by Ann Self
Brian could just make out the split ribbon of on-ramp in the distance, where he had first encountered Jane in her old Buick. To him, it seemed like years had passed since he had been irritated by a woman with long dark hair driving a junk Buick. Soon there would be no expressway visible in this area; it would all be underground. He hoped his chances with Jane would not also be sunk.
Heavy sheeting rain began to assault the giant squares of glass that were his windows on the city, and his view collapsed from a mile to a few feet. The building rumbled with thunder and the city skyline vanished. His was suddenly the only building—an island in the rain and mist. The street below was gone and he began to worry that the woman he met on that expressway would vanish too.
He checked his watch for the twentieth time that day: 2:40. Jane should be safely away from the barn by now. He hoped. He had tried calling the barn without success, and when he called the mansion the butler informed him that the Whitbecks were not taking calls. No amount of cajoling would work; the butler said it would mean his job.
Brian sat in his chair and swiveled it to the window, leaning far back with his fingers laced together behind his head. The rain was hypnotic and his mind drifted back to the previous evening—Sunday—when he had watched Jane ride Charmante. He had never seen anything as beautiful as Jane on that horse. When Jane’s ride was through and she exited the ring, Brian had leaned over his father and asked Lars if he knew who the striking blonde woman was seated to their far right. Lars had answered “Madeline”, making Brian whip his head up to watch the tall woman with the long vanilla hair as she stood up to leave. It was a good thirty seconds before he could clamp his jaw shut, his eyes following Madeline as she threaded her way through people to the exit. He found it hard to believe she could be the same chubby Madeline with short hair and thick glasses. He had also noted that Sam was no longer with her.
Later he had cornered Sam at the party to check on Jane. He then grilled him to find out where Jane would be going when she left Springhill. Brian now knew that Jane would be staying with Madeline; and that Madeline was a Medical Psychologist at Boston General and she lived in Brockton. He also made sure to check on her last name.
Brian decided to call Madeline and swiveled around to press the intercom button for his secretary, and then realized she had gone home early because of the storm. He grabbed the phone and punched in 411 for information and called the hospital as soon as he got the number. After giving his name and waiting impatiently through a short delay, he got Madeline herself on the phone, just as his watch shifted to 2:45.
“Brian? What’s up?” she asked.
Brian was amused that she knew exactly who he was, and spoke to him as though they’d been in touch for years. No memory problems on her side. He also didn’t miss the tinge of anxiety in her voice. Brian got right to the point: “Hello, Madeline. What’s up is that I’m worried about Jane. Have you heard from her?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been trying to call the barn all afternoon. I can’t even get Sam on his cell phone. I called the house, but that damn butler won’t disturb the precious Whitbecks. He says the phone lines to the barn are probably blown down.
“So she hasn’t shown up at your place?”
“No, no answer there either—just keep getting my own voice on the machine. I’d try the coach Lars, but his number isn’t listed.”
“What about that detective?” Brian questioned.
“Detective Westerlund you mean? He’s unfortunately on the Cape, getting his mother out of her summer cottage. He hasn’t answered his voicemail yet.”
“Great,” Brian said sourly. At this point, he would have been happy to find out they were together. He sighed and looked at his computer.
The computer...
“Madeline, I have to go, I’m going to try to get a hold of Sam by email.”
“You have Sam’s email address!?” She yelled.
“Got it last night, and I’m going to hold out hope that the phone lines aren’t down, and that they’re just busy, or the ringer is off.”
“Or they misplaced the phone; they do that a lot. Will you let me know if you get them? I’m leaving for home right now, but I’ll give you my cell phone number and my email address.”
