by Jeff Siamon
“Come on,” she urged him, opening her door. “I’ll make you that coffee I promised you.”
“Well, I don’t know.” He was wavering. As was his niggling. “It’s maybe late for coffee.”
“Okay. I know just the thing. Some hot cocoa. They say warm milk makes you sleepy.” The notion of “sleepy” brought a flush to her cheeks. She hadn’t meant it like that.
“Oh. Okay, I guess. If you don’t mind.”
Of course, she didn’t mind.
The place, her apartment, was down a flight of stairs into the basement. It was one room. The size of Connie’s apartment. A counter kitchen with stove, mini-fridge and sink was beneath a wide window. A sofa bed was on the opposite wall. Its bed pulled out with covers shoved aside. Half on, half off the mattress. A lamp on a side table beside the bed was on. The only light in the room. A low wattage bulb so that when he looked, he couldn’t quite make out the three pictures on the wall above the bed. Between the bed and the counter was a card-table size table with one chair pushed underneath its top. On the other side of the bed from the night table, there was a rocking chair. The clothes draped onto its seat and arms obviously belonged to Vicky. Behind the chair were two doors spaced about four feet apart. A calendar was pinned to one of the doors and a print of the Ancient Mariner tacked to the other.
“Give me a minute,” she told him. “Have a seat.” She hastily swooped up the clothes from the rocking chair. Looked at the open outside door as if to ask him to close it. And opened the door with the calendar ─ the bathroom door ─ which she went into.
Connie closed the outside door.
He looked around the room. The way a person does when he finds himself invading someone’s personal space. Uncomfortably. Sensing an intimacy that he wasn’t sure he wanted. He tried to get a closer look at the pictures on the wall. Maybe they would stand in for how the room was making him feel. He walked to the bed and peered. He couldn’t see much in the dim light. They looked like photographs.
“There!” Vicky came out of the bathroom, hastily dressed. “Now I’m decent.” She bit her lip on the comment. That wasn’t what she had meant to say. And she hoped it was too dark for Connie to see her blush.
It was. And anyway, he preferred to stare at the pictures. Safer.
She stood in the doorway of the bathroom. Its light framed her in silhouette. While the glow from the side table lamp illuminated the softness of her face and made her lips seem ready to be kissed.
The pictures rescued him from saying how beautiful she looked. For he knew ─ he better know ─ that his coming here was not about sex. He had to get serious. He couldn’t sex away his niggling.
“Where’d you get the photographs?”
“Uh … They’re mine.” She laughed the laugh of someone who was overly modest about her accomplishments.
He saw her blush, though not the color. Just the effect it had on her face. A sensual glow. “You took these?”
“Yeah. My dad … You remember, Dad’s an architect. He had them printed at his office. He doesn’t drink anymore,” she added just to set the record straight.
“Oh.” He remembered. Megan’s father was an architect. “They’re good.”
“Thanks,” she said after a beat of embarrassed silence. “I’m glad you like them.”
That beat went on for a full minute. Connie tried to think of something more to say about the photos. Other than another “they’re good.” Vicky couldn’t think of anything to say. She had put on some makeup. Quickly. A little lip rouge. And brushed her short hair. (She knew how it wanted to stick up after she had been asleep.) That was the only comment she could make. And, judging from the way he darted glances at her, he heard it.
Silence between two people alone together invariably made them either feel awkward or brought them closer together. Neither of them was sure which it was to be.
“So. Do you want some cocoa?” She felt the sexual tension. So did Connie. “Sorry about the mess.” She glanced at the bed. And that induced another blush. And another beat of silence.
“I should be the one who’s sorry. For getting you up.”
Small talk tried to take the place of the uncomfortable silences.
“Oh, I wasn’t really asleep. I was thinking about what you said happened at the hospital.”
He nodded to that. That’s where the niggling had begun.
“You can have the rocking chair.” Both looked at the rocking chair. “It’s the only thing comfortable here except the sofa. But I could make up the bed and push it in if you want to sit on the sofa.”
