On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

  Veronica nodded. She folded the letter, put it in the envelope and handed it back to Steve.

  “So what does this have to do with me?”

  “Well, after I got this letter, I did some investigating. It sounds to me like some kind of crazy, advanced identity theft job or something like that, although Martin here doesn’t think so. Regardless, I did some snooping at the Say Goodbye website. I looked around and found this list, hidden in the files on the site.”

  He rifled through his file folder and, once again, he slowly leaned across the table and handed her the list of names he had found.

  “You’ll see I am on there and Martin and you. And there’s one other person, a teenaged girl in Texas. We’re pretty sure that list has all the details of each incident: how you were related, how they died, how you were contacted, all that.”

  “So what? You guys had that in common and decided that was enough to justify harassing me?”

  “No,” said Martin, “it’s not like that. It’s more than this list and the letter. There is something else at work. This isn’t something we can easily explain. That was my daughter I heard!”

  “You mean like a ghost?” asked Veronica.

  “No, not a ghost. It’s something much more. . .spiritual.”

  “To Martin, it is,” interrupted Steve. “I am not sure what I think it is yet. But he is right at least on one part—it isn’t something we can easily explain. Did you send a message?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I told you. I deleted the message right after I read it. What about this girl?” Veronica looked down at Steve’s list. “Abigail? Have you talked to her yet?”

  Steve shook his head.

  “No, we thought it would be difficult trying to talk to her. She’s just a kid, and I found this article about her brother who died.” Steve passed the clipping to Veronica.

  “We thought it’d be easier to talk to you first,” admitted Steve.

  “Although, in hindsight, that might’ve been a mistake,” said Martin with complete sincerity.

  “Well, tell me, exactly what did you expect?” Veronica asked. “You call me at work, show up uninvited at my office with some crazy story about my mom. Did you think I’d just invite you up for cocktails, and we’d sit around and shoot the shit? Get real.”

  Steve and Martin were silent.

  “How did you find me, anyway? There must be a lot of Veronica Ryders in the City.”

  “Yeah, dozens,” Steve replied. “I called your sister.”

  “Louise?”

  “Yeah, lots of Veronica Ryders in NYC, but only one Louise Weldon in Elysburg. I got her name from your mom’s obituary.”

  “Christ. Don’t tell me you gave her this story, and she handed over my contact info?”

  “No, I figured she wouldn’t go for that,” said Steve. “So I. . .fudged a little bit. I told her I was a rep from a life insurance company where your mother had established a small policy and I needed contact info for all of her children so that I could mail out the checks. When I told her there was money involved, she was quick to pony up the info. I am very sorry, Veronica. If it helps, I did feel bad about it. But we couldn’t come up with a better way to find you here.”

  “I told him to think of something better,” Martin chimed in.

  “You didn’t mention anything about the SCUBA diving to her, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “If you don’t mind, Veronica,” said Martin, “can you tell us about how your mom died?”

  “She was SCUBA diving in Cozumel. Well, she was taking lessons, learning how to dive. And somehow, during the dive, she had a heart attack.”

  The executive stood and paced her office. She walked to the window, gun still in her hand.

  “I don’t understand it. That is one of the most basic rules of diving—never dive if you feel the least bit ill. Surely she must’ve known that, and don’t heart attacks build up? There were dozens of people in the water with her. The police in Cozumel were very thorough to rule out any crimes, but I still feel like there’s more to it. I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back there though.”

  Martin noticed the colorful underwater photos adorning her bookshelf and desk.

  “I loved Cozumel,” said Martin. “My ex-wife and I went there for our honeymoon, nearly 25 years ago now. It was a great little beach town. A very affordable honeymoon spot for a junior pharmacist and his law-student bride.”

  “Are you a diver, too?” he asked.

  “Yes, have been for years. My sister already blames me for my mom’s death. She says I made her ‘old before her time,’ because it stressed her that I was out here making a name for myself instead of sticking around Elysburg. Have either of you even heard of Elysburg?”

  Both men shook their heads.

  “Of course you haven’t,” she continued. “Because there is nothing there. If my sister knew that my mom died learning how to SCUBA dive, I think she’d put a hit out on me.”

  She walked to the shelf and picked up a pounded sterling silver frame with primitive waves engraved in it, brought it to Martin, and handed it over, as if it were an offering. “That was taken about a year ago, in Chankanaab Lagoon.”

  Martin studied the vibrant color show, full of green and gold neon fish swimming over a hill of brilliant orange and purple coral formations. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  “It was,” she replied.

  He placed the picture on the table. “Look, Veronica,” he said softly, “clearly your mother’s passing has impacted you.”

  “Impacted?” she asked. “Impacted. Never thought of it that way. But yes, it impacted me. I still have a lot of questions that I guess will never be answered now.”

  “But you see,” said Steve. “That’s it! That’s what seems to be connecting us.”

