by Alexie Aaron
Bernard listened to a hysterical Ralph, wanting to say, “I told you so,” but knowing that this was not a road he wanted to go down today. He said all the appropriate things, making sure he didn’t sound like he was placating his partner. As he waited for Ralph to finish his tirade on why God made raccoons anyway, he skimmed over a few security reports. There were a few things shoplifted from the gift shop, small items, toys and candy. He reasoned that it probably was kids putting them in their pockets. Small children still learning that not everything they saw was theirs. He had dealt with this before. Embarrassed parents’ phone calls, after discovering the loot in their kids’ pockets, asking them to take their credit card information and charging them for the stolen items. He admired the brave ones who returned with child in hand to the museum. He wondered how many of the darlings would learn from this pivotal event in their young lives. What about the ones who got away with the crime. Or had parents who rolled their eyes at the paltry take instead of dealing with the childhood lesson of right and wrong. Having a doctorate in anthropology and masters in archeology, Bernard was interested in the cultural mores of the living and the dead. His thirst for knowledge and his position at the museum brought him into contact with many interesting people.
The Coopers were such a family. Charles and Amanda Cooper were academics. Both had doctorates, were constantly published, and were currently engrossed with American Indian graves. They had long ago abandoned their daughter. They simply signed the papers to make her an emancipated minor, so they could concentrate on their studies, instead of going to PTA meetings. He doubted that if she didn’t make any noise the child would have survived infancy. It was his partner Ralph that was there for first steps, skinned knees and heartbreaks over not being invited to parties. Ralph also first alerted Bernard to the fact that Mia’s imaginary friend wasn’t imaginary. That she could see things other people couldn’t.
Charles had let slip, after downing many drinks celebrating Amanda’s success at being asked to chair an important committee at Chicago University, that his mother and his sister Beverly had abilities that were damned embarrassing. His father tried to discipline the notions out of young Bev’s head. She ran away from home and made her own way, away from the scoffs of the Cooper men. It was fortunate for Mia that her father was so besotted with her mother that, even if he did suspect she had followed the female line of sensitives, he did nothing.
He remembered Mia as a young girl running screaming through the museum at the preopening hours. Ralph had an appointment, and Bernard offered to mind her at work. He comforted her and let the child show him what had so horrified her. She had wandered into the Hall of Gems, and a big thug of a man growled at her and told her to keep her grubby hands off the glass. This was Bernard’s first encounter with the idea that something was haunting the museum’s Grainger Hall. He calmed Mia down and asked her to tell him what the man said. He asked her what he looked like and counseled her on not being afraid. This was just a ghost with an obsession for a certain gemstone. Mia wasn’t quite sure what obsession was, but Ralph would explain it to her later.
He remembered Mia with shaky knees approaching the apparition and saying meekly, “I don’t want your yellow diamond, silly. I like the red ones.” She listened for a moment and reported back to Bernard, “He’s says I have no taste.” Mia, soon bored with the man, asked Bernard if he would take her to see the mummies.
Fearing what may be lingering among the wrapped bodies, Bernard offered to buy her a sweet roll instead. Mia contemplated the offer, and her stomach agreed with the trade. Mia still hadn’t been to see the mummies. Life had taken the courage away from the child. She was just now coming to terms with her abilities.
“Are you listening to me?” Ralph’s high voice brought Bernard back from his memories.
“Yes, I was momentarily distracted. You want me to stop by Macy’s and pick up your order and bring it over to Mia’s place. What about the exterminator?”
“Been and gone. Place smells a bit, but some potpourri and candles should mask it for now.”
“I’ll bring the stuff, but I want you to make sure Mia knows I am participating in your makeover under duress,” Bernard told Ralph. “Oh, one more thing. Do not, I repeat, do not bring an antique into that house.”
“I hear you loud and clear. But what if I have Sabine or Beverly look at it first.”
“No!”
“Don’t get touchy. Okay, I just think Mia could use a little history here.”
