by Arjay Lewis
“About what?”
“I don’t know,” I said, as I got clumsily to my feet. “But I’ll let you know if I find out.”
“Remember what I said—and that you are not officially on this case.”
“I know, Bill.”
I left the building and began walking north in the direction of Route Three. It was a beautiful day for a stroll, and in California, I was in the habit of walking several miles every day. I found it good for my mind as well as my body to move along and feel my breath and muscles stirring.
I pulled the papers from my breast pocket and reread the information. I wanted to have the terminology down so that if I actually came face-to-face with a real forensic expert, I would at least use the right words.
I began reviewing the concept of burn patterns and how all fires blaze in an inverted conical style, from point of least damage to most damage. I remembered that the store area had such a pattern, everything rising out of the place where Mishan’s body fell.
But the amount of energy and Wendy’s claim of just getting out before the whole place went up suggested something that set off the cleaners in the back, and then they acted as an accelerant. Even Wendy seemed puzzled by how much there was at the store. And how did they combust so easily?
This suggested the idea of a bomb of some type, with a design that would be called “rich” by an investigator. A rich range explosive is a combination of chemicals in a sealed container, with ten percent oxygen or less in the container. This fit the bill because when it went off, it would create a vacuum, sucking in the surrounding air, and the damage would be more fire than explosion.
This could be manufactured out of homemade materials, with the use of a vacuum pump to bring the oxygen level low enough. Of course, the device could have been made to smolder first, which would explain Mishan’s coat smoking before the fire started. This could have created the necessary heat to set off the chemicals and destroy the shop.
But the makings of any kind of bomb should have been detected by forensics as well as the fire chief. Right now, it was nothing but a theory.
I stopped and realized that I had reached my destination. A memorial park along Route Three. It is beautiful and grassy and on some of the most expensive real estate in the state. The roadways and walking paths crossed each other under the budding trees. Despite traffic nearby, it was oddly quiet.
I strolled through the gates, which bore a metal plaque with the words “Endless Vista,” as I put the papers back into my pocket and tried to focus on what I was there to do. The energy was very peaceful as I walked past headstones, some of which dated back a hundred years. The place had changed since my last visit. Trees were taller and fuller, but the grounds were still immaculate.
I walked the same route I had taken years earlier to finally reach the familiar stone. Time and the seasons had darkened the light granite, giving it black lines like trails of tears. But chiseled into the stone were the words:
CATHERINE CYNTHIA GARBER
BELOVED DAUGHTER
It always strikes me how simple that tombstone is for a woman who was so much more. I would add, “promising doctor”, “beautiful fiancée”, and “enthusiastic lover”. She didn’t just embrace life, she ripped the hell out of it and pulled as much sensation out of each moment as possible.
Until that night…
We had been at a party, a simple party that Jon Baines had thrown together to celebrate my graduation as well as Cathy and I getting married in a few months.
At the party someone pulled out a Ouija board and as a joke, we played with it. However, it only worked when I touched it and the answers it gave were stunning. Specific names, parent’s birthday, things that only the person asking could know.
Then someone— I think his name was Jeff, suggested we conjure a demon.
Silly, ridiculous, and though I only had one beer, I agreed. We got into a circle and hands were held as he chanted strange words, and I felt an energy all around us.
An energy that scared me.
He finished with something like “Come forth. Fiat, Fiat.”
There was a flash of light and we all were pushed apart as if thrown. At first, people were shocked, but quickly suggested the flash was from the storm outside and laughed it off.
A part of me was not convinced.
Shortly after, we said our goodbyes, even though the night was still young, and I drove with Cathy up a mountainous road towards Mountainview, where she was staying with her parents. We’d always found it funny, the two of us met at John Hopkins in Maryland, yet we were both a pair of kids from New Jersey.
“Still want to get married so soon?” Cathy said. “Before we start our residency?”
“The sooner the better. I love you, Cathy.”
She gave me that smile, the one that owned my heart and I glanced over at her for the briefest moment.
When I returned my eyes to the road there was a figure ahead in the rain.
It was a red-skinned demon with a huge, muscled body and horns on its head the size of a bull’s— it stared right at me with yellow eyes. I screamed and pulled at the wheel to avoid hitting it. The car screeched as it slipped from my control and we careened through a guardrail and over the edge of the mountain. We spun through the air and down the summit rolling end over end.
We finally came to rest upside down, all the windows smashed. My eyesight was clouded by flashes of light, as I fought to stay cognizant. I tried to push my body free, away from the steering wheel, but there was terrible pain in my legs, especially my right one. I could barely move, but I could see Cathy dangling upside down in the passenger’s seat, blood dripping from her head.
It was then I had my first true psychic vision. I saw a life, the one Cathy and I were supposed to share. I saw each making sacrifices to help the other achieve their dreams. I saw resentments towards each other for a minor disagreements. I saw her give birth to one of our children, and us pull together in times of need. I saw us holding hands into our old age, more in love, because we stood the test of time in a world where marriages don’t last.
