After he’d gone, George asked the rest of us, “So, is there any debate about this? Does anyone think we should not call the police now?”
We all shook our heads and Mom said, “Good heavens, George! Just call them already!” Jamie had the “MISSING” flyer in her back jeans pocket. She handed it to Dad who took it, dug some change out of his own pocket, and headed to the nearest pay phone which just happened to be the bank of phones near the bench where Mike and I had eaten our shaved ices the day before. So much had happened in the last 24 hours that it was hard to believe we’d been sitting in that very spot only yesterday, peacefully eating our shaved ices and enjoying each other’s company. We watched as Dad dialed the number on the paper.
“Hello?” he said into the phone. “I have information regarding the murders of Andrew Delacroix in 1978 and Mary Louise Keller in Bucks County, Pennsylvania in 1972.” He paused, then he went on. “Uh huh,” he said, nodding. “Okay. Sure. Well, I have good reason to believe that they were both killed by one Alfred Kominsky, who I believe lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn but he definitely works at the Golden Theater on 45th Street. Yes, Alfred Kominsky. K-o-m-i-n-s-k-y. That’s right. Uh huh. Greenpoint. The Golden Theater, yes. Okay.” He continued standing at the pay phone, listening while he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead into his other hand. He shook his head from side to side. “No. No accomplices that I know of. No, I’d rather not give my name. Consider this an anonymous tip. Oh yes, I’m very sure. Thank you. Okay, goodbye.” We all took a breath of relief. It was over. We were safe, or at least we all thought so for several seconds.
Dad whistled through his teeth and then said, “Whew! I need to sit down. I think I’m going to be sick.” He was sweating and a little pale. The bench where Mike and I had sat the day before was empty, so my parents sat there. Dad took Mom’s hand. “It’s still there,” he said to her.
“What is it, dear?” asked my mom.
“The danger. It’s still here,” he said, closing his eyes and putting his hand on his forehead again. “I thought that making the phone call would dampen the feeling, but it hasn’t changed. It’s still here and it’s bad.”
Mike asked, “Is anyone else feeling like that? Is anyone getting Knowledge of danger? ‘Cause I’m getting nothing—”
“No offense Mike,” Jamie interrupted, “But do you ever get premonitions about the future? Lydia and George have told us about theirs and I know Philip gets these five-second, advance-warning flashes, but—” I must have looked confused because she continued, “You don’t always know you’re doing it, Phil, but you know things right before they happen—trust me. I don’t get much future Knowledge yet either. I know it’ll come, but—.”
“Come on, guys,” Mom interrupted, “Let's get George back to the hotel. He’s not well at all.” We managed to get him to the corner. As we stood there waiting for the light to change poor Dad lost his entire dinner in a nearby trash can. New York City being what it is, no one seemed to take any notice of what had just happened. We walked slowly and made it back to the hotel without any further trouble.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As mentioned before, Knowers come to their Knowledge in different ways. Some have hunches or intuition leading them to the best outcome. Others experience Knowledge in dreams, which they learn to remember and interpret. Still others seem to know immediately before an event exactly what’s going to happen.
It is true that Knowers remember the past to predict the future. It is a legend that increased contact in the current life with those one had known in an earlier life leads to an increasing amount of, and an improved quality of Knowledge.
Southampton Free Press 1975 (Excerpt)
When we got to the hotel, Dad asked Mom to walk with him to the front desk. Mike, Jamie, and I waited at the elevator for them. Dad seemed to be feeling a little better now.
“Just scheduling our departure for tomorrow,” he explained when they joined us at the elevator.
“What does that mean?” Mike asked.
“Well,” Dad answered, “We’ve done what we came to do, right? We found Kominsky and informed the police about him. If he knows we’re here, and I believe he does—then we need to leave as soon as possible. When we get home, we can decide how to tell the other police departments about their own local cases and Mr. Kominsky.”
