Frank touched the places where the tires had been and felt the moisture. “You’re right. That’s a little more than morning dew. So it seems that these cycles were here just a few hours ago.” Noticing the confused expression on Loren’s face, Frank asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Frank, there’s something funny here. Take a look. These tracks stop dead. They don’t go anywhere. How could that be?” He pointed to the spot where the bikers had driven in. “See, they came in over there. But how did they leave? The tracks just stop. If the rain didn’t wash these away, it couldn’t have washed any others away, either.”
It was a real mystery. In silence, both men tried to figure it out. They felt the ground again, and checked in every direction to see if they missed a clue. Still, they saw no tire tracks or footprints past that one point. Finally, they conceded that whatever the explanation was, it was beyond them.
“Where do we go from here?” asked the perplexed editor.
“Damned if I know, Frank.” Brady shook his head helplessly. “I suppose we should tell whoever is in charge — if we can figure that out. I’ve seen some unexplainable things in this business, but this is one of the craziest.”
Dees shrugged. “I know what you mean. You know, Loren, if I didn’t know better, I’d think the world stops here.” He scratched his head. “Does that sound nutty?”
Facing his friend, Loren grabbed both of his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “My friend, right now nothing sounds crazy to me.”
What they’d just seen defied explanation, but as skeptical newsmen, they didn’t accept oddities lightly. However, though they required documented facts, what better documentation could they have than to be on the scene and see things with their own eyes? Much as it baffled them, they had to acknowledge that the tracks were there, but the bikes and the riders had disappeared into thin air.
After looking around for fifteen minutes and finding nothing, in order not to arouse too much curiosity, they quietly slipped back in the clearing the same way they’d gone out. All the other news people were so intent on their own searching that when Brady and Dees rejoined them, nobody noticed where they came from.
After scrounging around for another hour and talking with other newsmen who didn’t know as much as Frank did, all they found out was that nobody knew anything about Rob and Mona. Except one. A plainclothes man leaving the scene stopped Frank on his way out.
“I hear you’re looking for one of your reporters. What’s his name? Is it that guy who thinks he’s a hotshot — Rob Parker?”
Frank held his temper and replied, “Yes, it’s Rob. Do you know anything about him?”
Tony Romano shooed away a mosquito. “Not much. I saw him out here yesterday. He recognized me and spoke. Like all reporters, he tried to pick my brain about this case. That’s it.”
“Did he say anything about where he was going from here?”
“No.” Gritting his teeth, he added, “Look, that’s all I know.” He turned on his heel and left.
Dees looked at Brady, “So much for that.” He glanced at his watch. “Damn. I’ve got to get back to town. It’s almost noon and I’ve got a stack of stories on my desk that have to be edited before the three o’clock deadline. You want to stay out here a little longer, Loren? I can get somebody to give you a ride back to town.”
But Loren was through looking. If he hadn’t found any clues by now, he didn’t expect any to pop up in his face after Dees left. He shook his head, and together they walked back to the car.
The ride to town was a silent one. Each man was absorbed in his own thoughts. Dees switched on the radio and listened to the threats of a hurricane coming in their direction.
“Hurricane Dennis should reach Mobile Bay by Sunday. Its winds have reached a hundred and forty-five miles an hour. Take any necessary precautions now,” the announcer added, giving the latitude and longitude coordinates.
“Oh, listen to that. I know it’s a real threat, but they hyped Hurricane Arlene to the point of overkill. And nothing of significance happened. Now I wonder how much attention people will pay to the warnings this time.”
Right away, another announcement was made. “The governor has order complete evacuation of Mobile County,” the voice said, adding that I65 North would have both north and southbound lanes going north only.
Dees slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “That’s crazy. It’s impossible. He should never give an order that can’t be carried out.”
The next announcement said evacuation was mandatory for “those living south of I10.”
“What is going on here?” the editor asked his companion.