“Cathy, don’t go,” I croaked.
But she was gone.
I heard someone outside the remains of my window. I thought there was still a chance, that somebody saw us crash and there would be an ambulance. I shifted to see that red face stare at me, its horns rising from his brow.
The creature knelt inches away from me. His long, narrow face twisted into a smile, the white teeth shining against the deep crimson of his flesh, as he leaned against our broken car and said:
You have to be careful what you conjure, boy!
Mercifully, I blacked out.
And now, years later, I fought to drive the memories out of my mind as I focused in on what I came to say today.
“Hi, honey,” I whispered, as tears stung my eyes. Where could I begin? It had been so long since I’d even allowed myself to focus on her. And here she was in her final resting place, which opened the wound once more.
I sat, all but falling down on my one good knee, and was overcome. I began to weep, a pain in my chest as I heaved and sobbed. There weren’t words for my loss, just the knowledge that she was gone and there was nothing I could do to touch her again.
“Why did you have to die?” I said, aware of how stupid this question was, and at the same time, I knew it was the question of all those who grieve. My grief was years old but was still a hard lump in my throat.
I began to get control of myself, thankful I’d remembered a handkerchief, which I pulled from my pocket and used to wipe my face and blow my nose. I sat for a few minutes, allowing the grief to pass, and tried to enjoy the peace of the place, although traffic roared a few hundred feet away. It was good to be near what was left of her on this earth. Just being close to her in some way—any way—calmed me.
“I came back to
help Jon Baines,” I said, as I found my voice. “Actually, it’s more like he’s helping me. He got me a lecture—I’ll even be paid.”
I reached out and ran my fingers over the letters carved into the stone. “I’m a doctor now. Remember, that’s what we talked about and worked for. The day when we would be doctors…”
I turned away and blew my nose.
“Not the way we planned it, I guess. Then again, we planned to both be alive, didn’t we?” I said, a grim smile on my face—humor in the midst of sorrow—that was one of my traits she loved.
“I’m at a crossroads, sweetie. Don’t quite know where I’m going or how I’m getting there. But if you can keep an eye on me, maybe help me out, I’d appreciate it,” I said, and then closed my eyes and sat in silence.
There was a quick breeze that caressed my hair, and for a moment, I felt a touch, like a pair of invisible lips giving my cheek the lightest of kisses.
Then it was gone.
I opened my eyes and smiled, a real smile this time. If I’d learned one thing over the last few years, it’s that we don’t die—we merely change form. A part of us endures. Sometimes, that part gets fixated on its last moments, which can lead to a haunting. But most of the time, we just move on to another plane.
I got up feeling younger, freer. She was there, and she would watch over me, as she probably had all these years. I had just never taken the time to listen.
I kissed my fingers and lay them to the stone. Then I headed to the gate to make my way back to town.
eight
After I arrived at my guest quarters, I showered off the sweat from my walk and called Wendy Wallace.
“Hello?” she bubbled on the other end of the line.
“Wendy, it’s Len.”
“Wow! A man who calls the next day like he said he would.”
“It has been known to happen.”
“So, what’s the latest on our case?”
“I didn’t know it was ‘our’ case,” I said, taken aback.
“Well, I want to know what happened—I was there, for goodness sake!”
And there is the insurance, I thought, but pushed it aside. “Still running tests,” I said to dismiss it. “By the way, did you hear any kind of sound—perhaps an explosion or even just a whoosh of air?”
“Yeah, there was a kind of sound, like wind, when I got out the back and slammed the door.” She paused, and then there was a light gasp. “Do you think my opening the door did anything?”
“It’s hard to say. Anyway, the reason I called is to invite you out for dinner tomorrow night, my treat. I’ll even wear a suit.”
“Not the same one you wore yesterday…” she said.
“What was wrong with it?”
“It was too big on you!”
“I have others,” I lied.
“That’s good. You dress nice for me, and I’ll dress up for you. Believe me, you’ll think it’s worth it.”
“You always look good, Wendy,” I said.
“I work at it. Pick you up at seven?”
“Great, see you then.”
I hung up the phone and had to admit, I was about as enthusiastic as if I had just been hired to clean the bathrooms in Grand Central Station. I felt stupid. Wendy was actually an interesting woman. She was beautiful and intelligent, with a remarkable figure. But it all seemed so meaningless, especially after the visit to Cathy’s grave.
However, Cathy was dead and I was alive, and a few hours with Miss Wallace would be enjoyable and might help me shake my inappropriate attraction to Jenny. Jenny was so much more like Cathy than just looks. She possessed the same spirit, that internal energy that gave her a glow that just filled the room every time she entered…
Or was I projecting that? Reading things into her I wanted to see? This was all frustrating on many levels. After Cathy’s death, I took years of psychoanalysis, both with a therapist and as an academic course of study. If I couldn’t be an MD, then I figured I’d be a shrink. That didn’t work out well as my unique abilities wouldn’t shut down. A guy who hears voices and peeks into other people’s brains is not the best candidate for therapist of the year.