They exchanged numbers and electronic addresses, and then Brian hung up and slid his chair over to the computer. He accessed the internet and checked his mail, but there was nothing from Sam. Sam was also not on line at the moment, so he had to settle for a regular email, instead of flash mail. He checked his watch again: 2:55. Then he clicked onto WRITE MAIL and typed in Sam’s electronic address and the message:
HELLO SAM—HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO CONTACT YOU BY PHONE. ADVISE IF EVERYTHING IS OKAY AT THE BARN. PLEASE EMAIL ME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. BRIAN
Brian clicked send, and his message was collected and saved, waiting for Sam to retrieve it. When Sam connected to AOL, the message would feed into his computer. Brian got up and paced around his office. He wished he didn’t have to wait for the 6:30 meeting with the lawyers and business partners. They were staying overnight in town, because of the storm, and they had reservations in the lobby restaurant. One more meeting to make sure everyone stayed a step ahead of Elliot. They expected the man to shift into high gear with the shuck and jive now that his back was against the wall.
Brian looked down at the street again, when the shrouds of mist cleared briefly. The worry was driving him crazy. He could lose Jane in more ways than one. He knew it was possible that she could be the love of his life, the soul mate a person could search a lifetime for. But he had been caught napping at every turn, and now he was desperate to act, to do something conclusive, something that brought results. But this wasn’t business and it wasn’t the military; he couldn’t produce results at will.
He paced back and forth on the soft carpet. The relentless rain and wind was threatening his sanity. In a few more hours the tropical-force winds would move in, making the driving go from barely possible to impossible. After several minutes of pacing and looking restlessly out the window, he dropped in front of the computer again and impatiently selected CHECK MAIL YOU’VE SENT and clicked on the message he’d just sent Sam. He asked for STATUS. It had been retrieved at 3:00, but there was no answer yet.
“Damn!” Brian slammed his hand on the top of the desk, but then felt relief that there was still obviously some communication with the barn. His watch read 3:10. Why wouldn’t they answer immediately? he wondered. Why would they waste any time contacting me?
The computer screen was the only light in the locked and bolted front office, in the north wing of the barn. The monitor time read 2:50 PM. As the storm whistled and howled outside barred windows, the mouse clicked through a succession of screens and menus and connected to the internet. This main office computer was networked to the computer in Sam’s office, and had complete access. Sam’s personal account was opened, SENT MAIL was selected, and the email Sam had sent to Brian asking for help was recaptured and deleted by hitting UNSEND. Five minutes after this was done, Brian’s email arrived. It was immediately selected and opened. The message from Brian, checking on the safely of Jane, Sam and Reggie was read and also deleted. After some thought, a REPLY was constructed and sent back to Brian:
HELLO BRIAN—EVERYTHING AT THE BARN IS FINE, EXCEPT FOR PHONES NOT FUNCTIONING. A LARGE OAK TREE FELL ON CARS. JANE WILL BE STAYING WITH US UNTIL STORM LETS UP. REGGIE AND I WILL KEEP A CLOSE EYE ON HER, DON’T WORRY. SAM
The message was sent. The juice to Sam’s office would now be killed, to prevent any more transmissions. The dark figure in the shadowy front-office stood up and moved away from the monitor. It was going to be a busy night, and there was still much to do.
Somuch to do…
Brian was checking hurricane updates again at 3:15, when the computer announced: “YOU’VE GOT MAIL”.
“Well, finally!” He quickly retrieved it, and read the reply to his message saying that a tree fell on the cars but that everyone was okay and n
ot to worry. They planned to ride out the storm at the barn. Brian sat back in his chair and wiped the tension from his face. Then he fired off another message:
GLAD TO HEAR EVERYONE’S OKAY, BUT PLEASE BE EXTRA CAREFUL, SAM. I’M VERY CONCERNED FOR JANE’S SAFETY. BRIAN
Brian sent the message regular email, then dialed Madeline’s cellphone. She was still fighting her way home through rough expressway traffic and even rougher weather. When she answered, Brian had to strain to hear her through the roar of cars, rain, and wipers slapping away at top speed.
“Madeline! I got through to Sam on the net; he sent me back a message saying everyone is okay, but the phones aren’t working.”
“Oh, thank God you got through.”
“The message also said the cars had all been hit by a falling oak tree. I guess that explains why Jane didn’t leave when she was supposed to.”
“Oh no! Her car. Almost everything she owns is packed in it!”
