by Rosa Sophia
“I just didn’t like the interrogation. He’s supposed to be helping me and comforting me, not drilling me,” Kat replied angrily.
“Drilling you, Katherine? Gee, sounds kind of fun.”
“I’m not in the mood for sick jokes, not after what I saw.” Kat slumped against the back of the couch and considered how incredibly lucky she was that she was sitting in a nice house, on a comfortable couch, surrounded by things of this world. For some reason, she suddenly wished Corry had locked her front door.
“I can’t imagine how horrible or amazing your experiences were, Kat,” Corry continued, “but whatever they were—I mean, wow, even I find all this hard to handle—whatever they were, you’ve got me, and I’ll stick with you the whole way.”
“Thanks, Cor.”
Several minutes later, Kat picked up the phone.
“Hello? Yes, I’m looking for a certain Jonathan Stark…no, he’s…older. I’m not sure….Late seventies, early eighties, maybe? No? All right. Thank you.”
Click.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I’m looking for a man named Jonathan Stark…Your husband? How old is he? Oh. No, that wouldn’t be him then. I’m sorry. Goodbye.”
Click.
Kat knew she would have to go through a lot of false hope and a lot of phone calls before finding her wrongly convicted killer. She just didn’t know she would be calling over forty Starks. With each number, she marked them off. And when she got to the second to last one—
“Hello? Is this Jonathan Stark? It is? Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” She paused. “Did you once work in Tinicum Township for someone named Phillip Maslin?”
The man on the other line said yes.
***
Katherine scheduled a meeting with Jonathan Stark. She could hardly believe she was going to meet a man who had been, in her belief, wrongly blamed for murder. He had seemed rather interested to talk to her, especially when she mentioned she had information that might clear his name. When he had asked for her identity, she had simply said, “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
Once she hung up, she called all the people on the Woodworth list, hoping to find Earl’s widow. She didn’t have any luck.
After calling even more Ruths than Starks, Katherine finally got a positive answer to the question she had asked one too many times in the past hour.
“I’m looking for someone. I was wondering if you are the Frank Ruth who is the late Julie Ruth Maslin’s brother?”
“I am. Why do you ask?”
When Kat got off the phone, she did a final search, scanning the yellow pages for any or all of the old folks’ homes in Silverdale. There were two of them. When she called, she told the receptionists at each home that her name was Katherine Maslin and she was looking for her grandfather, Phillip.
That was a big mistake.
One of the receptionists recognized her name and called the police. Unfortunately for Kat, she had underestimated the seeming telepathic power of the press, and when she and Corry headed for the car, people were trying to stop her on the sidewalk.
***
“What did they say?” Corry asked, while they were driving down Main Street in Souderton. She had insisted on coming along.
“Frank Ruth sounded nice enough, but a little grumpy. He said he didn’t care when I came over and he gave me his address,” Kat explained. “I figured we would stop there this afternoon.” She glanced at her watch. “But it’s already four o’clock. All those damned phone calls took too long.”
“What about the others?”
“I couldn’t get a hold of Woodworth’s widow, but I did talk to Jonathan Stark.” Kat shivered at the funny feeling she had gotten from speaking with a convicted killer.
Suddenly, she realized that she was playing detective. The thought made her pride inflate drastically, but she silently noted that her pride was probably just as breakable as any old balloon.
“So, what are you going to do? Just talk to these people, interview them, what? I really think you should leave this up to the cops.”
Kat glared at her friend when they reached a stop sign, but all she saw in Corry’s face was an innocent compassion she just couldn’t be angry with.
“Julie wanted my help. Not the police. I’m going to figure this out myself if it’s the last thing I do. And I’m staying away from the cops. I’m sure they’re looking for me right now.”
***
Jake was terrified for Katherine. If she continued with her rambunctious search for the truth, she was bound to meet obstacles along the way and it was extremely likely those obstacles would threaten her life. But what could he do, if anything?
He started with the box. Maybe it held answers. He carried it down from the attic, pushing horrible thoughts out of his mind even as he tugged open the dusty flaps. When he saw what was inside, he let himself fall backward a bit. Then he crossed his legs and sat on the floor in front of his discovery.
Inside the box, neatly folded, was a piece of paper. Beneath that were Katherine’s clothes. Jake reached in and pulled out the black skirt Kat had bought at the mall last year. When he let it unfold, he saw the damage that insects had made over the years. There were holes in the skirt and plushy, off-white bugs’ nests within the folds. Jake reeled.
Wait a second. Years? Kat got this skirt last year, sure, but how come it looks as though it really has been lying around for years? He reached into the box and pulled out a tank top, an over-shirt, and a pair of sandals, all of which appeared aged beyond reason, as though these items hadn’t belonged to Kat at all, but to her grandmother instead.
When Jake saw nothing but the bottom of the brown box, he picked up the yellowed piece of parchment lying on top of the clothes. He opened it and observed the neat, perfect handwriting, which was exactly the same as the writing on the side of the box. Parts of the paper had been eaten away by silverfish, but the letter was readable.