  “All of us were ‘impacted’ by the death of a loved one,” he stressed. “We are all reaching out for something, someone who was taken from us. Then, like a godsend, these messages show up. Martin and I both took the bait, and the responses we got knocked us for a loop. I am willing to bet you a New York deli sandwich that if you had sent a message you would’ve gotten something just as big back.”

  “But I didn’t, Steve,” she said. “Look, I get what you’re saying. I really do. You guys seem legit, but I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. It’s a pre-requisite for working in advertising, I suppose. I didn’t send a message, and even if I were to send one now, it wouldn’t change me that much.”

  “But don’t you want closure?” asked Martin.

  “Closure? With my mom? Sure I do. But she’s dead. That’s pretty final.” Then, in a softer tone, she continued: “Look, I am not wired like that. If I can’t see it, shoot it, sell it or otherwise enjoy it, I’m not interested. I wish you the best of luck, but I’m afraid I am the proverbial dead-end for you.”

  The room was silent.

  “Well, I guess that’s our cue then,” said Martin, standing.

  “So that’s it?” asked Steve, also standing.

  “Yes, I am afraid so,” said Veronica.

  Steve opened his rucksack.

  “Look, Veronica, here’s my card. It has my cell number on it. Please call me if you want to talk more or anything, okay?”

  Veronica accepted the card and read it before placing it on her desk. “Sure. But don’t wait by the phone.”

  “Okay,” said Steve, extending a hand. “Well, thanks Veronica, we appreciate your time.”

  She took and shook his hand, and then did the same with Martin.

  “Thanks, Veronica,” said Martin. “It’s been a pleasure.”

  Together, they all three walked to the door. Veronica unlocked it and said, “I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

  “That’s okay,” said Steve. “We know the way, really.”

  She stopped in the doorway and watched them leave.

  “Oh wait, there is one more thing,” Steve said. “Have you seen a preac
her, either in real life or in your dreams?”

  “A preacher?”

  “Yes. There is this guy who looks like a preacher and seems to be haunting our dreams. Now we’ve both seen him in real life. too.”

  “I didn’t see him for real, but he was in my pharmacy, before I even heard from my daughter,” interrupted Martin. He handed Veronica the blurry photo he still carried in his pocket.

  “We’re not sure what he has to do with it,” said Steve. “We haven’t worked that out yet. But there’s something not right about him.”

  “You guys have really lost me now,” said Veronica, handing the grainy print-out back to Martin. “We’re definitely done here.”

  “Okay, well, thanks for talking with us. Please call me if you change your mind or think of anything else.”

  “I will.”

  She watched them walk back down the aisle of workstations toward the elevator.

  “Be careful,” she yelled after them.

  They turned. Steve waved and nodded. Martin smiled at her. She waved back, and then they were gone.

  Back at her desk, she re-read Steve’s business card, then opened her center drawer and dropped it onto a pile of other cards still waiting to be organized.

  Chapter 27

  A few hours after the two men had left Veronica’s office, her phone rang. She answered on the second ring.

  “Ms. Ryder?” said a familiar voice. “This is Officer Roth again, with Security.”

  “Yes, Officer. How can I help you?”

  She expected him to say that Martin and Steve had returned. For a moment, she saw them in her mind’s eye, camping out in the lobby, refusing to take no for an answer.

  “Sorry to bother you again ma’am, but you have another visitor.” He stressed another as if it were an inconvenience for him to coordinate the building’s visitors.

  “Really? Who is it?”

  “Well ma’am, it’s a preacher, I think.”

  Veronica felt the gooseflesh run up her bare upper arms. She shuddered.

  “A preacher?” she gasped and fumbled her words. “Is he. . .right there next to you?” she whispered.

  “No ma’am. He’s uh. . .he’s. . .I think he’s talking to himself actually. I thought he was on a cell phone, but it looks like he’s just standing there talking to the wall.”

  “What does he want? Did he give you a name? What does he look like?”

  “He won’t give me a name. He said to tell you that ‘the true Lord’s messenger has arrived.’ I can’t seem to get much else out of him.”

  “Okay, fine. What does he look like?”

  “He looks like a preacher. He’s got on a black suit with the white collar, big, wide-brimmed black hat, and he’s carrying a Bible. He’s real tall, super skinny and has really white skin- - -almost like an albino, ya know? This guy’d have to run back and forth in the shower to get wet.”

  Roth paused to chuckle at his own joke. “He’s got real white hair. Not real long, but a little scruffy- looking for somebody who spends his time in a pulpit, if you ask me.”

  Veronica opened her purse and pulled out her gun. The rough, cool grip was reassuring. Something was wrong. The air around her felt heavy, harder to breathe either from or into. It was 6:50 on a Friday night. The office was nearly deserted and almost dark. She had to leave, now. She wanted people. She needed warmth and light.