“No, that’s okay.”
More beats of silence.
This wasn’t going well, Vicky thought. Not that she had any idea how it should go. But she had tried to make herself look ─ she didn’t want to use the word “pretty.” Look presentable.
Connie felt the same. He should either get on with why he had come here or leave. Which was probably what he should do anyway, he decided after glances at the unmade bed and at Vicky. What was she going to say to his “niggle”? Probably think he was crazy. Which seemed to be the theme of the month. And either way, he thought, what difference would it make? He was just looking for some kind of confirmation. But confirmation wasn’t going to affect whatever craziness was really going on.
“So,” she said to break the long silence. “Cocoa?” She didn’t need to hear his thoughts to know how he felt about coming to her place. His body language said it all. As did the set, faraway look on his face. “You sit there.” She pointed to the rocking chair. “I’ll make the cocoa. It won’t but take a minute. And you can tell me what’s happened.”
“What’s happened?” He was purposely being obtuse.
“You know. My crystal ball. Something’s happened, right?”
That seemed to have decided him. Her crystal ball. He might as well spit out his niggling. Then maybe it would go away. Maybe her crystal ball would make some sense of it.
He told her what happened. The crash. The missing driver. Ending with his “niggling.”
“There’s something going on here that has nothing to do with what I thought was happening to me. I don’t know what it is. But even though I seem to be part of it, it’s bigger than me. And it’s decidedly weird.”
Vicky had had her back to him the whole time he had described the crash. Stirring the pot of milk and cocoa. He watched her back as he talked. But it didn’t tell him what she was thinking.
“I know this is going to sound even crazier than you think I am. But I have a feeling that there is a force out there. Somewhere … out there. Wherever the hell that is. Out there that’s ─ hell, I don’t know ─ that’s doing this. These suicides. These disappearances. They’ve got to be more than just coincidences. And somehow. For some reason, I’ve tapped into it. This ─ whatever it is. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. Maybe it has something to do with our research. With that beaker of cells. I don’t know. But what I felt in the hospital wasn’t my imagination. It didn’t feel like one of my … episodes. I honestly feel … I just have this feeling that I felt the touch of some other being. Out there. Like I had tapped into its head. Its thoughts. And that these thoughts ─ what I had thought was in my head ─ belonged out there. To this, whatever it is. All along I’ve been thinking that it was me that was so afraid. Thinking I was being watched. Stalked. It was me that wanted to run away and hide. To jump out of my window. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if it was the other way around and I was just mirroring these feelings? Like I’m sure I felt in the hospital. So ─ and I realize how crazy this sounds ─ the girl in my dreams. What’s she’s asking me to do. To help her. It’s that she’s really a metaphor for what I should be doing. What I should be. A rescuer. Not a victim. Oh, and maybe in the beginning ─ especially that first episode when I felt like I was being sucked in ─ I was some kind of victim. But something’s changed. I felt it in the hospital. I felt it after I saw the car crash into the station. I don’t have th
at sense of haunting fear that I had. Of being watched. I think I’m the watcher. As crazy as that sounds, since I don’t know what I’m watching. I mean, it seems people are really losing their lives because … Because of whatever this thing is. Whatever’s happening. And ─ Well, that’s it. That’s as far as I’ve got. Which, I agree, doesn’t exactly fill in the missing pieces. But I can’t shake the feeling that I really did communicate to something back in the hospital. And that something wasn’t too happy with me. It was afraid of me. For some reason. And I don’t know why.”
He wiped his eyes. He was tired.
“Okay. So now you can send for the men in white coats and put me in a straight jacket. And maybe you’d be right. Maybe I’m just a paranoid crazy who thinks other people are paranoid about him. I bet doctors have a name for that.”
He looked at her back. Watched her shoulders move as she stirred the pot.
There are different silences between two people. They had already waited through one of them. Intimacy. They had been embarrassed and unsure, but it was still intimacy. This was a thoughtful silence.
