Grimes stood up with a grunt of effort.
“What happened? With that woman, I mean.” They left the regression the moment Everett got into the stranger’s car. “Was she connected to the House of Cabal? And what’s inside the box?”
“Tomorrow. Eight AM. We will continue and you’ll get your answers. Now go. And next time, wear something more comfortable.” Grimes paused at the doorway without looking back. “I don’t like suits. Now get out of here.” He left Chuck to find his own way out.
III
As Chuck drove home, he listened to the recordings about that stormy night in Portland back in 2000 and relived Everett’s traumatic memories. While listening to the attempted rape, he started to cry uncontrollably and had to pull off an off ramp, half blind, and over to the side of the road. It wasn’t just a story. He was there. He witnessed it firsthand.
“What have you done to me? What have you done?”
His whole body felt limp and exhausted by the time he stopped crying.
“Okay. I have to get home.”
He had witnessed Everett’s past. He didn’t know it, but I had witnessed it with him.
The regression was a way for me to follow Everett’s destiny thread without needing to see the actual thread. The two of them hadn’t arrived at the House of Cabal yet, but it was only a matter of time. By hitching a ride on the humans as they explored using the regression, I could witness the events of the timeline without actually exploring the timeline myself. I wasn’t sure how it worked, but that too would become clear eventually. This was something new, something no other angel had experienced, and it was my salvation.
I had found my way inside.
Chapter 7
Chuck, having regained his composure during the rest of the drive, stepped through the front door of his suburban home, anxious to see his wife Meredith.
He put down his briefcase by the door. Biff, a Labrador and Shepherd mix, padded up and licked his hand. Chuck wanted Meredith’s comfort but also knew she would probably be upset that he’d gone missing for a night. With Biff at his heels, he rushed into the front room.
She wasn’t in her Gustav Stickley rocking chair, where he thought she would be.
She received the heavy, oak, Mission style rocker as a gift from her daughter shortly after the twins were born. It was two-hundred and fifteen years old and symbolized Meredith’s transition to grandmotherhood. Meredith rocked in it whenever she was anxious. She’d even taken up knitting. The black and white scarf she was working on was much further along than it had been yesterday.
Maybe she was tired of waiting and went shopping or to the college to grade papers. Her class wasn’t for a few hours, but she could have gone early.
He would make it up to her somehow. He would take her into his arms and tell her how sorry he was for neglecting her. That would be a start at least.
There was a noise from the back of the house.
“Meredith?”
It sounded like it was coming from his study, like an intruder was ransacking his work.
It was Meredith rifling through his files.
“What are you doing?”
When she saw him, she ran to him without hesitation, and they embraced.
“Where have you been?!” She stepped back and gave him the most burning glare she could manage with teary eyes. Her fine auburn hair was in a ratted mess. The bags under her eyes were swollen from the late night of worrying, her forty-nine years in stark evidence across her brow. Chuck thought that, even if she didn’t look her best, she still looked beautiful.
“I’m fine, sweetie. I tried calling you this morning.”
“My phone isn’t working.”
He switched off the mobile phone jammer near his desk. “You were by the jammer.”
“What?”
He hadn’t told her about the jammer. Technically they were illegal.
“It doesn’t reach much farther than my office. I use it when I’m working so I don’t get distracted. I must have forgotten to turn it off.”
She tried her best impression of silent outrage.
“I didn’t mean to worry you, honey. There were complications and I couldn’t really call you last night. You know how these interviews go. Hey, I said I would be back by ten.”
“Ten P.M. yesterday!”
“Can we go sit down?” The rape attempt rumbled in the back of his mind, and he just wanted to say how much he loved her and for her to return the sentiment. He didn’t have the energy to argue.
She didn’t move except to cross her arms.
Scattered behind her on his desk were photos of bloated bodies washed up on the beach.
“I couldn’t get a hold of you on your cell. I went through your files to find out where Grimes lived—”
He collected the photos into a file. “Meredith, I didn’t tell you the gory details because I know you. You sleep with a night light.”
“Chuck?! Some of those people weren’t killed in the quake. That one didn’t even look human. What the hell happened there?”
“Meredith, stop. I was hypnotized.” Once it was out, he knew it sounded stupid.
“You were what?”
“Please, can we go sit? I’ll explain everything. I’m just really tired.”
“Chuck, are you all right?” She put her hand on his shoulder.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
She followed him. They sat down together on the couch in the front room.
Meredith pulled out her cell phone and saw that it was working again. With a few taps, the front curtains opened, bathing the room in natural light.
“I’m fine. I was just really worried. Talk to me. We haven’t really talked since you started researching this new book.”
He looked down at his hands. He was having second thoughts about telling her.
