Letter to Belinda

by Tim Tingle

  “Yes I did! I knew you wanted me there, so I fixed it!”

  “I’m glad you did, because I get scared in here by myself!”

  Time passed slowly. Finally Dr. Thomas came in and introduced himself, and he informed Lennie that he was going to have an MRI, which had been requested by his family doctor.

  Lennie nodded. Miranda asked the doctor to explain what an MRI was, so Lennie would know what was going on.

  “You lie on a cot, and are moved into this tunnel, which takes a 3-D picture of what is inside you. It’s painless, and it shows us what you look like inside, without cutting you open.”

  “So you won’t have to cut me open?”

  “Not at all!”

  “That’s good. Will you be through by lunch time?”

  “I don’t know about that. After the MRI, I will let you go to lunch, but you need to be back here by one, so I can go over the results of the MRI with you.”

  “Okay.” Lennie seemed relieved that they would be allowed to go to lunch, because for him, lunch was the highlight of the whole trip. Miranda, on the other hand, was getting a bad feeling about this whole thing. No one said it, but her intuition told here that bad news was just around the corner, and she felt bad for Lennie.

  21

  As Lennie was signing in at the Cancer Treatment Center, at UAB, Janice and Penelope were sitting in Janice’s car, out front of the Country Quick Stop, watching Bob’s house, to know when he left.

  Janice had felt uneasy, picking up Penelope in front of a house that was cordoned off with yellow police ‘Do not enter—Crime scene’ tape. But no one had seen her. They had been sitting there at the convenience store for several minutes, and were starting to wonder if he had already gone.

  “Here he comes!” Penelope said. “I hope he doesn’t stop here!”

  “He won’t. He’ll be pushing it, to get to Bates Park by 10 o’clock.”

  Janice seemed to be right, as the maroon Ford truck came out of his driveway, and headed east, toward Laurel Grove.

  “It worked like a charm!” Janice said proudly. “We’ll give him a minute or two, to get on over in town, in case he forgot something.”

  “No, we’d better go on now! That will give me more time to hunt for my Bible, in case he hid it somewhere.”

  “Are you sure he’s gone?”

  “I sure hope he is! Let’s go!”

  Janice started her car, and went up the road, and into Bob’s driveway. She pulled in and parked in such a way that Bob could not block her in, if he did come back unexpectedly.

  “Okay, I’m going in! Blow your horn, if you see him coming.”

  “Don’t worry, I will!”

  Penelope apprehensively walked up on the porch, and looked back at Janice, who was using sign language to urge her on. She opened the screen door, then tried the main oak door. The knob turned, and the door opened easily. She gave Janice the ‘thumbs up’ sign, then disappeared inside.

  Janice passed the time by telling herself that she was doing a good thing, the right thing. It wasn’t burglary, because Penelope was going after her own Bible, and besides, the door was left unlocked, so there was no breaking and entering. If they got caught there, by Bob, or the police, or anyone else, she would say that they had come there to see Bob, and they thought he was inside the house, the reason she had went on in. Yes, that should work. But they wouldn’t have to resort to that, because no one would notice them here anyway. They would be long gone by the time Bob suspected that something wasn’t right at Bates Park. She watched the clock on her dash, and wondered what was taking Penelope so long? The plan was simple, in and out, no complications.

  Inside the house, Penelope was petrified to be back in the same house where such awful things were done to her so many years ago. She wished this whole place would just burn to the ground! But not before she found her Bible.

  She wondered why God allowed such wicked things to go on in the world, and how such wicked men as her Dad could go through life unpunished? It wasn’t right that such a wicked man could live well for all these years without God’s retribution falling on him. He had seemed to prosper, while at the same time, she was the tortured soul, unable to find peace, and she was the victim! She had become an alcoholic, and a drug addict, and a slave to degrading sexual perversion, because of what he did to her! He had never shed a tear of remorse over what he had done. Where was the justice in that? She knew God would judge him in the next life, and would, no doubt, cast him into the Lake of Fire, just like the preachers say, but to her, that was not good enough! Her Dad needed to suffer torment now for what he had done to her! But was she the one to inflict such judgment on him? No, she was terrified of him! Just being in his house with him gone, was terrifying enough! Any time she was around him, any courage she had mustered, just melted away, trickling to the floor, along with the contents of her bladder. She couldn’t help it, he scared the piss out of her! So find your Bible, and get out of here, she told herself. This was the last place she wanted to see her Dad.

  Her Bible wasn’t in the most obvious places, like on the mantle, or the cluttered coffee table. She made sure, by raking everything off into the floor, bit at a time. She checked out the roll-top desk, with the same results, no Bible. But she did find a stash of 100 dollar bills, in the neighborhood of 5,000 dollars. At first, she mindlessly stuffed the wad into her dress pocket, but then thought about it, and returned it to its hiding place. She wanted nothing of her dad’s stuff, not even money. It felt so dirty. She moved on to the kitchen, checking out the cluttered table there, with no results. Only one more possible location she had not checked yet, and that was the bedrooms.

