The Lost Door

by Marc Buhmann

  Emily was sitting up and watching her mother wide-eyed.

  “When I came to, you and I were in the hospital and he was gone. He never checked in on us, never visited, never called. Divorce papers came a month later which I happily signed. I got the house, custody of you, but no child support. That was fine though; I wanted nothing from him. The final paperwork came a short time later and I filed it away without even opening it.

  “I managed to get a job working as a receptionist. It didn’t require a college degree, and I was able to work hours that still afforded me time to be there for you.” She reached out and took Emily’s hand.

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because, sweetie, I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I made.”

  “Why do you think I will?”

  Because I found your pregnancy test. “Let’s just call it a hunch.”

  A car horn sounded outside. Emily glanced out the window, said, “He’s here.”

  “It’s just—it’s Sunday night. You have school tomorrow.”

  “I’m just going over to his place to study. That’s all.”

  “Why not study here? I can give you the living room, if you like. Or the kitchen—”

  Her daughter stood with a sigh. “Not tonight. You’ve already passed judgment and I really don’t want to deal with an awkward introduction tonight.” She leaned down and kissed her mother. “I’ll be fine, mom. Really. You’ve trusted me this long, you can trust me now.”

  And with that she walked out of the house.

  Claire was shaking. She was angry, terrified, ashamed, contemplating what to do. She felt something else was going on besides teenage rebellion, something more troublesome. Maybe she’d gotten involved with a bad crowd, was doing drugs. Her paranoia exploded.

  Claire made up her mind. She grabbed her coat and keys and ran from the house to her car. Time to find out what was really going on.

  * * *

  She followed Billy’s car to Jessica’s house. Emily’s friend was standing on the sidewalk waiting and jumped into the backseat when the car rolled up. Claire hadn’t noticed it until she’d gotten closer, but another boy was in in the car too. Keeping a safe distance she followed them through town and across Willow Creek Bridge, River Bend receding in her rear-view mirror. A pair of headlights winked.

  Where were they going? The next town was Deerbrook, a smaller town than River Bend. God! She hadn’t been out this way since…

  She didn’t want to think about it. That was in the past, and the only thing that mattered was Emily.

  Did Billy or that other boy live out this way? A few miles later they turned left onto another two-lane highway. The farms gave way to silhouette forests, the road twisting and turning. She had no idea where they were now; she’d never been out this way before. She decreased her speed not wanting to startle them. But, then again, if they weren’t doing anything wrong why would they suspect anyone of following?

  A car passed them from the other direction. She glanced up and watched as its red taillights disappeared around a corner far in the distance passing a vehicle in her lane.

  She snapped her eyes forward as a deer shot across the road. Her foot reflexively stomped on the brake, the anti-lock mechanism ratta-tat-tatting.

  You son of a bitch! The memory of her hitting Devon flashed. You goddamned son of a bitch!

  Claire yanked the wheel to the left swerving into the other lane, narrowly missing the deer.

  Jesus, Claire! STOP! Emily started crying in the back.

  She let off the brake, accelerated, and pulled the car back into her lane.

  The vision clouding over, Emily’s cries echoing into nothing.

  That was close, She’d seen the damage done to a car when it hit a deer at sixty, and it was not pretty. Not for the car, and especially not for the deer.

  Panic ripped through Claire as she realized there was no sign of the car ahead of her. She stepped on the gas, the speedometer needle pushing seventy-five—an unsafe speed on these narrow roads—praying they’d disappeared around a bend or down a hill. Her prayers went unanswered and she silently cursed herself for losing them. Where had they gone?

  The inside of the car lit up drawing her attention to the rear-view mirror. A pair of bright headlights barreled down on her.

  “What the—” she managed before the car behind slammed into hers. She let go of the wheel from the jolt, her car veering onto the gravel shoulder. “Hey!” she cried, grabbed the wheel, and turned from the shoulder, trying to get back onto the pavement. The car behind hit her again, this time the left side of the fender. Claire lost control of the wheel, the car spinning a hundred and eighty degrees. She felt the car tip, tried to regain control.

  She failed.

  The car flipped, whipping her around as it rolled down the embankment of the road. Her head hit the driver side window, spider-webbing the glass.

  Emily cried. She felt warm stickiness running down her face. In her peripheral vision she saw the steering wheel smash into Devon’s chest, the sicking sound of pounded meat.

  The car righted itself, flipped again, came to a rest on its side. The world spun, darkness seeping in.

  What just happened? What’s going on? she wondered as she tried to fight off the inevitable, a fight she was losing. Her eyes felt heavy, the taste of rust ran across her tongue.

  The last thing she saw before being consumed by the warm embrace of unconsciousness was a red car pulling up, a shadowed figure stepping from it.

  There was no car. There was Devon, glazed eyes trained on her. Emily’s cries faded.

  Then the world disappeared.

  * * *

  DeMarcus slid from the car and walked to the edge of the highway. In the ditch was Claire’s car, a metallic clanking coming from it. Paul stopped beside him.