She tried to coax him. “I was lost without you yesterday. The bank called. I had no idea what to tell them. And I had to find a new vet for Biff. Kathleen helped me, but who knows if they’re any good.”
Chuck took her hands. “You have always been stronger.” She shook her head, but he continued. “No, I realize that now. When Bobby tried to kill himself, I shut off. But you, you were angry and loving and unafraid.”
“Chuck! I was so afraid. We could have lost him!”
“You were there for him.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You got him help. He opened up to you. I never told you this, but I was jealous.”
“Of what?”
“I couldn’t face him. Or you. I just… I mean, our only son wanted to die, and I…” His voice subtly trembled from being so open. “I’ve talked to him maybe once about being gay. I don’t know what I’m doing. I freeze up. I interview people for a living and I can’t even talk to my own son about anything that’s important. My dad struggled with depression his whole life, and he never talked about it. He just sort of powered through and his marriage fell apart and… I don’t know. I feel like a coward.”
“You just went to a killer’s house. You’re not a coward.”
“I love you. I don’t say it enough. I’m sorry for being so distant…and stupid.”
“It’s okay. You can’t help it.”
He tried not to laugh. “I’m serious. I’ve been burying myself in my work.”
“It’s what you do.”
“More than usual, I mean.”
“To avoid me?”
He shook his head, but she wasn’t exactly wrong. “Everything got so big. Everything just... You’re more important to me—I know I don’t always show it, but you’re more important than my book.”
She squeezed his hand, thinking he was acting out of character. He wasn’t one to get sentimental like this. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
He leaned forward and gently kissed her. He felt safe, ready to tell her anything. But what could he say? He had witnessed a sexual assault that happened in someone else’s memory? It s
ounded insane.
“I went to Mr. Grimes’s house, and he…” Chuck paused, searching for a better way to say it. “He thought of a unique way to tell his story. He hypnotized me so that I regressed with him into his past. My mind made everything he said real.”
“Chuck! Hypnotic regression? Can’t that be dangerous? I know I let you have that hypnotist at your party, but…”
“I didn’t realize it was happening until it was over. He hypnotized himself too.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He relived his past and described it to me.”
“Did he relive his murders?”
“He has a lot of issues, but I don’t think he’s a murderer. He reminds me of Bobby in a lot of ways.”
She shook her head.
“There must be some reason he wasn’t charged with anything, some reason the FBI swept the whole thing under the rug. He’s not that far into his story yet. I’m going back tomorrow to find out.”
“You’re letting him mess with your mind again?”
“I need to do this.”
She took her hands from his. “Have you read Bobby’s novel yet? You promised him that you would talk to him about it tomorrow.”
“Not yet. This is important.”
“Bobby is important. It’s really good.”
“You read it? He gave it to me! It’s a work in progress. He didn’t want just anyone reading it. Oh, you know what I mean.”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Fine. It’s just as well. He at least respects you. He obviously thinks I’m a fucking sellout.”
“Chuck, you can’t keep using your work as an excuse to push people away.”
“You didn’t judge Bobby. You were understanding. I need you to understand me.”
“What am I suppose to understand? You’re just being stubborn. Postpone the interview a few days. Better yet, don’t go back at all.”
Chuck shook his head and said quietly, “I can’t do that.”
She stood up, too angry to sit still. “You always do this. You say how important I am—you give this long speech about the importance of family—but nothing changes.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple!”
He patted the cushion. She refused to sit back down.
“Bobby doesn’t need advice from his stuffy father. He’ll be fine without my help.”
“You don’t need to do this. We don’t need the money.”
“It’s not about the money. This isn’t like the others. What happened at the estate haunts Everett. And he’s running out of time. He has a brain tumor. I can’t fight about this anymore. I know you’re upset, but I’m exhausted, and I still need to call Warren.”
He stood up and hugged her; he wanted to hold her longer, but she pushed him away.
“Listen to the interview tapes. They’re in my briefcase by the front door. After you hear them, you’ll understand. Trust me.”
“I need to finish grading papers before class. I know you love your work, that it means the world to you, I’ve always understood that, but that doesn’t mean you have to alienate our children.”
“I’ll spend time with Bobby next week. I promise.” He gave her a smile that he hoped showed her how much he loved her. “Could you ask Carlos to whip up something for breakfast? I’m starving.”
She gave him a light kiss. “Chuck, if you ever worry me like that again...” She suddenly looked upset.
“I have it under control.”
She left the front room thinking that the man she loved was probably a selfish bastard from the beginning.
Carlos was out, likely buying groceries, and so Meredith decided to be daring and scramble up some eggs on her own. On the master keypad on the wall, she pressed “Morning” and the blinds in the kitchen rose, the coffee machine started, and the satellite radio turned on to NPR. She ignited a gas burner and looked for a pan.