He didn’t get an answer because by then, they’d reached the newspaper’s offices.
“Well, we made good time,” Dees said. “If this storm doesn’t throw too much copy my way, I may make that deadline after all.”
While he worked, Dees let Loren borrow his car. Loren wanted to talk to some witnesses, and Frank had so much to do that he wouldn’t need any transportation until late in the evening. Grabbing up the top story, he dug in.
Before he scanned one page, his telephone rang. Picking it up, he barked, “Frank Dees,” and the voice on the other end came right to the point.
“Mr. Dees, this is Al Fairchild of Navarre Beach Hotel. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Frank gripped the phone hard and listened intently, expecting news of Rob.
“You see, we found somebody — a young man with the name Frank Morgan on his driver’s license and an identification card saying to notify you in case of accident.”
Stunned speechless, Frank could not reply. It was his namesake, his dead sister’s son. He knew from the way the man spoke that the boy was dead.
“Mr. Dees, Mr. Dees — ”
“Yes, I hear you. It’s — it’s my nephew. What happened?” he asked, finally able to get the words out.
“We’re not sure. He’s — he is dead. I’m sorry. And I hate to ask, but we must have some positive identification on the body. Could you come to Navarre right away?”
Frank wanted to ask a thousand questions, but he restrained himself. Better to wait until they could talk face to face.
“I can leave right now. Thank you for calling.”
There would be plenty of time to get the details after he got there. He gave his secretary a message for Loren and, taking the newspaper’s car, left on the grim mission.
Winds from Hurricane Dennis picked up. As soon as Frank got on the road, he realized that this wasn’t going to be an easy drive, even though ninety-nine percent of the traffic was going in opposite directions — north or west. His car swayed back and forth, and once, he was almost blown across the median into the long line of traffic exiting the city to evacuate. Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he managed to swing back into the other lane. Then, he ran into a real glitch. Before he got out of the city, a police car blocked his path and directed him off of the interstate.
“Can’t go any farther, mister,” the officer told him. “Interstate Sixty-five’s traffic is all reversed. North only. Say, where are you headed?”
“Pensacola.”
The officer shook his head. “Well, I can’t stop you, but you may be going right in the path of the hurricane.”
“I realize that. But there’s been a death in the family — an accident and I have to ID the body.”
“Sorry,” he motioned with his thumb. “Pass on through. You can still get on Interstate Ten. Might be best to go down Government Street through Bankhead Tunnel and take Highway Ninety-eight. That way, if the weather gets worse, you can at least pull off quickly. Good luck.”
Luck. He’d need it to make it to Navarre. No telling what this hurricane would bring. Florida had been hit last year with four storms and the last of those, Hurricane Ivan, a late storm in September, wreaked havoc on repairs that had been made to property that previous hurricanes had damaged. Arlene didn’t help, an
d this storm would add destruction to the most vulnerable structures that were already weakened. Tarps still on roofs would blow off, and wind and water would take their toll. It was an awful prospect.
Dees took the policeman’s advice. During the eighty-mile trip on Highway 98, he passed many buildings and homes that had not yet been repaired. They’d lost the blue-tarps on their roofs, and with them, all protection from the elements. He knew the story well; his paper covered it all. The aftermath of the storm was devastating for home and business owners. They had little hope of help. Although contractors came from all over the U.S., it still wasn’t enough. You had to wait in line to get your property in livable shape again.
But Dees had a sadness of his own. All he could think about was the hard luck his nephew had in life. Just like Mona, he was orphaned by a car wreck. But his Frank Morgan was only thirteen years old when that happened. Next, he’d been sent to a military school that he hated by guardians appointed to care for him. He entered a Junior College in Pensacola only to discover that he really was not college material. Or, Frank thought, maybe he just wasn’t ambitious enough to apply himself. Regardless, he then moved in with a friend, took out a loan to attend trade school, and, in the interim, stopped writing his uncle.
