The Consultant

by Sean Oliver

  “I’m being real frigging patient.”

  “Dee, this is what it’s about.”

  “Workshops? Bullshit.”

  “Before he got there, they were all I could think about.”

  “Who?”

  “Albrecht.”

  Deanna held her forehead. She shook her head. This was the most contrived line of shit she every heard.

  “I started getting my room ready,” he continued. “That feeling would roll up into my body and I started visiting the library three times a day—looking in to see if Calhoun set it up yet.”

  “Then you all stood up and turned the assembly into a circus of assholes when my father said Albrecht was coming.”

  He looked up at her. “Did I?” She nodded.

  “What about April 5th?” she said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What does that mean?” Deanna leapt off the chair. “How can you know all this shit, have all this happening to your body, tell me you’re in love with this Albrecht asshole, and not know anything about Trisha? Not know anything about April 5th.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then how do you know anything is coming on April 5th except your fucking cake?” She was getting loud, her arms flailing. “You all going to get together for a party? Give each other standing ovations? Huh? Are you inviting Trisha?”

  “The wedding.” He said it low, matter-of-factly.

  She stopped. She realized how heavily she was breathing. She looked down at him and cocked her head. The ring of her voice died in the air. The room was ghostly quiet. Deanna brought herself down a few decibels.

  “What about it?” she asked.

  “I can’t think about it.”

  “I’m starting to think you shouldn’t.” Deanna turned toward the hallway. Jared hopped up and took her arm.

  “No, you don’t understand,” he said. She turned to him. “When you show me something for the registry, or when the invitation proofs came—I think about April 5th. Just the date. I go blank, I get that feeling in my spine, and anything we are talking about confuses me. April 5th replaces whatever we’re talking about, whatever I’m looking at, or whatever I was thinking about.”

  He released her arm. She stayed put, trying to buy in. He was looking right into her eyes, glistening from the light of the laptop below them.

  “That’s how I know, Dee.”

  Deanna turned and headed toward the bedroom. She stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “I want to ask you one thing,” she said. “If you ever loved me, you’ll be honest.” He didn’t respond, and she couldn’t turn to look at him. “When you think of Trisha, do you get that feeling?”

  He didn’t reply. No one spoke. The silence tugged at her and she began to melt. Her lip began to quiver and but clamped down on her jaw, squeezing it all back. There was plenty of time for him to respond, offer an explanation, or deny it. But nothing. She turned and looked back at Jared.

  “You think I’m transferring now?” she asked.

  Jared kept looking down at the floor and shook his head. Deanna nodded and stormed down the hall.

  “I’ll help you.”

  His words stopped her. She crept back into the living room, gradually lit by the computer on the recliner. She stopped in the doorway.

  “I want to stop them, too,” he said.

  FIFTY

  GLENDA HAD MADE it to the telephone, which landed just a few feet from her as she lay prone on the living room floor. It was in her hand but she didn’t call anyone.

  Willie stood by the end table looking down at his mother clutching her cordless phone. Her gravelly gasps were signaling the end was upon her. Her body was twitching intermittently, like she was coughing, but there were no accompanying sounds. Her muscles were contracting, flexing as death overtook her.

  Thick spittle was drying around her mouth. She was dying violently, clearly in pain.

  Willie watched from above her, still holding the phone cord he’d disconnected from the jack when she first reached the receiver. The Smoke filled him completely, beginning the moment he heard her slide from bed. It traveled up his spine and through his shoulders, into his head as Glenda got closer to the table that held the phone.

  He watched her hands—finally still—release. She hadn’t twitched in a minute or so. He kept watching. He needed to see this to completion. Senior housing was not taking Glenda, Glinda, or whatever they knew her as. The woman whose little hands once held Big Willie Rogers was reduced to a rejection letter with a misspelled name. And Willie had to go soon.

  She was totally still. Willie leaned down and plugged the cord back into the jack. He reached across the floor and slid the phone out of his mother’s hand. He stood again and dialed 9-1-1.

  “Hello? I have an emergency… Yes, it’s my mama—she ain’t moving. She been sick and I think she’s gone. Please send someone fast.”

  Willie kept the phone to his ear and scraped a piece of chocolate off his shirt.

  FIFTY-ONE

  THERE WAS JUST one person other than Deanna walking the hallways of P.S. 21 without an April 5th birthday, and she was headed for his desk. Jared had clicked into his personnel file when showing Deanna how to use Glitchy. It was December-something. True, he wasn’t an official staff member of that building and wasn’t even listed in the school’s roster on the website. But he was there, and wasn’t one of them.

  Deanna laid in the same bed Jared did the previous night after their late living room chat, but she never came close to sleep. He mightn’t have either. She rolled everything through her mind and was hesitant to fully embrace Jared’s offer of help. All of this with the date and the news items was battling for a space in her mind beside all other things she considered real. She’d spent a lifetime bucking religion and spirituality. Now she’s expected to accept this connection to dead people?