  She went into her room first, but it was obvious that it was not there. In the years since she had been gone, her Dad had made her bedroom into a catch-all junk room. That just left one place to look, and she really didn’t want to go in there! Her Dad’s bedroom! She hesitated at the door, trying to muster the courage to go in there. She knew that if it was here, it had to be in his bedroom. With the feeling that time quickly running out, she forced herself into the bedroom.

  She froze when she saw a naked woman in his un-made bed! She slapped her hand over her mouth, to keep from screaming, because the woman did not look to be alive. There was something unnatural about her position. Penelope crept closer, unable to take her eyes off the woman. When she got beside the bed, he realized that she the woman wasn’t real! She was one of those life-like silicon dolls! Her Dad was keeping company with a giant sex toy! But there was something strange about the head. It was partially covered with a sheet, but she could see that there was something taped over the face! The only way to see what it was, was to throw off the covers, and turn the fake woman toward her. She was so fascinated at this, that she momentarily forgot about her Bible, and turned the doll over. She immediately wished she hadn’t.

  The large picture taped over the doll’s face, was her Senior portrait! The half smiling portrait of herself looked back at her with accusing eyes! Penelope was repulsed, and backed away from the bed, running into the dresser so hard, that things fell over with a clatter. She looked around, and realized that she was still alone in the room. Just her, and her sex toy look-alike! How perverted could my Dad get? What wouldn’t he do? The answer to that was scattered all across the top of his dresser. All kinds of lubrication oils, and unmentionable sexual stimulators. But then, right there in the midst of it, was her Bible! She raked the jar of lubricant off her beloved Bible, and used a dirty towel to wipe crud off the cover. She hugged it to her chest, as though she had found a long lost friend. She didn’t know why she was so comforted by it, but now that she had it back, she could go.

  What was that?

  A noise from the kitchen? Was someone in the kitchen? Janice perhaps?

  No, probably her imagination, or more likely, some of the junk settling that sh
e had earlier rummaged through. But she found no comfort in that thought, because she knew it could be her Dad!

  She froze for what seemed like several minutes, listening intently for another sound, but heard none. If she had, she probably would have freaked out. She had her Bible, now to get out of this den of perversion. She somehow believed that with her Bible in hand, God would somehow protect her. (Though God never seemed to be around, when her Dad was having his way with her as a teen. Why would God suddenly protect her now?)

  As quietly as a mouse, she began leaving the bedroom. She made it to the doorway and stopped, looking both ways.

  Nothing. That was good. This old house was so solidly built, that there had never been any squeaking floorboards. That was good. She could move about silently, with no fear of being heard. She moved back down the hallway, to the kitchen, and was relieved to see that no one was there. She was as tense as a cat, muscles tight as banjo strings, but seeing no one in the kitchen caused her to relax a bit. All she had to do, was go through the living room, and out the front door, to where Janice was waiting on her. But before she did, just to satisfy her doubts, she moved toward the kitchen sink, and used the back of her hand to push back the dirty kitchen curtains, to see into the back yard.

  And there sat her Dad’s maroon truck!

  She almost screamed!

  He was here! He had gone down the highway, then turned off on the old fire lane, and driven right around to the back of the house!

  But where was he?

  Maybe he didn’t even know she was here?

  A calm voice from behind her shattered her thoughts.

  “Penny, you decided to come back home!”

  (Penny, that was what he called her when she was a little girl.)

  “That didn’t sound right, you wanting to meet me in the park!” He was smiling at the way he had out-foxed her. “You have been a bad girl.” He was slapping his leg with a wide leather belt. “Come here to me, girl!”

  With escape cut off, her terror was almost unbearable. It was the reliving of her worst nightmares, and she responded by peeing in the kitchen floor.

  “Nooo, Daddy! Please nooo!”

  22

  The mid-day commuters on the subway were more than Travis had anticipated, and he had to wait through five trains to get on one that was going his way. And even then, he had to do as the locals, and muscle his way on, as the warning sounded, ‘Mind the Gap! This door is closing!’ On board finally, he looked at his watch, and realized that he just might be late for his first British book-signing. He watched the exits, and when Piccadilly Circus came up, he had to literally push through the crowd to get out before it took off again.

  He raced up the stairs to the street level, and was shocked at the bustling crowds heading back to the office from their lunch break. Monday afternoon was obviously busier than Sunday morning. Since he had not scouted out the book store in advance, he had no idea which way he needed to go, so he tried to ask those passing. Most just kept walking, but finally a woman stopped and tried to help him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Borders Bookstore was to the west, down the main thoroughfare. He thanked her and set out. He was thinking she must be mistaken, then he saw the sign. It was a rather large store.

  Then he saw the large crowds extending out both doors of the building, so thick that he couldn’t even get in. I wonder what the crowds are here for. It must be a two for one sale, Travis thought. He tried to muscle his way into the building past the line, but an elderly chap replied,

  “No cutting in line, young man! I have been here for over an hour!”

  “What’s going on here?”

  “The Queen is in the building!”

  “You mean Queen Elizabeth?”

  “Who else? Oh, you’re a yank!”