“Mia is going to skin you alive anyway, when she finds out what you’ve done. Don’t push her to a point where she bans us from her life. I couldn’t bear it,” Bernard confessed.
“Oh, you softy. I’ll comply with the rules,” Ralph assured him.
“I’ve got to make my rounds,” Bernard explained.
“Go ahead. I’ve got to get started. Lord knows when Mia’s going to show up. Let’s hope there is plenty to keep her amused out of town.”
Bernard hung up the phone and went back to his paperwork, still distracted by the thought of what may be amusing Mia Cooper at the present moment.
~
She sat at the bar, nursing a cold, icy draft beer. No one approached her, with the exception of the barmaid’s question as to what she wanted to drink. The room of the establishment had seen better days, but it was clean and the clientele congenial. They were part of a touring club. Route 66 was their passion. They were a motely group comprised of retired professionals. Some of them, if the good natured jibes going around between the groups were to be believed, may have even been rebels in their heyday.
Mia chose to observe them until she determined who was the most approachable of the old timers. So far, a guy named Fast Eddie, who seemed to be the story teller of the group, was the best candidate. Mia grabbed her beer and walked over to the table where he was regaling his comrades with a story about Topeka and a girl named Easy Eleanor.
Eddie smiled wide as he noticed the petite doll in the jean jacket. “What can I do you for?” he said winking at the other men at the table.
Mia managed a smile and asked if they minded if she asked them a few questions.
The man to Eddie’s right pushed over and grabbed a chair and patted the seat.
Mia sat down and stilled her voice. “I hear you gentlemen have been traveling the Mother Road for some years now,” she began.
“More years than you’ve been on earth doll,” Eddie teased.
Mia laughed and continued, “I’m curious about how much you guys know about the history of a few of the monuments along this stretch of 66.”
“You doing a paper or just curious?”
“Just gathering some information for some friends,” Mia said honestly. “I’ve been to the diner…”
“Good place but a bit pricy during the summer months,” Eddie interrupted. “I think their history has been written up, and you can get a pamphlet at the counter.”
“I saw that, but there is a bar down the street, under renovation, called Lucky’s?” Mia baited.
“Oh, that place. It’s got a bad rep. Hell’s Angels type of place. Weren’t very Lucky for a few guys that wandered in unawares…” Eddie paused and accessed his memory before continuing, “I heard that they came in and didn’t see the colors displayed on the bikes, as Lucky’s never had more than one bulb lit in the parking lot. This was in the sixties, and they didn’t have to abide by the codes businesses do now. Anyway, they got into a fight over a beer or barmaid or something stupid. The two of them got killed but took out one of the monsters between them before they bit it. I think after that no one but that club ever frequented the place. It couldn’t survive and closed down.”
Mia nodded and asked, “Do you know what the building was before it was a bar? Seems to be a grand construction for a watering hole.”
“Let’s see. Restaurants came and went. Gee, before that? Wait, Lou, is Homer riding with us today?” Eddie asked the man beside him.
“Homely Homer?
Yeah I think he’s…” Lou craned his neck and pointed to the dapper man across the bar. “Hey, Homer, get your ass over here, there’s a young lady looking to ask you some questions.”
His voice carried over the conversations, and the bar became quiet for a moment. Homer signaled he was on his way, and everyone went back to what they were chatting about. The man picked up his beer and walked over. One of the other men vacated his seat for him, and the older man sat down.
“Questions? Am I in trouble?”
Mia laughed, “No, I’m just looking to find some prehistory on that wreck of a stone bar down the way called Lucky’s?”
“What’s your business with it?” Homer asked cautiously.
“I’m consulting on a renovation project. We found a cellar, and before we took a crew down there, I wanted to get more information so they wouldn’t harm anything historical.”
“A cellar,” Homer rubbed his chin. “Not uncommon in this area, a lot of tornadoes come through here.”
“I could hear running water, maybe an artesian well or perhaps an underground stream?” Mia fished.