Vicky had listened while she stirred. Breathing deeply as her head tingled like she was watching some horror movie. And she hated horror movies. She had thought when she had found those newspaper articles that there was something in what Connie had told her. About the disappearances and suicides. But that was as far as her thinking had gone. She was more concerned with allaying his fears than what was causing them. She still kept the idea of him having some sort of a mental breakdown active in her head. And it was there even after they had left the hospital. And it had worried her. The way Connie’s “niggle” had worried him. Yet she did feel there was the possibility that something really weird was actually happening. That’s why she hadn’t been able to fall asleep before he came. But the question she hadn’t been able to answer, as she had lain in bed unable to sleep, was whether she was being drawn into Connie’s ─ she hadn’t wanted to use the word, “madness” ─ to Connie’s imagination. Or not.
After listening to him, she still hadn’t decided.
“Are you sure there wasn’t someone in the car?” Connie’s face hardened. She noticed. “I mean, did you get a look at the car when it passed you? After it struck you. Maybe like the man said, the driver somehow jumped out of the car after it struck you.”
“I don’t know.” What he really meant was he hadn’t anticipated she’d react like this. Searching for a rational explanation because an irrational one meant it was all in his head. But she hadn’t said that.
His “I don’t know” produced another few moments of silence. A more divisive quiet. Connie was sorry he had been so honest with her. Vicky was torn between her worry for him and her frustration at not being able to say something that would make him feel better.
“I don’t know.” He stood up as she was pouring the cocoa into mugs. “I guess I should be going.”
“What?” She spun around with the mugs in her hands, nearly spilling the cocoa. “Don’t you want your hot chocolate?” She held out a mug to him.
Connie saw the hurt in her face. If someone makes you an offer and you accept it, you don’t run out on the person. “Sure.”
He took the mug and sat back down in the rocking chair. She sat at the table. They both cradled their mugs in their hands. As if the hands were cold and they were trying to warm them up.
But that’s all they had in common at the moment.
“Maybe it was a driverless car out for an experimental ride,” she suggested after each had taken several sips. “Or a crank gone wrong.” She was trying to find the right words to soften the hard look on his face. “You know, putting a brick on the gas pedal.” Connie took a noisy sip. The tension in his body. The way he looked at her. She could tell she was saying the wrong things. “Good thing no one was hurt” was all she could think to add to the silence.
If she had known him better. If they had been intimate, she would have blurted out, “Well, what do you want me to say? That you’re not going crazy? That this is all really happening? I really don’t know.”
But she hadn’t gone past putting on some makeup, a little lipstick and brushed her hair.
What he had gone past was how much he had expected of her. Some glow of confirmation. That had been his hope without naming it as “hope.” But hope wasn’t now a real part of his life. That’s what he thought. That’s what he had been thinking ever since he couldn’t shake away from these dreams. Foolish to think otherwise. Foolish to think Megan’s kid sister could think otherwise. That he wasn’t suffering from some kind of delusions.
He finished his cocoa in a few gulps. Vicky didn’t touch the rest of hers. She knew she had said all the wrong words. Only she couldn’t bring herself to say the right words. That there was some mysterious force out there causing all this trouble. That was just too farfetched. Too delusional. All she could think of was: poor Connie. What he must be going through. She might have believed in strange coincidences. Especially when she discovered those news stories. But what he suggested was beyond strange.
And as she thought these thoughts. As Connie played with his empty mug. As both of them were aware of how long the silence between was enduring. She spoke the words in her head that were not meant to be spoken. They just came rushing out.
“Maybe you should see the doctor Evie told you about.”
“Yeah?” He stood up. That settled everything between them. Everything he needed to know about Vicky/Victoria. “And maybe I should jump out of my window.”
She rose to her feet. Slowly. She felt awful. Because, of course, she knew the meaning of what she had said. “I didn’t mean that ─”
“I know what you meant.” He handed her the mug. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe your crystal ball is right.”