“Yeah,” Mike replied, “I guess that makes sense.”
“My number one priority is to keep all of you kids safe,” Dad added. He pointed at me and Mike and went on, “I love you two, you know? If anything happened to you two, well—” he trailed off. “I’d rather not think about it.”
“I love you too,” I said, surprising even myself. “You've turned out to be a pretty great dad, and we couldn’t have done any of this without you.” Mom smiled and gave him a quick hug as the elevator arrived at our floor.
The group separated at the elevator and Mike and I were halfway down the long corridor when he turned to me and said, “I’m going to go check on your dad, make sure he’s alright, see if they need anything. You go ahead. I'll be right there.” Five minutes later, he was back, knocking on our door since I had the key.
“Look what I have,” he said casting a conspiratorial sideways glance back down the hall. I stuck my head out the door and he laughed. “Not down there, silly. Here!” He brought his hands out from behind his back and he waved the envelope that Dad had gotten at the box office. Inside were the tickets I’d completely forgotten about.
“What are you up to, Mike?” I asked, smiling at him.
“Well, what does it look like?” he responded.
“You want to go to the show? After everything Dad just said?” I was more than a little surprised.
“What did he say? That there was danger? That could be a car accident on the drive back home for all he knows,” Mike said lightly. “Remember, he kept the Knowledge from you for years, even though he knew he shouldn’t, because he thought it would kill you. Well, it didn’t kill you, did it?” he concluded. “You came back and you’re doing great! You and I will soon be home living a happy life together.”
“So, what? You just told all of this to my dad and he just agreed and gave you the tickets?” I said incredulously.
He laughed and said, “No, of course not. Do you think I’m an idiot? I waited for your mom to go to the bathroom and I snuck them out of her purse. Sorry ‘bout that,” he smiled sheepishly. “Look, Philip, we have 45 minutes until the curtain goes up. Come on, let's go.”
He tried to take my hand but I wasn’t feeling good about this—at all. “Mike,” I said, taking back my hand, “This is not like you. You’re not reckless. We could get into trouble.”
“Phil, please. This is my maybe one and only chance to see a real, live Broadway show! I want to share this with you. This will be something we will always remember. Please? For me?” he was nearly begging.
Still reluctant, I said, “Okay! Okay!” His enthusiasm was hard to resist. “Let’s go get Jamie.”
“Jamie?”
“She goes with us or I don’t go,” I told him.
We changed quickly out of our semi-stinky t-shirts into fresh, nicer t-shirts and headed down the hall to Jamie’s room. Convincing her to join us was not difficult. After we offered her a ticket she said, “What’s the alternative? Staying here in this hotel room, alone in New York City? Or, what—a fabulous night out on the town with my best friends? Heck yeah!” she smiled, “Let’s go!” After she’d changed into her own fresher t-shirt, we made a break for it. We only had 30 minutes to make it to the theater but we decided that we had time to stop off at Paddy’s Clam House and tell Carl where we were going—just in case we didn’t make it home for some reason.
We made it to the theater with only five minutes to spare. Of course, we were rushing, so our clean shirts were no longer so fresh when we finally got there. We were keeping ourselves alert, looking for Kominsky and taking in the sights as well. The lights on the exteriors of the differen
t theaters were beautiful at dusk but the crowds were not so nice. There were no top hats or tuxedos that’s for sure. Most people were dressed pretty casually like us. The inside of the Golden Theater was beautifully ornate even if it was also surprisingly small. We made it to our seats without catching sight of Kominsky. As the lights began to fade, we all seemed to have decided to try and relax and enjoy the show.
The first act included a series of songs about old movies and the actors were all dressed like old-time movie theater ushers in gray uniforms with red piping. The songs were funny and the tap dancing was impressive. I enjoyed it all but I was always waiting to see if Alfred Kominsky would suddenly appear on stage. I imagined him jumping on stage in the middle of a song and dance number, pointing at us, up in the mezzanine, and then laughing like some crazy movie villain while we panicked. It was hard to truly enjoy the show but I could see that Mike was loving it. Seeing the absolute joy on his face made me very happy but, man, was I itchy!