September 1, 1960.
I am leaving this note here for anyone who might find it, but I am hoping that if my hunch is correct, a certain person will discover it. Anyway, I’ve been having these dreams for much too long. I never tell anyone about them, but I feel as though I’m losing my mind. They started many years ago.
I find myself in the upstairs hallway. When I have this dream, the sun is always coming through the windows and illuminating my surroundings. It is more of an irritating dream than a frightening one, but only because I have had it so many times before. In this dream, I am standing at the top of the stairs in my house, but for some reason, there are different pictures on the walls. Some of them are distasteful paintings of nudity. I can’t imagine where they come from, because the only pictures Phillip and I have in the upstairs hallway are landscape paintings and framed photos.
In any case, the dream continues uneventfully for several seconds. Then I hear footsteps. The end of the hallway is always very dark, even though it seems like the sun should be able to reach that far. But it’s the darkness that seems to hide what I see next, a beautiful woman with long blond hair. She wears jeans and a rather revealing top. Her hair comes down to her knees.
Then she speaks to me. I really can’t stand this dream, because she says the same thing every time. It’s always, ‘Julie, don’t worry. I’m on my way. I’ll help you, I promise.’
She talks about justice and pain in chopped sentences and I can never understand what she means. She always seems sad, as though she knows something horrible that keeps her from being completely happy. I never knew what to do about this dream until now. Now I know that I can do nothing. If that woman was supposed to help me, she hasn’t yet and maybe she never will.
She came to us in the flesh in June. She was like a daughter to me. David told me something. He said that she lives here, but not in the now.
Are you reading this, Katherine? If you are, please understand how atrocious this is. I feel as though these recurring dreams are probably going to haunt me for the r
est of my life.
I tell only the truth.
Julie
Jake was too stunned to do much more than stare straight ahead. There was no denying it now. He was stuck. Like an atheist who just had a vision of God, Jake slumped against the wall behind him and tried to face the facts. Katherine had gone back in time. In his hand was the proof of something utterly impossible.
Had the letter been in the attic with Kat’s clothes before she had disappeared, or had the letter and the box mysteriously appeared as soon as the young woman had traipsed into the forest? If Jake had set up a video camera in the attic, would he have captured the magic conjuration of a dusty cardboard box?
Jake tended to lean toward the first explanation—that the box had already been there. It made sense to him that time moved like one of those plastic, glittery pinwheels that parents buy their kids in the dollar store. The pinwheel traveled whichever way the wind was going. If it was spinning left, a change in the direction of the wind could make it spin right. The pinwheel was the same on all sides and corners. It never changed.
Jake decided that if Katherine truly had gone back to 1960, then time was like a pinwheel. It was the same on all sides and corners and able to turn in any direction. It was not linear after all. If that was true, then something like this cardboard box had always been here. That meant that time went in continuous circles.
But, Jake thought, there’s always the possibility of some kid sauntering into your garden like he owns the place and breaking that pinwheel in two.
***
Frank Ruth lived in Grandy Manor, a high-rise Kat knew was a residency for poor people. The drab, concrete block building had been built around the late sixties or early seventies, and Kat had driven past it many times. She pulled into the parking lot on the side of the building and turned off her car.
“What apartment is it?” she asked, glancing over at Corry. Her friend pushed a strand of strawberry blond hair behind her ear and examined the paper.
“Five-oh-three,” she read.
The two women climbed out of the car and headed toward the building. The lobby was dull, painted in white and tan, with dying potted plants sitting in the corners. Across from the plants, the receptionist was on the phone with her feet propped up on her desk.
“Yeah, Sam, I told her she was full of shit, but…no, are you kidding? Wait a second.” The plump, black-haired woman put her feet back on the ground and temporarily took the phone from her ear, covering it with a fat left hand. “Can I help you, ladies?”
Kat smiled and said that they were looking for room number 503.
“Ah, that’s on the fifth floor,” the woman said. “But if you’d like to see Frank, you’d better go into the recreation room. He usually plays cards in there this time of day. It’s over that way.” The receptionist pointed to a nearby hallway, then quickly returned to her conversation.
“Thank you,” Kat said. After a few moments, she wondered how a blind man was supposed to play cards, but she didn’t mention it to Corry.
Kat thought of the few discussions she’d had with Frank Ruth as they went in search of him. He never talked much and was always in his room, so she never got to know him. But he’d been younger then. What would he look like now?
There weren’t many people in the recreation room, but when Kat saw an old man sitting in a far corner with a white-haired woman, she immediately knew it was Frank Ruth. He wasn’t wearing suspenders, but he had on a pair of slacks and a t-shirt. His hair was gray and barely there, and he was wearing a pair of black sunglasses that were lopsided, scratched, and far past their prime.
“That’s him, I think.”
“Are you sure?” Corry asked quietly. The two old people were sitting at a small table with cards before them. Kat could just about hear them. The woman spoke.
“Frank, I’ve beat you again. You’ve only got an assortment, I’ve got a straight flush.”