The man smiled. “That is most interesting. The geography of the area has changed a bit over time. The corporate farms have moved in and cleared and leveled quite a bit of the landscape. Over at the library we have a couple of old topographical maps that show hills and streams where there is only corn and pavement now. I think maybe a town or two that a twister took out and was never rebuilt. I would be happy to take a look for you, miss…”
“Cooper, Mia Cooper,” she filled in. “I would be happy to compensate you for your time Homer…”
“Ah, call me Homely, everyone else does,” he said and added, “Homer is my last name.”
“I find it hard to call you Homely, sir,” Mia admitted.
“She’s flirting with you,” Fast Eddie said, pounding Homer on the back.
“I’m old enough to be the lass’s great-grandfather.”
“Didn’t stop Heff,” Eddie threw in.
“Stops me. I assure you, young woman, my women chasing days are past.”
Mia smiled and said, “Too bad, your sort is sorely missed.” She took out a card she used for her handywoman business that had her cell number on it and handed it to Homer. “I’m not sure where I’m staying, but I can be gotten a hold of by this number.”
Homer looked at the card and smiled. “You’re a bit far out of your woods, aren’t you?”
“Yes, out of my woods, over my head, and wishing it were otherwise, but done is done,” she said and drank the rest of her beer down. “Now let’s talk of something else until I sober up.”
Fast Eddie jumped in and started telling the group about the time when he earned his Fast Eddie moniker. The group groaned, but Mia hadn’t heard the story so she encouraged the old biker.
Murphy watched Mia from the bar. He set his axe down and eased back. He saw the only danger she was in, was of becoming bored with the bravado of Eddie and his stories. He looked at the group of prosperous folks and pondered why any of them would choose to cruise around in two wheeled vehicles. The only thing Murphy thought could be accomplished by speeding down the road in those things was ingesting bugs. He preferred riding in Mia’s truck. Lots of room, and the driver was nice to look at. Murphy retrieved his axe and moved outside to get a better look at those metal things some in the group referred to as hogs.
~
Clara was used to the smell of glass cleaner, and her family was used to Clara smelling of the solution, she used with such care at work. Her position which she took quite seriously was to wipe away the finger and nose prints from the glass that shrouded the exhibits. She, unlike many of the others on her crew, always cleaned the entire plate of glass, not just the bottom half - the half where curious and sometimes careless visitors touched the glass. Clara was tall and only had to carry a two step stool with her in order to reach the top corners of the displays.
Her good work was noticed, and departments fought to have her in their sections. Clara was given jobs that no novice would be allowed near. She used cotton cloths she washed in the laundry in the bowels of the museum. Paper towels were such a waste, and the cheap ones scratched the glass on the older displays. She could tell the difference in glass by the way it responded to her cloth. One of the eggheads was fond of telling her that glass was liquid, still moving. Clara scoffed at the scientific and catered to her own way of thinking of glass. It held secrets. Sure, it moved, but not under her hand. It reflected the cleaner and the light, but most importantly it protected the contents of the cases. In some areas, it kept the destructive air out. It was cold to touch when it was at its best. Warm glass smeared too easily, attracted dust and felt bad under her cloth. She avoided warm glass at all costs.
Clara was passing through geology on her way down to the laundry for some fresh cloths when Dr. Tan waved her over. The young Japanese researcher and Clara had become fast friends over their love of glass. “I have something you may be interested in. Do you know what fulgurite is?”
“No, not familiar.”
“Well, it’s glass. Yes, glass formed by lightning.”
Clara pursed her lips. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“No? Well, I won’t bore you with the energy it takes, but just show you the result. This,” he said pointing to a grayish green piece that resembled a tree branch, “was caused by the heat of a lightning bolt as it entered loose soil with some sand content.”
“Doesn’t look much like glass,” Clara observed and wrinkled her nose and sniffed.
“Ah, but how about his one?” he asked as he held up a shiny, smoky cylinder.