  Something was off. Lilly’s presence was fading. Was Claire dying?

  Panic ripped through him for only a moment until he realized that what he sensed was wrong. Lilly wasn’t fading out of existence but moving away. But if Claire was here then…

  The daughter! How could he have not seen it? That which he sought was in the daughter, not the mother.

  “Back in the car. Quickly,” he instructed.

  Confused, Paul said, “But the woman…”

  “Leave her. She’s not who I need.”

  * * *

  The sun was down and Willem was driving along a two-lane highway in the woods. He’d been told by Justin to meet him at The Thirsty Whale. He’d never been there but had heard of it.

  It’s a ways out there off the beaten path and sort of obscure, Justin had told him, but keep your eyes open. There’s a sign on the left side of the highway you can’t miss. And so here he was, high beams on, driving slower than normal, keeping an ever watchful eye for the sign.

  Willem wondered how far “out there” was, and if he did miss the sign would he take it as a sign to just go home? That wasn’t really fair to Justin who seemed excited to hang out with him outside of work. He didn’t want to let him down. He was starting to think he’d missed it when it swam in from the shadows declaring “1/4 Mile Ahead on Left”. When he saw it he turned.

  The road was narrower than he’d like—he could only imagine how two cars would pass—when the drive opened into a clearing. A dozen or so cars were parked haphazardly creating a crescent, those at the back perpendicular to the bar. Willem killed the engine, stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he made his way toward what looked like a log cabin. Two men stood outside the door, smoking, looking under the hood of a rusted pickup, engaged in a conversation on how to get another couple years out of the god damned engine. They didn’t even acknowledge Willem as he breezed past.

  The Thirsty Whale’s decor was what he expected. Faux wood—knots and all—was a staple of the north woods, and was standard for many homes and businesses. It added to the natural look tourists expected. The design added a light brown color to the illuminat
ion of the room. Stuffed fish and deer heads adorned the walls, as did a large framed photo of an aerial view of the lake—presumably the one this cabin sat on. A group of men in their twenties, hung in the back by the pool tables and dartboards. Others sat around tables or at the bar drinking. Country music played from a jukebox, though Willem could hear faint bass and feel its rhythmic vibration coming from something other than the song—it didn’t match.

  At the bar sat Justin, a frosted mug of beer in front of him. He was chatting with the bartender. Willem sat on the circular stool next to Justin who looked over. Mild surprise flashed across his face before dissolving to joy. “Willem!”

  “You look surprised to see me.”

  “I am. I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up.”

  He spread his arms and laughed. “Well here I am.”

  “And what is that ridiculous thing on your head?”

  Willem patted the hat on his head. “Never seen a fedora?”

  “I’ve never seen you wear a fedora.”

  “Don’t like it?” he asked as he took it off and set it on the bar.

  “I don’t know yet.” Justin rapped his knuckles on the bar, looked at the bartender. “Charles my good man, would you please bring us two Malort and…” He glanced to Willem. “What would you like as a chaser?”

  “MGD is fine.”

  Justin pointed to Willem with his thumb and clicked his tongue, said to Charles, “My tab.”

  The bartender set two shot glasses on the bar and poured an amber liquid in them. As he filled a mug with beer Willem asked, “You weren’t kidding about this place. Definitely off the beaten path. How’d you find it?”

  “Friend of a friend of a friend.” His tone was mysterious and secretive. A grin formed. “It’s more a neighborhood place—they don’t really advertise. Keeps it more private that way.”

  “The way I like it,” the bartender said, delivering the beer. “Can I get you anything else?” They shook their heads. “Flag me down if you need anything,” and he went to check on others down the bar.

  Willem brought drink to his nose, sniffed. “What’s this stuff again?”

  “It’s called Malort. German, I think. Doesn’t matter. What matters is what’s in it.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Justin twitched his eyebrows, curled the corner of his lip into a quirky smile. “Drink first. To the confusion of our enemies!”

  Willem laughed, clinked his glass to Justin’s, downed it. The Malort burned on its way down, leaving a bitter sweet taste. Willem nearly coughed, pinched his face in disgust. The taste was revolting. He grabbed his beer and took two chugs. “What in God’s name is that? It tastes like bug spray!”

  Justin laughed. “That my friend will grow hair on your balls.”

  “More like burn it off. What’s in it?”

  “Wormwood. Same shit that’s in absinthe. I believe it’s the only drink in our great nation to allow it. That’s what I’ve been told anyhow.”

  “If you’re trying to convince me that getting out more is a good idea you’re doing a poor job of it,” he teased.

  “Sorry. Just trying to start things off on a high note.”

  Willem took another drink, the taste finally subsiding. “How long you been coming here?”

  Justin shrugged. “Couple of years. It’s sort of like that bar on Cheers.”

  “How’s Susan working out?”

  “Competent and easy on the eyes.”

  Willem smiled. “Unlike this old geezer.”