Over the years, as Chuck’s career took off, she became increasingly dependent on a whole staff to run her relatively modest house. She wasn’t proud of the fact, especially after the kids left the house and she had nothing to do. On the advice of her life coach, she decided to go back to teaching algebra three days a week at a local community college to feel useful again. That was years ago, and now it wasn’t enough; each day, she felt more and more like a kept woman.
Chuck had never been that enthusiastic about her pursuing her own interests. She was an emotional safety net that gave him courage to write, and if she had a life of her own, that safety net might not be there. He only showed her affection when his ego was fragile from writing setbacks. A part of her hated him for that, but it had been that way forever. She always pined for him, and he always promised to make her a priority.
He wasn’t going to change, but maybe she could.
She texted her friend Kathleen Davis, a colleague from the college. “New game plan. Call me.” Meredith called the agency, gave her personal assistant the week off, and said that she wouldn’t be needing Carlos’s services anymore. “No, Carlos is amazing. I would be glad to write him a glowing recommendation. It’s just, I’ve decided to do my own cooking for a while.”
How ironic it was to declare her independence by making her husband a meal. It was only a first step, and she decided not be so hard on herself. The rubbery eggs were okay with a little extra salt and pepper. If Chuck noticed a difference, he didn’t say. Like always, he was too wrapped up in his work to notice much of anything.
Chapter 8
Cassette Tape Five:
In the Box
Within the gray fuzz of entering regression, you hear windshield wipers thut thut thut and a well-tuned engine quietly hum. Welcome back, Chuck.
You hear a warm female voice in front of you: “When we get there, you can take a hot shower. You’ll figure something out.”
And then my deeper voice, to the right of hers. “Do you do this often?”
“What? Take home naked guys off the street?”
“Yeah.”
“Almost never.”
Before the fuzz clears completely, you run your hands over the leather interior of the backseat to reassure yourself that this reality is solid.
We are in Dana Parr’s 2000 Audi S4. I asked about the model; otherwise, I would have no idea.
With Dana’s coat draped over my lap, I lift my hips and pull off my wet, cold boxer shorts. I spread my legs and lean forward so that my scrotum rests against the heated seat. It’s perverted, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let my balls freeze off. I warm my hands over the air vents. The newspaper and package are on the floor at my feet.
“So you were in your underwear, and you just ran for it?” A red light stops us on the outskirts of downtown. “I would have never done something so crazy.” She laughs and adds, straight-faced, “No offense.”
“I did it without thinking. I’m not usually like this.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
The traffic light turns green.
“I’m serious. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
I’ve been glancing at her legs. Her elegant red dress has ridden up and now reaches mid-thigh. People mentally undress me, but it’s not threatening. She has to size men up. Any man could be a predator. How safe does she feel with me?
She must think about rape every day.
“And what idea is that?”
In my mind, my hand glides along her soft skin, past her knees, between warm inner thighs. Warmth. I’m so cold, and she would be so warm. She is driving us to her house, expecting sex. I have no doubt about that. I’ve never had a one-night stand before.
I catch myself and look back up into her face. “I reached my breaking point.”
She looks concerned.
I rub my hands together to keep the blood circulating. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You have the package. Why haven’t you opened it? Couldn’t this one have a time limit to
o?”
“You’re right.”
I grab the package from the floor and pull at the twine with my cold fingers. The knot is too tight, and so I try to loosen it with my teeth.
“There should be a pocket knife in the glove compartment.”
I find a Swiss army knife under the car insurance information and unfold the largest blade.
The idea of stabbing Dana flashes in my mind. A stab with such a short blade wouldn’t kill anyone. It would have to be slashes.
I cut through the twine and tape and picture cutting people at the gay bar. My attacker gets kicked in the face. Blood drains from his broken nose. His whisper brushes my ear as he presses into me. I would like it. He told me so.
Despite my rain baptismal, I’m still unclean.
Worried I’ll somehow cut myself accidentally, I return the knife to the glove box and slam the door shut.
“Something wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She glances at me, her brow wrinkling. “You just seem…”
I gently remove the butcher paper, careful not to ruin the return address, and place it on the dash so that the vents dry out the rain spatter.
This leaves a plain white box for me to open.
My stomach tenses. I’m reluctant to proceed.
“Go ahead.”
I pull off the lid and reveal a twelve-inch, black, metal key. Balanced on my hand, it feels heavier than the whole package felt before I opened it.
At the bottom of the box, I find a piece of paper.
“There’s another note.”
I use the passing city lights to read it to myself.
=>8<=
The first test was yours to win or lose,
But in the end there’ll only be one we choose.
For now, take pride
At least you tried.
You have no choice but freedom plenty.
That is the paradox of a life so empty.
I turn the paper over. There is nothing on the back. My eyes water. I swallow hard.
House of Cabal Volume One: Eden Page 9