“According to the computer message, she’ll stay with Sam and Reggie until the storm blows over,” Brian said.
“I really wish she was out of that place, though,” Madeline complained. Then she screamed, “OH SMOOTH MOVE YOU NITWIT! Sorry—excuse me Brian—the fools on this expressway are going to get me killed.”
“Be careful, it’s brutal out there.”
“You think..?”
“Why in hell did Jane go back to the barn?” he demanded.
“No one could talk her out of it. She’s devastated that she has to leave, that barn was her whole life. She wanted to say goodbye to everyone.”
“A simple thing like getting her out of the barn is turning into a complicated nightmare,” Brian groused.
“I know—it’s getting worse by the minute. Westy...Detective Westerlund hasn’t answered his voicemail yet. If I don’t hear from him soon, I’m just going to call the police and send them over.”
“They may be too busy with other things to jump on this,” Brian stated, “especially since Jane, Sam and Reggie are not exactly calling for help.”
“Brian...why would the computer work, when the phones don’t seem to be working? Since they both operate over the same wires, it seems strange.”
“I have no answer for that. It does seem strange.”
“I even tried Sam’s cell phone, and I get nothing—not even voice mail.”
“There could be a problem with the towers...”
Jane napped curled up in the loveseat, still wearing the over-sized sweatshirt that belonged to Dylan. Reggie snored from the rocker and Sam slowly paced the office. He looked at the clock. 5:10. The office was growing dark and cold, since the electricity to it had been mysteriously interrupted a few hours earlier. The power died after a loud clap of thunder, but Sam was dubious about that being the cause. The rest of the barn still had juice, but not the office—except for his computer—and he knew it wasn’t a problem with a circuit breaker because he had checked. No wires had been severed near the first floor, but the wires ran up through the wall of the hayloft—leaving plenty of opportunities for someone with malicious intent. Fortunately, because of the crazy wiring in the office, his computer was still functioning.
They had done all the watering and feeding and stall picking it was possible to do—trying to stay in the same general area for safety—and had returned to the office to just rest and pass the time. The donuts were gone, and the coffee pot was no longer in service, unless they wanted to plug it in next to the computer. Sam, Jane and Reggie were beginning to feel like they were the only three people left on earth, not counting their treacherous phantom guest. Branches from the fallen tree still flailed outside, and the storm rattled window panes. Eerie, rippling shadows marched steadfastly across the dark office. Occasionally, embedded thunderstorms lit up the sky like a pinball machine. Out of sheer boredom, Sam sat in front of his computer again and got onto the net, glad now that his computer had ended up on a different circuit than the rest of the office. His “Mickey Mouse” wiring had an upside.
Immediately the computer announced “YOU’VE GOT MAIL”.
“Hello! Finally some signs of life out there,” he said as he retrieved a message from Brian and read it out loud, perplexed and confused about what it said. The email had been sent at 3:19 PM. Sam looked at his watch. It read 5:15.
“Glad to hear everyone’s okay?” Sam questioned. “What in hell is he taking about. What makes him think we’re okay?” Sam checked the incoming mail, but no other correspondence with Brian was listed. He sat back in his chair to think, and he glanced at the empty base unit for the phone. Something was really strange, and he didn’t like it. Sam hit REPLY, and sent another message:
BRIAN—HAVE YOU RECEIVED MORE THAN ONE MESSAGE FROM ME? I EMAILED SOS FOR HELP. EVERYTHING IS FAR, FAR FROM OKAY. SOMEONE DISABLED ALL THE CARS, AND THE PHONES HAVE DISAPPEARED. I AM REALLY WORRIED ABOUT JANE’S SAFETY. I REPEAT MY FIRST MESSAGE. WE ARE TOTALLY ISOLATED AND IN IMMEDIATE NEED OF HELP. PLEASE CONTACT DETECTIVE WESTERLUND OR MADELINE FANNING AT BOSTON GENERAL! SAM
Since Brian was off the net at the moment, Sam had to settle for regular email, instead of an instant message. He stood up from the computer, grabbed a baseball bat from the junk under the shelf, and walked towards Reggie on the couch. “Reggie, wake up!” Sam shook him until the old man sat up and looked around.