With the pressures of the paper, Frank let the communication gap widen until they lost touch completely. Now, he felt remorse. He should have kept up with the boy, tried to help him out. It was too late.
Frank sighed, then tried to salve his conscience. Now, at least, he was doing his duty. He vowed to find out exactly what happened. If foul play was involved, Frank would see that the criminal, or criminals, were brought to justice.
His guilty conscience hurt so badly that for the time being, Mona Stewart, Rob Parker, and the space ship sightings were pushed completely out of his mind.
Chapter 12
ON THE FOLLOWING DAY, Rob awoke with more than a headache. He opened his eyes, then blinked. Tossing his head from side to side in a hopeless effort, he knew he couldn’t shake off this problem. Just as the Aliens predicted, double vision was upon him. Frantically, he ran out of the bedroom and banged on the doctor’s door.
“Doc! Doc, I need you!” he yelled.
It was just daylight, but rousing the doctor only took a minute. He was used to such emergencies and always awoke on call. Pajama-clad, he opened the door.
“What is it, Rob?” he asked, fearing the answer.
“I’ve got it, Doc, the double vision. Do something quick.”
With practiced professional calm, the doctor replied, “All right, Rob. Let’s check it first and see. Come into the office.”
Awakened by the commotion, Mona followed them. She stopped in the reception room and waited. Rob had enough troubles. He didn’t need to have his privacy invaded, too.
Time passed slowly. Finally, the two men came out and without a word, Doc went in the kitchen and put on the coffee pot. A calmed down Rob spoke.
“Mona, Doc can’t find anything. He’s been honest with me. He just can’t tell what’s wrong. I have double vision just as they said I would.” He slumped into a chair and rested his face in his hands. In a muffled voice, he added, “That makes me think my days are numbered. I don’t know what to do.” He looked up at her. “Hell. Doc doesn’t know what to do either.”
Lowering his head again, Rob sobbed. Through all of this, it was the first time Mona had seen him break down. She put her arms around him and offered what consolation she could.
“Rob, nothing’s hopeless. I’m sure Doctor Romano will come up with something. He’s probably in there right now trying to figure it out. It’ll be all right, Rob. I’m sure it will.” As convincing as her words sounded, Mona had doubts.
Doc brought the coffee in. With blurred vision, Rob raised his head and accepted the cup Mona placed in his hands. He sipped his coffee slowly, relishing the taste and thinking it might be the last cup he’d ever drink.
Recognizing the pity in Mona’s eyes, he reached over and patted her hand. Making light of the situation he said, “Mona,” he said between clenched teeth, “if Torpi were still alive, I’d pull out his fingernails, break his legs and then strangle him.” His voice mellowed. “But let’s find a bright side. There’s one good thing about this. Now I have two of you to look at instead of one. And that’s a real treat.”
Doc thought the little joke was a good sign. As long as Rob could laugh, at least he was not in complete despair. Doc was glad to see that. Any condition can be worsened by a negative attitude. If Rob could stay optimistic, it would help. But soon, very soon, Doc knew he had to come up with a solution. With so little to go on, it wouldn’t be easy.
In hopes of new clues, Doc said very calmly, “Rob, you and Mona may have forgotten something. I know it’s tiring, but why don’t you run through this again. Tell me one more time all that happened.”
The three of them went through the whole routine once more. Rob and Mona told they story — repeating incidents and details, hoping that something new would evolve. Doc asked questions, drilling them to dig out more details. When they were totally exhausted and nothing new came to the surface, Doc resorted to his books. He searched and searched, pulling down text after text and spreading them out on his desk. Nothing turned up.
His files were next. He had no file on double vision, since so few cases had come to his attention, and most of those were from other doctors, but he looked for any related illnesses and tried to recall conditions surrounding cases. How many patients had he seen with double vision? One? Two? The fact was that most people with that malady would consult an ophthalmologist, not a general practitioner, so his records of double vision would be limited.