◆◆◆
By the time the intermission began I was so nervous and itchy, I was ready to bolt right out of there. I controlled myself enough, though, to say calmly to Mike and Jamie, “I think I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
“Alright,” Mike said, “But come right back, okay? We all need to stay safe right now.” At least I wasn’t the only one concerned.
As I waited for the theatergoers ahead of me to make it down the narrow stairway out of the mezzanine, the feeling of agitation rose, just as it had the previous day, leading me directly to this very theater. I decided to let it take me where it wanted. When I finally made it to the front lobby, I headed straight out the open set of double doors to the sidewalk. I stood there for a minute as the intermission smokers began to light up, then I turned left and began walking down the street towards the corner. That didn’t feel quite right, so I spun around and returned back the way I’d just come. This time, before making it back to the theater I made an arc around a lively cluster of people and turned straight into the covered alley that led to the Golden Theater stage door. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to be in there during show time, but there was no one at the gate so I just walked right in.
I’d made it about halfway down the darkened passageway when I stopped suddenly. What was I doing? Mike had just warned me not to do something like this but here I was. Coming in here was maybe the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I knew I had to get out of there. Mom and Dad didn’t know where I was. Even Mike and Jamie didn’t know where I was. Mike would blame himself if anything happened to me tonight, so I decided to turn around and head back out the way I’d come in. I was nearly back to the gate onto the safety of the sidewalk when a high, thin voice from the opposite end of the alley echoed towards me, “I see you, Knower!”
That voice froze my feet to the summer-heated concrete. There was only one person that voice could belong to—Kominsky! And here I was, alone and terrified.
“I see you. I know who you are.” I could barely breathe. “Where are Mommy and Daddy tonight? Did they stay at the hotel and send their little baseball-bat throwing son to protect them?” His words were dripping with disdain and I broke out in a cold sweat. There were actually a few people in the alley and they’d just begun to notice the odd conversation happening from one end of the alley to the other.
“Did your father not think that my neighbors would tell me some nice Midwestern couple was looking for me when he came to my home to sniff me out?” He asked sarcastically.
My heart pounding, I forced myself to take a step forward, step by slow step coming closer to the sidewalk and the hundreds of people up and down the street who were smoking and talking and completely unaware of the danger that lurked nearby. They had no idea what was happening only a few feet away from their light and safety.
“That was you—at the stage door looking for poor Andy—wasn’t it?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. “And you can tell your old waiter friend that he’s next. On second thought, never mind. I’ll tell him myself.” As he began a high-pitched laugh at his sick joke, his spell seemed to break and I was no longer paralyzed by fear. I spun around to face him. I could make out his pale, frizzy hair lightly glowing in the dim light of the alley, the edge of his nose separating light and shadow.
“What’s wrong with you?” I screamed. “You shot me! You tried to kill me. What kind of a sick animal does that?” Coldly, I demanded, “You’ve ruined so many lives. Why?” The voices out on the sidewalk were growing quieter. Maybe they’d noticed the disturbance in the alley.
“Me?” Kominsky yelled in his reedy voice as he walked slowly toward me, stepping out of the shadow. “What’s wrong with me?” he echoed me. “It’s you—you and your lot—who think you’re so special.” At this point, he was almost crouching in a rage talking through gritted teeth, “You know all. You see all. All of life is laid out for you—time after time after time. You just take what you want. It’s a gift that you don’t earn, you’re just born into it every—single—time,” he said bitterly. “Do you have any idea what it is to be normal? I’ve been normal my whole life and what’s it ever gotten me?”
“It’s not like that,” I said more to myself than to him. “It’s not like I was given a choice.” I said louder, so he could clearly hear me. “You’re a murderer because you decided to kill!”
