’d arrived late last night after boarding a flight from Norfolk International to LaGuardia. Martin had only been to New York City once, but Steve had been several times for technology conferences. He knew his way around well enough to get them settled into a reasonably priced independent hotel in nearby Midtown.
“She didn’t say anything about the preacher?” asked Martin.
“She basically didn’t say anything about anything. I think it got to her when I mentioned her mom. It was pretty much downhill from there. She told me not to call her again.”
“Okay. So what now? How far is it to her office from here?”
Steve pulled his file folder out of his rucksack and searched for the sticky note with Veronica’s information on it.
“Let’s see. We are on 57th Street and Fifth. Her office is down 23rd, near Park. That’s not very far. We can grab a cab out front and be there in about 10 minutes.”
Steve shoved the folder back into his backpack.
“How far is it to walk?” asked Martin.
“Walk? Wow. I dunno. Probably two miles. But this is New York, Martin, in March.”
“Good. Let’s walk. That’ll give her time to cool down and us time to figure out what we’re going to say when we get there that she’ll actually listen to.”
Steve looked at his traveling companion skeptically.
“Don’t you want to get there quickly? I am very eager to hear if she is having the same experiences as we are.”
“Yes, of course, I want to talk to her. I can’t explain to you how bizarre this whole experience has been for me. Hearing my daughter’s voice on that radio . . . it was beautiful, but scary at the same time. Trust me when I say I want answers too. That’s why I think we should take the long route. It’ll give us some time to come up with the right words to keep her from throwing us out.”
Steve nodded.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “That makes sense. I suppose a slight delay is worth it in the long run. But it’s gonna be cold out there, man. Bundle up!”
They gathered their coats and headed out the revolving door that opened up onto the sounds of the morning rush hour traffic in Midtown Manhattan. Steve took the lead as they walked down Fifth Avenue. Last night’s snow was piled on the sidewalks, but it was already a dingy dishwater gray from the constant foot traffic and vehicle exhaust. Only a block into their trek, they were feeling pummeled by the weather. Wind gathered speed as it squeezed through the narrow alleyways and clawed at their exposed ears. The frigid air caused their noses to run and their toes to numb.
“So, you’ve only been here once?” asked Steve.
“Yes sir, long time ago. June had a conference on technology in the courtroom or some such thing, way back in the 80s. I tagged along to take a bite out of the Big Apple. I remember it being a lot dirtier then, but it was definitely warmer.”
“Well, first thing you should know about the city is that nobody here calls it the ‘Big Apple.’ Second thing to keep in mind is that if you know where to look, you can always find something beautiful here, no matter what season or what weather. Come on, I’ll show you what I mean.”
He stopped short and pointed out a bronze statue of a muscular man holding a sphere of banded metal.
“Know this guy?” Steve asked.
“Looks a little familiar,” replied Martin. “Atlas maybe?”
“You got it. He was a half-man, half god who fought against the gods of Olympia. He thought he was the bomb. He did all right at it, ‘til he lost that war. After he was defeated, the gods punished him by forcing him to carry the earth on his shoulders.”
Martin nodded and circled the statue, admiring the bronze work.
“You know, I think I know how he feels.”
“Yeah, exactly. But look at his expression. Impossible burden, yet he’s defiant in the face of it. That’s where I want to be.”
“Amen to that.”
“C’mere, let me show you one more thing.” Steve led Martin around the back of the statue.
“Back up with me here. Now check him out from the back,” he said. They stood several feet away from the statue, which faced Fifth Avenue. Atlas kneeled under the weight of the world.
“What am I looking for?” Martin asked.
“Well, here’s something I’ve always wondered—never made much out of it until now. I’ve been thinking about it since we decided to come to the City. Is he kneeling ‘cause of the weight, or is he praying, looking over there for strength?”
Martin followed Steve’s words and recognized for the first time the towering dual spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral across Fifth Avenue. The statue almost seemed to be bowing down, in the face of the church.
“I’ll be darned. How about that? You think that was intentional?”
“I dunno. I don’t want to find out either. I’d like to think so. I guess what you see and what you take from it sometimes starts from within.”
Martin took off his gloves and placed his palms on the marble base of the statue. He stared up at the bronze demi-god.
“Come on, I’ve got one more stop for you,” Steve said.
They walked through the plaza to the observation deck above the skating rink. Despite the cold and the dreary winter sky overhead, the rink itself was loud and crowded with young couples, old couples, parents and children. Shouts of greeting and laughter rose above the music at the rink in echoing tones up to the balcony where Martin and Steve watched the crowd below. Steve watched the young couples. Martin watched the families with young children as they fell on the ice, laughing as they lost their balance and slid up and down.
“Gives you hope,” Steve remarked.
“Oh yeah, we got hope in the world—but it needs to be stronger.”
“It’s nice to see it, though,” said Steve. “Freezing cold, nasty skies, brutal wind . . . yet people are still laughing, smiling and in love.”
They watched the skaters below for several minutes.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Steve asked.
“Sure.”
“I cannot imagine what it would be like to lose a child. The pain of it. . .I can’t even begin to realize that. How do you, y’know, deal with that?”
“Well, you just do, I suppose. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am still a right-bit messed up inside over her these days. But I’ve got 20 years of memories, beautiful memories, to look back on. That doesn’t make it easy, but it makes it bearable. And I can do bearable for as long as it takes to move on.”
“No, Steve. There is a difference, and if you don’t mind my saying so, you’d do well to learn it, too. I don’t want to forget. . .and I never will. But we can’t let it consume us. If you do, it will run you down and destroy you. There’s no way your wife would’ve wanted that.”
Steve listened, watching the skaters below. Silent moments passed slowly between them.
“Besides,” said Martin, “Maggie told me to be strong, and I am not gonna let her down!”