  “Yes, and I am about to be late. Can you fellows please let me through? I have a book signing here today!”

  The elderly man looked startled. “So you are Travis Lee?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let him in! This is the Yank author that the Queen is here to see!”

  Suddenly a corridor opened up in the crowd, and he was ushered into the building. Inside, the first person he recognized was Angel, and she wasn’t happy.

  “Travis, where have you been? I’ve got people out looking for you all over London!”

  “I’m not late. It is five minutes until two.”

  “If you have an appointment at two, you are expected to be here at 1:30! You Americans! Come, come! The Queen is waiting!”

  “The Queen? Waiting on me?”

  “We have no time to dally with simpleton questions! Have you ever met royalty before?”

  “I met Princess Diana on a plane once.”

  “No, I mean real royalty! There are certain rules of protocol you must observe in meeting the Queen, and I am going to give you a crash course! Always address her as ‘Your Majesty’, or in the third person, ‘would Your Majesty like tea’? Never as ‘Ma’am’, as you Americans like to do! Never sit when she is standing.”

  “Can’t I just be myself?”

  “Oh, heavens no! You Americans are already perceived as being crude barbarians. Don’t do anything to support that notion!”

  “So I guess picking my nose, scratching or farting in ‘Her Highness’ presence is out of the question?”

  “Oh God! Please don’t do anything that will reflect badly on Jester Books! That’s all I ask!”

  “Why is the Queen here?”

  “Are you that stupid? She is here to personally get an autographed copy of your book! You are presently the British Isle’s #1 best selling author!”

  “Wow! I would have thought she would send someone to get it for her, instead of fighting this crowd!”

  “There was no fighting. The Queen is allowed to go to the front of the line, any time she wants something. But she has been waiting since 1:30! She told us specifically that she wants talk personally to the author of ‘The Relic’! So shape up, Travis, you are about to meet Her Majesty, the Queen!”

  “Should I bow, or something?”

  “No, you would just look ridiculous! She is already seated at your table, just walk up and have a seat across from her, and apologize for being so late!”

  The whole time Travis was being briefed, they were moving through the store, headed toward a raised section of floor in the corner, where Queen Elizabeth II was seated, and patiently waiting. The rest of the line was held back behind a crowd control rope, giving the Queen ten feet of space. Travis stepped up on the raised section, and moved to his place behind the table, as the crowd applauded.

  “Better late than never! I am sorry that I kept you waiting, Your Majesty!

  “It is quite all right.”

  “I made the mistake of taking the subway! This time of the day, it is a killer!”

  “I can only imagine! Mr. Lee, I have heard shining reviews about your book, and when I read your bio, I decided I must meet you!”

  “That is very kind, Your Majesty!”

  “According to what I read, this is your first novel?”

  “Yes, but I have many more on the way. I plan to have a long career as a writer!”

  “If they all live up to the hype of your first book, I shall want to read them all!”

  “Thank you Ma’am, I mean Your Majesty!”

  She laughed. “You Americans! I met your President, Bill Clinton, and he called me Ma’am as well!”

  “To whom should I sign you book? To Queen Elizabeth II?”

  “That will do.”

  Travis wanted to write something witty, but he was drawing a blank, so he kept it simple. “Well, I certainly appreciate you taking the time to honor us with your presence, Your Majesty.”

  She leaned across the table toward
him. “Let me ask you one question more.”

  “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

  “Do you think it is possible that such a thing could really happen? I mean something like what happens in your story?”

  “You mean that a relic could be possessed by an unseen evil?”

  “Yes, have you researched this subject to the extent, that you know it to be true?”

  “I have done enough research to indicate that a real life story like mine is plausible, but not likely. This story itself is a work of fiction, a fabrication. But could it happen? That is what makes fiction so intriguing for me! I try to follow so closely to reality, that the reader must ask himself, or herself that question. Could this really happen, if all the right circumstances come together?”

  “That is exactly the answer I was afraid you would give me!”

  The Queen’s aides cut in. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but we are pressed for time. We should really be going.”

  “Yes, I suppose we should. Thank you for your candor, Mr. Lee. Will you be in England long?”

  “We fly back on Saturday.”

  “Perhaps I will send for you on Friday, before you leave. That will give me time to read some of your book. I might have further questions at that time.”

  “Certainly. I think we will be in Canterbury on Friday, but if I can . . .”

  “I’m afraid that will not be possible, Your Majesty! Remember, you are to entertain the Ethiopian Ambassador on Friday evening.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Perhaps I can correspond with you on this subject, after you return to America?”

  “Sure. Here is my business card. Write me any time.”

  She rose, and Travis stood to his feet, and photographers snapped a few photos. As her entourage left the building, one of the Queen’s Aides leaned over the table toward Travis, and whispered, “You will NOT correspond with the Queen on the subject of the supernatural. She is not a Pen Pal! Good day.”

  Travis didn’t know what to say to this. It sounded like the people around the Queen were trying to protect her from something unseen. He shrugged it off and sat down, to begin signing his novel for the next person in line, and soon forgot about the nasty remark.