  She couldn’t help but feel she was getting further from Trisha. Where was that sweet girl who did nothing but love—too kind to call someone a bitch? One thing she’d ask of Deanna now was to keep hopeful and stay positive. Deanna tried. She clung to that voice in her soul that she knew was Trisha’s.

  Deanna’s sleepless night was filled with everything she knew about her best friend, and everything she did with her. Jesus, did she ever even listen to Trisha? Every memory she had of Trisha saw her either laughing at Deanna or just listening to Deanna. She was Deanna’s perfect fit. Was Deanna hers?

  She shook off all thoughts of the previous night as she entered the school lobby with her bags bouncing off her hip, large coffee in hand. And there he was, not twenty-five feet from her as she climbed the stairs. She never stopped at the security desk upon entering the building in the morning, but she made a beeline for it that day.

  Arthur Moore had his head down behind the desk, reading that day’s Hudson County Dispatch.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she leaned on the desk. He looked up.

  “What can I do for you?” No warmth.

  “Mr. Moore, I need to talk with you about something. I could use your help.”

  “Doubt that,” he said, going back to his sports pages. “Not much a police academy drop-out could do for you, I bet.” He slid his desk phone toward her. “Call 9-1-1.”

  “I was an asshole to you that day, and I’m sorry.” She watched him keep looking at the paper. “You know the girl I was with that day? With the stolen laptop? She’s the one missing.”

  “The nice one.” He didn’t lift his head.

  “I have information.” She watched him still refusing to acknowledge her. Though she sensed he wanted to. “I have information, and you want it. You wouldn’t be staring at the high school girls’ volleyball page that long unless you were forcing yourself not to look up.”

  He was playing that quite well, not even looking up to respond to that comment. His newspaper was laid flat across his desk with the peeling Formica surface. Deanna dropped Trisha’s laptop on his paper. He flinched and leaned back. At l
ast she had his attention. He looked at her.

  “Her laptop,” she said.

  “You stole it?”

  “I found it.”

  “Where?”

  Deanna shook her head. She pointed to the auditorium doors.

  “In there, in five minutes,” she said. “I have to go to the main office and sign in,” she said. Moore contemplated that. He slid his chair back in and opened Trisha’s laptop.

  Moore entered the empty auditorium from the rear and scanned all the seats—each one empty. He walked down the aisle looking for Deanna.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  “Up here,” said Deanna’s muffled voice. Moore wasn’t sure where it came from. What in the Lord’s name was this all about? The nasty girl found a missing laptop. She did say she had information and it must’ve been important enough to make her apologize. Would probably amount to a hill of horseshit.

  He got down to the end of the aisle and stood at the foot of the stage. The tall maroon curtains were drawn closed, and that’s likely where her voice came from. He climbed the stairs and went though the curtain and onto the stage. There she was.

  “This is most peculiar,” he said.

  “I can’t have those people see me talking to you.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “You’ve been here a couple of months. How many of them made it onto your Christmas list?” He looked at her. “This place is scary and the people are not right. They’re up to something bad and I need your help.”

  “Mine? Your father’s the principal. I don’t hardly know you and the little I do know makes me want to hit him for having you.”

  “That’s fucked up, but I guess I deserve it. Now…are you done being all butt-hurt that you were insulted weeks ago by a girl half your size? If you’re not, let me know and I will go get help from someone who can handle their shit.” She eyeballed him like something was due her. She waited for an answer.

  “Where’d you find that laptop?” he asked.

  “I don’t think I found it in the room of the person who took it. So I want you to find out who did.”

  Moore searched her face.

  “This is about more than just girlfriend, ain’t it?” he asked.

  “Girlfriend happened because of what this is about. And I gotta help her.” They both stood in silence for a moment, allowing the gravity of the situation to ferment.

  “Let me keep that computer,” he said. She thought.

  “Fine.” They took a moment to find trust in the other’s eyes. Then Deanna headed toward the curtain.

  “How do you know you can trust me?” Moore asked, breaking her stride. “Wasn’t smart agreeing to that so fast.”

  She stood and considered that for a moment, but didn’t shed her confidence.

  She held up three fingers. “You, me, and Trisha,” she said. “You’re like us. They got her. They’re trying to get me. And that means they’re going to get you. So be careful.” She left the stage.

  Moore didn’t head right back to his post right away. He stood under the warm lights and paced the boards. Girl didn’t seem like she needed a damn stitch of help at all. But she came to him. And gave him the computer—possibly the only thread of evidence in the disappearance of her friend.

  She must have been quite eager to prove the person she uncovered as being responsible for the laptop incident was not to blame for anything more grave. That person must’ve been very important to her.

  FIFTY-TWO

  THE WISPS OF tiny snowflakes did not come as a surprise. The entire landscape was gray that morning and the air was stinging—crisp and still. Snowfall outside a classroom window, even short flurries without accumulation, always prompted commentary by teachers and students alike.