Clara moved closer and saw the shine and the smoothness that gave the item the reflective quality of the glass. She leaned in and asked, “This is fulgurite too?”
“Yes, but this was formed in sand. On the beach. They found it when they were roping off some turtle nests in the dunes in Palm Beach, Florida.” Tan pushed his glasses up his slender nose and watched his friend gaze longingly at the beautiful specimen. “Would you like to hold it?”
“Oh, no, it would be against the rules. What if I dropped it?”
“I will take full responsibility. Besides there is no one who respects glass more than you. Put on those cotton gloves over there first,” Tan instructed.
Clara put on the gloves and timidly held out her cupped hands. Tan placed the smoky cylinder in them. She was surprised by the weight but fascinated by this being natural glass. She admired the natural swirls and difference in textures.
“This is most unique. Do you see the trapped gas in the piece?” Tan pointed to the swirling mist. “It’s like a drinking glass within a larger glass trapping the air.”
Clara watched the smoke move and form. She saw an eye and part of a face gaze at her. First she thought it was her reflection. She blinked, but the eye did not. It glared with hatred and something uglier. The eye moved from Tan to Clara and narrowed.
Tan leaned in and Clara heard him gasp. “Doesn’t that look like an eye?”
Clara handed the fulgurite back to Tan. She waited until he held it securely, before she ripped off her gloves heedless of the shocked expression on Tan’s face.
“It is an eye! That’s not glass. It’s evil!” Clara moved quickly away from her shocked friend. She ran to the nearest washroom and barely made the sink before she vomited. She washed her face with cool water and chided herself for letting her imagination get the better of her. Tan must think that she’s a lunatic. She wiped her hands and steeled herself, willing her knees not to shake as she walked back to apologize to her friend.
The doorway to Tan’s workplace was blocked by white-coated technicians ogling the interior. Clara pushed past them and saw that two senior techs were hovering over something on the floor. One of them got up shaking his head. He recognized Clara and said with concern, “He was your friend. I’m sorry, Clara. But Tan’s gone.”
“Gone? Fired? I told him not to let me touch
the glass. It’s my fault.”
The man stopped her for speaking further by placing a finger to her mouth followed by a shush. “Clara, Tan’s dead. Looks like electrocution.”
Clara moved around her comforter and looked on the floor behind him. There lay Tan, sprawled on the floor. His right hand burnt into a claw. His leather shoes smoking. Just outside of his reach on the floor were glass fragments of the fragile fulgurite piece she had held in her hand. Gone was the smoke. Gone was the eye, the evil that it held within was now loose in the museum somewhere. Clara got up and stumbled out of the lab. She moved like a woman possessed. She had to get out of there before the demon in the glass found and killed her too.
Chapter Nine
Clara didn’t remember how she got there, but she was sitting outside Dr. Wesley’s office. She had a cool cloth at the back of her neck and a concerned co-worker at her side.
Bernard Wesley looked down at the woman they found trying to claw her way out of the security door and frowned. He knew Clara Geffen. She was as sound as the glass she polished every working day of her life. The woman before him was a shell of that well respected, hardworking soul. What had happened in that lab to cause this change? Was it just the grief of losing such a cherished friend, or something more?
“Clara, I’m sorry, but you have to stay here until you have been cleared by security to go. Mary, my secretary has called your husband. He will be here soon to take you home. Although, I think maybe the hospital first. I think you’re in shock.”
The sound of his soft voice seemed to calm her. She looked up into his large brown eyes and reassured him, “I’ll be alright, just a fright.”
“Fright? Who frightened you, Clara?”
“The lady in the glass. She killed Tan.”
Bernard felt goose bumps rise on his skin. He tried to squash his knowledge of the paranormal down and pull up his common sense. “The techs say he was electrocuted, perhaps by a bad connection.”
“NO!” Clara shouted. “Look again. I swear on my life, that while I was gone, the demon killed Tan, making him drop the glass, and escaped her prison,” Clara claimed.