That’s when the drinking increased. During that time, I lived with a woman—Susan Haring—whom I treated poorly. I didn’t strike her or do anything grotesque, but I played games with her mind. It was a terrible thing for her to be with someone who always knew what she was thinking. It scared her and made me feel like she was somehow less, as I possessed the ability to say the things that would hurt her the most.
She was only safe when the alcohol turned my abilities off. But then she dealt with the depressed drunk. Talk about a lose–lose for her. She finally left to preserve her own ego. At the time, I hated her for it.
But in retrospect, I don’t blame her one bit.
I wanted a drink, just a little one. I must have made enough progress where I could just have a little to put me to sleep. Jon has a liquor cabinet somewhere…
But, no, if I start again, I can’t stop. That’s how bad it got; I drank from the time I got up until I went to sleep. Not falling down intoxicated, but never sober. It shut off the noise in my head. Then again, it affected everything—and now I was involved in something important, something more than just myself. I sighed and decided I needed a nap. I headed to my room, undressed, and slid between the sheets. I focused on my breathing until I began to doze.
I was dreaming—drifting free—or was I?
I was in the jewelry store as I had seen it, burned and damaged. The windows were streaked and covered in soot. There was a smell, one I could recognize.
Gasoline.
I walked to the window in the door and wiped the pane, leaving streaks of soot on my hand, but clearing it a bit. There was a man outside just beyond the window. He watched me through the dirty glass, a figure dressed in black. I could see his ebony hair and his thin face with a Roman nose—but the eyes—they glowed a bright red.
He could see me.
I was afraid, so very afraid, and I turned from the window and tried to run, my legs and arms pumping, but I moved so terribly slowly.
Fire began to spit forth from different places in the room—the counters, the floor, the remains of the cash register—like little erupting volcanoes that shot fire into the air, spreading the tongues of yellow and orange to the ceiling and walls.
I ran to the back room, but it was alight as well. It was blisteringly hot, yet I leaned away from the intensity of the inferno and kept running for the back door. Reaching for it, I felt the metal against my palms. I grabbed the doorknob—and yelped as I pulled away. It was glowing, red-hot. I looked at my hand; it was scalded.
I turned from the door, and could see the figure still there. The blaze grew higher as I threw myself against the door with all my might. I pounded it again and again, and finally, I heard it give, and the door flew open.
To a scene from hell.
All around me, the parking lot was on fire, burning away. It shouldn’t be possible, but the pavement itself was aflame, and the asphalt melted and bubbled. There were two cars that would probably explode once the fuel tanks caught…
“Len?”
I jumped up, breathing hard. It was dark, and there was a knock at my door.
“C-Come in,” I said.
Jenny walked in the door, causing the light from the corridor to shine into the darkened bedroom.
“You’d better get up, sleepyhead. Dinner is in a half-hour.” She flicked on the overhead light, and I pulled the blanket up over my naked form.
“It’s nice I’m not the only one who sleeps in the nude,” she said, a grin on her face.
Then her smile froze, and she approached me. Concern appeared on her face. “My God, Len, what did you do to your hand?”
I looked down at my right hand. The fingers and
palm were seared, white blisters forming on my flesh.
“What the Hell did you do?”
My mouth was dry, my throat tight. “Jenny,” I croaked, “can you get me some ointment?”
“Of course,” she said and left the room.
I grabbed my underwear and dove into my pants and shirt as well as I could with my stiff right leg and my right hand now burned. Jenny came back into the room just as I, barefoot, went to the chair where I had left my jacket.
“A phone!” I said. “I’ve got to get my phone.”
“But, Len, you’re hurt!”
I looked at my damaged hand as well as the gauze and tube of medicine in Jenny’s hand. “Can you bandage it while I make a call?”
She nodded as I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket. I was thankful I could operate it with my left hand. I touched the screen and brought up McGee’s number.
“Let me look at that!” Jenny said. She touched my hand and I flinched.
The phone rang in my ear.
“This is not good,” Jenny said, delicately rubbing the cream on my hand. “How could you burn your hand lying in bed?”
The phone rang again.
“You’ve heard of psychosomatic illness? When you think you’re sick, so your body starts to hurt?”
“Yes—but this…” Jenny said.
The phone rang a third time.
“This is called a psychogenic effect. It’s when you believe something in your mind with such clarity, you experience it physically.”
“McGee,” the voice boomed in my ear.
“Bill, it’s Len. Don’t ask me how I know this, but get a fire truck over to Mishan’s Jewelry store right now.”
“What the hell?” he said.
“Bill, I’m serious—”
“And a bit late. There are trucks already heading there. The place starting burning about ten minutes ago, big time. The whole block might go up. But how did you know, are you there?”
“No, I’m at the Baines’s house,” I said, releasing my pent-up breath and feeling a bit dizzy. “But I was at the store—in a dream, I guess—a vision.”