By racking his brain, Doc did remember one specific case. His connection with the patient was originally not for double vision at all, though. A man in his fifties had come to him as an emergency — a car wreck victim with a broken arm and a head injury. Six weeks after the patient was released, he returned complaining of double vision. Dr. Romano was bewildered. The head injury had shown no evidence of damage. It had been so slight that the skin was not even broken, and X-rays gave no indication of concussion. Doc didn’t understand it at all. He repeated all the tests and X-rays. Still, nothing showed up. But just before a specialist was called in, the man kept a routine dental appointment.
A badly infected tooth was found. The patient had been told before to have that tooth pulled, but because it was not hurting, he was reluctant to lose one of his molars. Now the job had to be done. And, oddly enough, as soon as the tooth came out, the double vision disappeared.
As the memory unfolded, the doctor shouted excitedly, “That’s it. Rob, I think I’ve got it.”
When he explained what he meant, Rob and Mona hugged each other. It wasn’t conclusive, but Rob now had hope. Maybe he could be helped after all.
Their joy was short-lived. They quickly realized that discovering what the problem might be brought them only halfway. Now, they had to decide what to do about it and how. It wasn’t as simple as Doc’s earlier case. Rob couldn’t just go to a dentist and be treated. They had to find a very special dentist — and to help Rob, he had to be a believer.
Who would believe what they were up against, not ask too many questions, and keep the matter a secret?
“I’ve racked my brain, and I’ve drawn a blank. I just don’t know anyone,” Doc Romano had to admit. He put his hand to his mouth and tapped his lips. “Wait a minute. A name just popped into my mind. But he’s five hundred miles away, in Huntsville. No, he isn’t. I got a letter from him a couple of weeks ago and he said he was planning a trip here.” His eyes lit up as he added. “Come to think of it, Joe McNally may be in the area right now.” He rushed over to a drawer, dug through it, and pulled out a letter that he found in a stack of papers destined for the wastebasket. Holding it up, he read it aloud:
Dear Nick,
It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and I thought since I’m taking a vacati
on down there, we might get together on the 22nd at the Navarre Beach Hotel. I’ll try to reach you, give me a call and we’ll have lunch or dinner together.
The phone number was on the bottom of the page, right above the signature.
When it had arrived, Nick was on a binge and in a despondent mood, so he hadn’t followed up with a call. Now, he couldn’t get to the phone quickly enough. Today was July 16, and the dentist should be right there at Navarre Beach — less than thirty minutes away. He dialed the number and asked for Room 222. No answer. He called back and asked the man at the reception desk to page Dr. McNally.
It seemed like hours, but it was only seconds before Joe McNally answered the phone. “Nick, you old codger. It’s just like you to have me paged just as I’m having a drink with a beautiful blonde.”
Doc ignored that statement. “Look, Joe,” he said, “I’ll come right to the point. I need your help.” As briefly as he could, he told his friend what the situation was — vague high spots with enough information to whet McNally’s curiosity.
On the other end of the line, the dentist’s blue eyes lit up. Though he and Romano were the same age, Dr. McNally had lived a healthier life. Also, his round face and thick brown hair made him look younger than he was. When he smiled, it covered almost all of his broad face and lent a youthfulness to his lean countenance. However, as he pondered Doc’s appeal, his expression remained serious.
Was this real or just a figment of a drunk’s imagination? Unbeknownst to Romano, Joe was well aware of the doctor’s weakness, had been for years. But he liked the man. Much as he wouldn’t desert an ill man, he wouldn’t deny friendship just because Nick became addicted to alcohol. His philosophy was to remain friends and maybe someday he’d get a chance to help in some way.
Besides, though his story was odd, today Nick Romano sounded cold sober. He was convinced that this was no hallucination. The doctor really had someone in need of a dentist. It might be a good thing, too. Helping another person could be just what it would take to get Romano off of the sauce.
Time Will Tell Page 16