Kat approached the table timidly. The old woman looked up and put a hand on the cross that hung around her neck.
What do I look like, a Satanist? Kat wondered. There was a look of disdain on the woman’s face.
“Excuse me.” Kat looked over at the old man, who seemed to perk up at the sound of her voice. “Are you Frank Ruth?”
The man’s lip curled. “Yes, I am. Who are you?” His face was leaning toward the sky. He was holding his cards in his right hand and they were shaking. Kat couldn’t understand why. He had seemed fine a moment ago, before she had approached him.
“My name is…well…” She looked over at Corry, then back at Frank.
Katherine Maslin. Oh, my God. If I say that, what will he think? I’ll have to explain all of this to him. For some reason, she hadn’t realized until now that before she asked questions, she would have to identify herself. Frank’s companion was staring her down.
“I—I would like to talk to you. In private,” she muttered.
Frank stood, shaking, then picked up his cane. Kat knew that his discomfort must be because of her.
“Let’s go up to my room,” he suggested. “There’s someone with you?”
“Yes,” Kat said, surprised he had known. “This is Corry.”
“I didn’t catch your name.” His voice was soft. Kat could tell he was worried.
“I—uh, I’ll tell you when we get upstairs.”
“Sounds good.”
***
If she had seen Frank’s apartment without knowing a blind man lived there, she might’ve have made a joke about the ineptitude of the resident. What a horrible sense of interior design. But when Kat saw the mismatched furniture and lack of wall hangings, she didn’t laugh and neither did Corry.
The living room was tiny and furnished with an old armchair and a small table. There were several books on the table and there was a bookcase in the corner with an assortment of classics, all in Braille. Frank made a bit of nervous small talk and explained that his friend Pearl—the one he’d been playing cards with—hadn’t been in to clean lately.
“No one else will play poker with her,” he said, his voice shuddering as he slowly sat down in his chair. “She’s a mean old woman, but she loves me. Probably because I’m the only person she can beat in poker. I think she lies about what cards I have. We use a regular old playing deck. It passes the time.” He took off his glasses and set them on top of the books. “I’m sorry I don’t have many seats, but you ladies can make yourselves comfortable on the floor, if you like.”
“Thank you,” Corry said, her first words to this tired old man. She plopped down and leaned against the wall. Kat preferred to stand for now.
“I guess I should tell you who I am,” she said, nervous.
“I think I already know,” Frank admitted. “I was hoping this day would never come.”
“So, you know I’m Katherine.”
“I do. I knew you would come to me eventually. I hate thinking about the past, just so you know. I haven’t the faintest idea how you were there, how you ever got there. I guess you can tell I’m a little frightened.” He was staring straight ahead. He didn’t have any eyes from which to read an emotion, which was something Kat had always been quite good at, but his body language was a different story. He looked as though he’d just had a run-in with a dead woman.
Kat stepped closer to Frank, where she sat down beside his chair. Slowly, she took his hand in hers.
“You’re real,” he said, laughing. He seemed unsure of himself.
“Yes, I’m real.” She hesitated, then continued. “David told Julie everything, then?”
“He did. He said you came from another time, and that you lived in that house. It is indeed 2005, so you must live there now.”
“I do. I…I’m investigating something.” She heard Frank swallow, hard. “We can talk later if you like. When you feel better,” she suggested. Corry was perking up, listening intently.
“No, this is fine. Ask me whatever you will, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to answer everythin
g.”
“Why?” Kat asked. She was trying to sound compassionate, but his tone was beginning to frustrate her. She gently patted his hand. “Are you saying you might not know the answers, or are you telling me that you know…but you’ll refuse to tell me?”
Frank was very still for a moment.
“A little of both,” he finally replied.
“Can I ask you some questions?”
“Why?”
Kat sighed and crossed her legs as she released Frank’s hand.
“I’m trying to clear a man’s name. I’m sure you remember him.” She paused. “Jonathan Stark. The farmhand Phillip hired.”
“May I ask you a question, Katherine?”
“Of course,” Kat said, though she wasn’t sure she would want to answer him.
“When you were at our house, you could remember everything, couldn’t you?”
Kat almost nodded, but then she recalled whom she was talking to. “I remembered everything, yes.”
“Then what’s your last name?”
She didn’t want to answer that, but she knew she would have to. She had known it ever since she arrived at Grandy Manor.
“Maslin.”
She saw Frank tense up as soon as she said it.
“How are you related to my sister’s family?” He spoke as though Julie were still alive. It was also hard for Kat to think of her as dead, because she had befriended her in a time that felt very recent to her.
The old man sitting by Katherine was frail. His body was giving up on him and it didn’t appear that he cared for this world at all. He sat in his armchair, innocent, yet guilty of all his human flaws, but Kat realized without much thought that his reaction could never be that bad.
“I’m Julie and Phillip’s granddaughter,” she explained. “David’s daughter. I should just tell you everything.”
“I have a basic idea of—well, I’m not really sure what it is,” Frank hazarded.