  “You said it, not me.” Justin’s smile melted. “I have to admit you’re back sooner than I expected.”

  “Me too. He went fast.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Yesterday? And you’re already back?”

  “What was I supposed to do? Me and his family aren’t particularly close. I’m thankful my brother and I got to make our peace, but I can tell his kids have no interest in their uncle.”

  “No hope of rekindling some sort of family bond?”

  “Maybe—I don’t know. Even if there was it wouldn’t have happened overnight.”

  “More reason you should have stayed there a little while. Try and reconnect.”

  “I had to come back, take care of something.”

  “What could possibly be more important than being with your family in a time of mourning?”

  Willem didn’t want to go into the details of his visit—old habits die hard—so instead said, “Just some personal stuff I needed to take care of.”

  “Cryptic.”

  “Others might say private. But it was a good visit. It was nice to talk, to put to rest some of the animosity we’d held onto.”

  Justin finished off his beer, held it up and teeter-tottered it to Charles who nodded. “You too?” he hollered at Willem. Willem downed what remained. Charles refilled their mugs.

  “It’s so weird seeing you like this,” Justin said after Charles left. “I figured you were an alcoholic or something, maybe just didn’t care for a drink, and preferred to stay in so you didn’t have to be near it.”

  “No,” Willem shook his head. “Not an alcoholic, just preferred to stay away from it.” He could feel the shot and beer mixing in his belly, his vision clouding ever so slightly. Since he drank so infrequently it didn’t take much to get him tipsy. “My dad may have been—he drank a lot—so I just preferred not to tempt fate and end up like him.”

  “And how did he end up?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. He disappeared when I was ten never to be seen again. Could be unknown bones in the woods, or maybe he lived a spectacular life in Mexico. We never found out what happened to him.”

  “Really? Man that sucks. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Bullshit. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if my old man hadn’t been around—pretty lonely I can imagine.”

  “I managed. My mom had to start working as did my brother. I ended up pretty much on my own.”

  “It makes sense, you being sort of a loner.” Justin must have realized what he’d said might have offended Willem. His mouth fluttered open, “I—I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  Willem waved it away. “No, you’re right. I’m sure that has a lot to do with how I live. I watch TV, I feed my birds… nothing much to it.”

  “You’re a bird watcher?”

  “It’s comforting,” he said defensively. “Just watching them out the window… it’s relaxing.”

  “Never much cared for birds. Doesn’t help I’m allergic to them.”

  “I can see where that might be a problem.”

  “You think?”

  “I do.”

  Justin held up his glass, Willem clinked his mug. They drank. A misty aura added a softness to Willem’s vision. He told himself to stop after this one, but he had to admit it was nice getting out and spending time with someone other than the Bunkers. With nowhere to be tomorrow it wouldn’t hurt him staying out. You only live once after all… might as well start enjoying it.

  “What are you going to do when you retire?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you can’t keep doing this forever. Hell, you’re nearing retirement age anyway. Aren’t you looking forward to doing something else?”

  “Haven’t really thought about it. I like what I do. I like helping people, and I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “So you want to do this until the day you die?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You banking on a heart attack taking you?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I mean it seems you’re expecting to live until you just keel over one day of a heart attack. But you realize most of us, as we grow old, start to deteriorate. We get slower, our memory fades, some get the shakes. You could suffer a stroke and not be able to walk anymore. At that point you’ll live your life sitting in a nursing home watching tho
se precious birds of yours.”

  Willem realized that in many ways he was living the life of an invalid. He left his house to work and grocery shop, but mostly he just sat at home and did nothing. Pity started to creep into the back of his mind. His life really had no meaning. Sure he helped others, but he did nothing for himself. And then he wondered: did he want to? What was it all for?

  He drank the rest of the beer, waved Charles over, saw Justin was almost through with his. “Another?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Two beers and—” What was the hard stuff Justin had ordered? “Two of that hairy balls shit.”

  Charles’ eyebrow arched, looked at Justin who burst out laughing. “Malort,” he told Charles. “You keep talking like that and some dude is going to get the wrong idea and hit on you.”

  “I will graciously decline the invitation.” He was starting to feel tipsy, and the words felt heavy in his mouth. The shots and beer were pushed in front of them, Willem held up his shot. “Now it’s my turn to do a toast.”

  In the distance a bell rang and Willem looked toward it. Through the front door breezed four people—they looked younger than the required twenty-one—two boys and two girls. They laughed but seemed nervous.

  Whatever. Could look younger than their age, or maybe the bar looked the other way, in either case it was no concern of his.

  “You drift off to la-la-land there Willem?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good. What’s your toast going to be?”

  “To the confusion of our friends!”

  Justin laughed. “No, no! It’s ‘To the confusion of our enemies.’”

  Willem smiled. “Not so, because if friends weren’t confused by our lives then we wouldn’t have friends at all.”

  “That makes zero fucking sense.”

  “Probably not,” he said and brought the drink to his lips and downed it.

  * * *