  “Uh, Ms. Ryder?” asked Officer Roth. “Look, ma’am, I am getting ready to close up. Should I send him up, or do you want to come down or what?”

  “No. Please, Officer Roth, do me a favor. Please keep him there for a few more minutes and then send him away.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Keep him occupied for a few minutes and then tell him that I am not available. Take a message or something, but tell him I am busy.”

  “Ma’am, if you are concerned for your safety, I—“

  “Officer Roth? Look, I sincerely appreciate your concern for me today. But no, I am fine. Please just do me this favor—keep him there for a few minutes, and then tell him I am gone, please?” It came out more pleading than she had intended.

  Roth hesitated. “Okay, ma’am. Will do.”

  “Thank you, Officer Roth,” she replied. “Take care.” She shoved the gun back into her purse.

  “You too, ma’am,” he said, hanging up the phone.

  As she locked her office, Veronica remembered Steve’s card. She ran back in, snatched it out of the drawer, and jammed it into her purse. She re-locked her office door, took off her heels and jogged across the stillness of the darkened office, feeling terribly exposed. She pressed the call button on the wall, stepped into the elevator when it arrived, and quickly pressed “P” for the parking garage under the building.

  The elevator seemed painfully slow to her. The only sounds were the hum of the overhead motor and the soft tones of arrival as the car passed each floor. Veronica felt the sweat forming on the small of her back. Her breathing came in short gasps, and she felt her heart thumping in a tight staccato rhythm. She was confident that the sides of the elevator were moving toward her. Dropping her briefcase on the floor and putting her back to the wall, she reached her hand down into her purse again and closed her fingers around the grip of her .45 caliber. The cool steel felt good to her overheated body. She tried to relax, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly.

  When the elevator opened, she found a garage nearly empty of vehicles and deserted. She picked up her briefcase and jog-walked to the exit and out onto the city street. The evening was cool, but very inviting. As always, the traffic was jumping and people were moving up and down the block. It was a welcome change for her after the agonizing moments alone in the elevator. She hailed a taxi.

  As she settled into the safety of the cab, the cabbie turned and greeted her. “Evening, sweet thing,” he said in southern drawl. He smiled at her, and she noticed he was wearing dark sunglasses. He was tall— that much she could see from the back seat.

  She gave him her home address. “Please swing around the front of the building first. I want to check on something.”

  She watched his long reddish-blonde ponytail bob as he nodded. Then he turned around and smiled at her.

  “Sure thing, darlin’.”

  When he pulled up to the corner of the block, she couldn’t stop herself. “You always wear sunglasses at night?”

  “Ma’am, it’s a bright road that I travel on.”

  Veronica let the conversation drop. They reached the corner and turned to the right.

  “Go slowly past the lobby, please.”

  He did as he was told, and as they inched past the plate glass windows that made up the walls of the front lobby, Veronica felt her anxiety grow. She saw the security desk, but Officer Roth was not behind it. The preacher was there, crouched down over the desk, with his back to Veronica. He was tall and skinny, as Roth had described. From this direction, his height and the black suit reminded Veronica of a pale, wispy imitation of Abraham Lincoln. Without warning, he spun around and stared right at Veronica through the windows. She slammed her head back against the car seat, out of sight. She was trembling.

  “Okay, go, please, go!”

  The driver sped up, silently nodding, ponytail bobbing again. He stopped short at the next traffic light. Veronica caught a glimpse of Officer Roth, as he sprinted out of an alley and launched himself at her door. The impact rocked the cab. Instinctively, she locked her door, Officer Roth tried the handle. He had his tazer out and smashed it against the glass of her window. His eyes had rolled back in his head. All she could see was a white lifeless socket. Spittle splashed from his mouth onto the cab’s window, as he tried to force his way in.

  “Go, please God, go!” she screamed at the driver, kicking the back of the seat. Without hesitation, the driver sped across the intersection, but Roth grasped the edge of the trunk and held onto the cab as it carried him across the intersection. Less than a block later, he lost his grip, and Veronica saw him fall int
o the street. The cab behind hers bounced heavily, as it rolled over Roth and stopped. Veronica watched through the rear window until the scene was obscured by traffic. She turned back to the driver.

  “Shouldn’t we stop? Or at least call the cops?” she demanded, as the driver wove through traffic.

  “No,” he replied, with eyes on the road.

  She liked that answer. She didn’t want to go back there, for any reason. She hadn’t done anything wrong, right? She wondered if Roth were dead. Was that even really Roth anymore? She hadn’t actually known him at all; he had been a fixture, just like the desk he occupied. But he was (had been?) a person. Back in that alley he was something different. His eyes were lifeless, like a zombie out of a B horror movie. And the preacher—who was he? What did he want? She wanted answers, but more important right now, she wanted to put some distance between herself and what she had just experienced.