“Connie, that’s not what I really meant to say. I’m sorry. I was thinking ─”
“Forget it. Don’t worry about it. Sorry I woke you.” He went to the door that led to the stairs.
“Connie, don’t leave. You’re mad at me. I know you’re mad at me. Don’t leave like that.”
“I’m not mad.” But he was. “It’s been a long night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Vicky followed him to the stairs. She watched him go up and out the outside door. Waiting for him to turn around. To at least say goodnight. But he didn’t.
“Stupid, stupid, STUPID! Stupid girl!” Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t bother to blink them away.
23
“You’ve reached me. Leave a message. I may or may not call you back.”
Connie waited for the beep.
“Uh … hi Evie. It’s me. Connie. But I guess you can tell by my voice.” He took a deep breath. Several deep breaths. “It’s not urgent. Just wanted to talk. See how you’re making out.” More breaths. “Well, if you get this message, give me a call.” More breaths. “But then again, if you don’t pick up your messages, you won’t know I called.” A few more breaths and then he ended the call.
He glanced around his apartment. At the walls. They were all bare. Not like Vicky’s place. Somehow the austerity of his apartment added to his growing sense of depression. The black veil of gloom that he had felt once he had left Evie’s apartment.
He tried to lecture himself that it didn’t mean anything what Vicky thought. She wasn’t anything to him except Megan’s kid sister. Slim. Vicky/Victoria. But he wasn’t good at lecturing himself. He tended to ignore his own advice. Like not calling Evie because he’d only be making a fool of himself. Thinking if she answered, he’d hear a friendly voice. Maybe tell her his fears.
Well, at least the fool that he’d be would be second hand. Since when she got the message, that’s when she’d think of him as the fool that he was for phoning. And he wouldn’t have to hear what she thought of him. Or how peeved she sounded. He had called a few times after he had moved in here. That’s how her voice had sounded when she knew it was him. Annoyed. Although what she said to him was more non-committal
than annoyed.
He switched on the kettle after he had ended the call. Thinking that maybe something hot would warm up his dark mood.
He sat at his kitchen table. At the end where his computer was. There he waited for the kettle to boil.
It was a defiant act. Sitting in front of his computer. He hit a key and the monitor sprang to life. That was also a defiant act. A challenge. A summons to whatever it was. To reveal itself. He stared at the screen and lowered his brow in concentration. Stared at the great wave of his screen saver that was about to crash on an unseen shore. Forewarned is forearmed, he told himself.
“So, come on,” he cried to the screen. “Show yourself.”
The kettle began to boil while the screen remained a static photo. He had the absurd thought that maybe he should pour some boiling water on the screen. That would do something, he thought. (Destroy his computer!)
He started to get up when his phone began to ring. Its sound competing with the burbling and moaning of the kettle.
Evie? That was quick. Maybe she had been home all along. Maybe she really did want to talk to him. Now that Hal had flown the coup.
He couldn’t quite tell where the ringing was coming from. He had put the phone down after he had called her and put it ─? He couldn’t remember.
He stood up and tried to follow the sound but the blank walls bounced and echoed the ringing so that it was difficult to tell its direction. He found it, though, a few moments after the ringing had stopped. On the floor on the other side of the table. He had set it down there and it must have fallen onto the floor. He shook his head at it when he picked it up. He was always dropping his phone. It seemed to be magnetized to the ground.
There was no message icon blinking at him when he tapped the phone to life. But that wasn’t unexpected. Evie wouldn’t have bothered to leave a message. She knew he could tell who had called.
He tapped his Recents. More of an automatic response than to check that it was Evie. It wasn’t. It was Vicky. He stared at her name and number like if he looked at it long enough, he’d be able to decide whether to call her or not. After a half a minute, “or not” won the bet. Best to let disappointments lie low. Although, he didn’t use the word “disappointments” when he decided not to call. “Things.” That was a safer word. He decided to forget about the “hope” he had had in wanting to tell her what he had been thinking. After all, he had said all that he had wanted to say. And she had returned with “see a doctor.” There was nothing else to add. To hope for from her.