“Yes, you’re a Knower. You can tell me anything I want to know, except what’s going to happen to you, of course. It's a little flaw in the Knowledge, wouldn’t you say? Well, I want to know some things too. I want to know what it is to be special. That’s what’s wrong with me. Just don’t know my place, I guess.”
As Kominski ranted about how hopelessly normal he was, I thought about all of those times in the past few months when I’d complained and cried to myself and the others that I just wanted to be normal. I didn’t want this Knowledge. I just wanted things to go back to the way they’d been before I found out who—or what—I really was. That could never happen now—or ever.
I began to laugh at him. I couldn’t control it. It just bubbled up from inside—unstoppable. As I laughed, I looked at Kominski and said, “You don’t know. You really don’t know, do you? You’re just evil and jealous and stupid, aren’t you?” I kept laughing and found the confusion on his face gratifying. “I thought you were some kind of criminal mastermind, but you’re really just this horrible little man!” I continued laughing when I heard some sort of animal noise coming from his end of the alleyway. At the same time, an arm wrapped around my middle and hauled me off my feet, backward out of the alley, taking my breath away and leaving the animalistic growl behind. As soon as my feet hit the ground again, Mike spun me around and pulled me further away from the alley. We burst out into the crowd of theatergoers who were heading back inside for the second act—a second act I would never see. Jamie was suddenly there on my other side and all three of us veered out onto the street to avoid the people still crowding the sidewalk and to get further away from Kominski.
◆◆◆
We were running down the street away from Times Square at that point. Across the avenue we spotted another theater, which appeared to be breaking for intermission at that moment. People were pouring out of the main doors and filling the sidewalk and we decided in a split second to join them. A crowd to hide in seemed like a good place to stop and regroup if we were being followed.
“Is he coming after us?” Jamie asked breathlessly once we were sheltered in the crowd. “Did he go back into the theater? Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” Mike replied. “I was too busy running away from him and trying to not be hit by a car to see where he went. I never actually saw him. I just heard him when I went to help Phil.”
I knew I had to tell them what I’d learned. “He doesn’t need to follow us, you guys. He knows where we’re staying. He knows everything we’ve done since we got here.” I was so panicked I could barely breathe, much less speak. “He knows about Carl. He must know we’ve called t
he police by now. He hates us. He’s going to kill us all.”
“Would you stop! Philip, It’s okay, you’re safe now,” Mike said, that last part more gently. “He can’t know everything and we’re not going to let him kill us.”
“I think he knows what hotel we’re staying at,” I interrupted, “And he definitely knows where we live. What’s to stop him from disappearing now and showing up at our homes in two weeks and—and—burning our houses down while we sleep?” I could barely think straight, I was so upset.
Jamie replied with a calm, firm voice, “That’s why we need to stop him here. If we could get him arrested tonight, the message to the hotline may keep him in custody long enough for us to find some hard evidence the police could use against him.”
“That’s not bad,” Mike said. “But how do we get him arrested without getting ourselves killed?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie answered. “Maybe Carl could help us.”
◆◆◆
We stayed on Eighth Avenue until we reached 34th Street. The stretch between 42nd Street and 34th Street was mostly deserted but once we turned on 34th, the street came to life. Restaurants and bars were open and lively this time of night and there were lots of people on the sidewalks. We headed over to Paddy’s Clam House where Carl should have still been working. We were still a block away when we thought we saw Carl ahead of us. He walked down a short flight of steps and entered an old building through a darkened door. When we got to where he’d disappeared, we saw that the door led to a pub-style bar. Mike was the only one of us who looked old enough to get into a bar, so we sent him in to find Carl. There was a sort of patio to one side of the door, a few feet lower than street level, and Jamie and I decided to wait there as we’d be mainly out of sight of anyone on the sidewalk. I was pretty much a nervous wreck just standing there, not talking to Jamie, worrying about what we would do if Kominsky showed up.
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