  Deanna’s class worked diligently on their water cycle models as their teacher cut through the center of the room and stopped at the window. It was open a few inches, enough to allow a stream of cool air into the room that was becoming stifling and humid from an ancient, indiscriminate radiator on full blast.

  Deanna slid her hand out the window. Seconds went by without anything hitting her skin, then a snowflake floated onto her palm and instantly became a drop of water. Then another graced the back of her thumb, landed, and changed. Spring may come without Trisha, she knew.

  Now, winter sat on her palm. It was real. Life without her best friend would become more normal someday. Wasn’t yet, but it would.

  No. Trisha was alive—Deanna felt that in her soul. She wasn’t shrinking from Deanna’s life, as loss typically caused people to do. The more time she was gone, the more she was actually occupying Deanna’s world. And now Jared confirmed that Trisha was being run off. She’d run away—scared by the cousins, the laptop theft, and who knows what else she wasn’t telling Deanna. Maybe someone made a threat. If the scare tactics escalated similar to that of Deanna’s car accident and then the wedding dress, the timid, gentle soul might have just taken off.

  And not tell her best friend? What about the McAllisters? Trisha wouldn’t leave them hanging like that. The abandoned car? Though it was across the street from the subway into Manhattan, that just wasn’t Trisha’s style.

  Deanna brought her head forward to rest on the window, her hand still out the opening. All logic defied her blind faith in Trisha being alive. In a style atypical for Deanna Anastas, she allowed herself to live in the warmth of foolish hope.

  The fourth period bell jerked Deanna out of thought and dropped her back in the classroom.

  “Okay, line up,” she said, turning back to the room. “Leave your jackets, you won’t be going out for recess.” There was some excitement as the kids realized it was snowing. They assembled near the door and their lunch aide waved to Deanna and walked the class into the hallway. That lunch period was also the start of another event at school—one that she specifically was not invited to attend.

  Deanna was out of the room seconds after her class left, on her way down the stairs to the basement. She wasn’t exactly headed down with a plan—she was mostly being carried by anger and its residual energy. She knew she had to compose herself, but she was never good at that anyway. So she was just rolling.

  The library door was closed when Deanna got to it, and when she looked through the window she saw what she expected. The entire staff was seated in a circle, Albrecht in the center, pacing around, spewing some shit. Everyone’s face was locked on his. Deanna was hoping to get Jared’s attention, but she couldn’t see him from her vantage point. The bookshelves only allowed half the group to be visible from the door.

  No Jared, no choice.

  Deanna flung open the door and walked into the room. All eyes fell on her, blank expressions across the board. Conversation stopped. Elias Albrecht gestured with his hand, the floor is yours. He put his hands in his pockets and stood looking at her. Deanna looked to Jared, who’d dropped his face down into his hands.

  Yeah, bro. You know I’m extra like this.

  “I miss anything?” Deanna said from her spot, halfway between the doorway and the circle. No one responded. “April?”

  The room stayed silent and everyone turned to Albrecht. Even Jared’s head came up and looked at him, then to Deanna, shocked. She stood still, arms folded.

  “Actually, yes,” Albrecht said as he stepped toward the edge of the group. “As you know, this entire block of professional development workshops is about preparation for state testing, which happens every April.”

  They watched her now. Jared was staying put, but, realistically, what should he do? She wasn’t even sure of what she should be doing now.

  “You joining us?” Albrecht asked, gesturing to the group.

  “Not until Trisha does.”

  “We’d all like her to be here with us,” Albrecht said. Deanna didn’t back down from the staring contest that ensued between them. In her mind, her fingers were around his doughy neck, tearing and shredding that foam pillow below his big, round face. She probably could have torn stra
ight through, severing his head from his body.

  If Albrecht was sensing the nature of her thoughts as he looked into her eyes, he gave no sign of that. He still had that half smile on, hands in pockets, an Average Joe pose.

  “Miss Anastas, please report to the main office. Miss Anastas, to the main office.” The intercom cut through the scene in the library. Albrecht shrugged.

  “Looks like you’ll have to join us another time,” he said. Deanna remained, reluctant to release him from her gaze. But she did, on her time. She felt the entire room watch her walk out in silence.

  As she made her way down the basement corridor, the library door slammed shut behind her.

  Deanna’s stride hadn’t slowed at any point between the library and the main office. She swung into the room and walked behind the front counter. Both Mariana and Lorenzo looked up from their desks. She gestured.

  What do you want?

  Mariana pointed to George’s office, its door ajar. Deanna turned and went straight for it. She pushed it open without a knock and found her father standing behind his desk, looking toward the door. He was waiting for her.

  “Where were you just now?” he asked, barely giving her a chance to get into the room.

  “Getting professional development.”

  “You weren’t scheduled.”

  “The only teacher that wasn’t. But it seems you already know that.”

  Behind Deanna, Mariana closed the office door from outside the room.

  “Why were you down there?” he asked.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  George dropped his head. He remained standing, his eyes closed. He stopped everything and just breathed deeply. Taking a little breather looked like something much scarier than that for someone with a heart condition.