“What now? What are you doing with a baseball bat..?”
“Just insurance. I’m going to go try to get in the office. Someone is seriously stalking her,” he nodded towards the sleeping Jane. “Someone doesn’t plan for her to leave here alive and it’s up to us to keep her breathing. I think we need to get help immediately. I’m going to see if I can break the office door down with something and get to a phone—don’t take your eyes off her!”
“Sam that door is solid mahogany—half a foot thick. As thick as Elliot’s paranoia...and the skybox doors are solid steel. We don’t even know if there’s still working phones in there.”
“I can’t sit around here another minute—maybe I can find something to use on the door.”
“Just give me your word you’ll stay out of the cellar,” Reggie insisted. “Don’t take the slow way or the fast way!”
“You got it, I’m just going to use whatever I can find up here—maybe the post hole digger I left in the feed room—I think there’s still juice in the north wing.”
“I still don’t think you should leave Sam.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Be really careful!”
“You’re telling me! I’ll be on my guard every second, I won’t be falling into any trap doors. And if I run into anyone out there, I’ll be golfing him with this and asking questions later!”
“Good.” Reggie agreed.
“If I could just find one phone on its base, I wouldn’t have to break down that damn door—but if I have to, I’ll find a way...” He cursed the portable phones that were so easy to carry off and misplace as walked out the door.
“Hurry back Sam!”
“I won’t be gone long.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Reggie snored, choked and woke himself up with a start. His eyes darted to Jane, but she was still curled up tightly on the loveseat sound asleep. He took glasses and a keychain out of his overalls and turned a little pen light on to check his watch—5:45. Sam should’ve been back by now. Reggie heard a noise in the corridor and got up to investigate...
Detective Westerlund finally got back to his car and retrieved his cell phone at 5:55, and called Madeline at her townhouse.
“Westy! Where have you been? You have to come back and get to the barn!”
“I’ve been up to my hips in water. Why, what’s happened now?”
“Nothing yet, but Jane’s stranded there at the barn without a car or a phone.”
“How in hell..? I thought she would be safely out of there by morning. After what I found out today, she better get out of there fast!” His voice sounded desperate.
“What did you find out?
”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I get there. Why is Jane still at the barn?” he demanded.
“A tree fell on all the parked cars. We contacted them by e-mail, and so far everyone is all right, but I’m still really worried...what is going on, where are you Westy?”
“Madeline, I’m still down on the Cape; it’s a mess here—Kenny and I have been helping evacuate senior citizens from a flood zone. We’re soaking wet.”
“Oh God, should I just call the police station?”
“You can try, but I don’t know if they’ll be able to respond. I’ve just heard on my radio that there’s a twenty-car pile-up on route 24 just north of Southbrook, in the northbound lane, so they’ve got their hands full. The locals and Staties are busy with that crash. Kenny and I are heading out right now—we might be able to get to Springhill in an hour as long as no one crashes below Southbrook on that leg of the highway.”
“Hurry, Westy! And be careful!” She hung up and dialed Brian to tell him Westy and Russell were on their way to the barn. Brian had just finished reading Sam’s urgent call for help and relayed that to Madeline. Then the phone went dead. Madeline paced around her townhouse for at least thirty minutes, always ending up at her bay window, looking at the storm-lashed shrubbery and trees. She tried again to call the barn one more time, but all her phones were as useless as toys. No longer able to stand the anxiety, she slipped into a yellow rain slicker and boots, grabbed her keys and raced to the garage.
Pounding rain and a yowling wind that sounded like it was coming down the throat of a dragon woke Jane. The office was dark and shadows were cascading through the gloom. In the dusky windows she could see leaves tossed by the storm plucking and sliding on the glass like hundreds of phantom hands, accompanied by a hollow moan and whistle. A fizzle of lightning briefly animated the office, making furniture and shadows jump around.