Scott came out of the vision. “Does that mean Dr. Kapur has a cure?”
Tom said, “Sounds ’bout like it. I need to find out more about this guy.”
“That means there’s hope for Katie,” Scott echoed.
“That means there’s hope for us all,” Grace said.
***
Tom was off on a mission, trying to find information about Dr. Kapur, the Charles Wesley Cancer Center of Oregon and attempting to connect that doctor and facility with Dr. Greenwald at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Maggie Valley.
Grace and Scott were alone for the evening. They fixed a simple spaghetti dinner with a salad and then pulled the kitchen table to the porch so they could watch the sun set fire to the mountains while they ate. Crickets had come out to sing together across the valley. Scott poured a red wine and they toasted the valley, their marriage, and his gift. In the relative silence of the evening, three young deer waltzed through the back yard to feed on corn Tom had laid out hours earlier.
It was the perfect time.
Grace stood up, kissed him warmly on the lips, gathered the dishes, and took them inside. He could hear her washing them in the sink.
He leaned back in the rocking chair and thought about the woman who had stayed by his side through thick and thin for so many years. The chirping crickets raised their rhythmic song and sounded almost metallic. Then, the chatter moved to somewhere over his head and behind him.
The vision cleared and he recognized the gangway of an aerial tramway heading up a tree-lined ravine in Wyoming.
He remembered the event as if it were yesterday, but in fact it was one of their first vacations three years after their wedding. Grace had clung to him all the way up the mountain, which seemed odd to Scott since both were at the mercy of the tram and gravity. Had there been any danger, he wouldn’t have been any safer than she.
In an instant the creaky sound of the tram faded and he felt his body moving back and forth to big band music. A mirror ball rotated overhead. Formal-clad employees from the hospital where she worked danced the swing. Grace held his hand tightly with one hand and his side with the other. They jitter-bugged through the night, although neither was an accomplished dancer. The others in the massive ballroom, celebrating some all-employee nonsense or another, were all face-less and long forgotten. To Grace, the only person on the floor was Scott.
The music changed again to soft and inaccurate guitar picking. Scott must have been under twenty, sitting on the grass at the university, playing soft-rock songs on a badly-tuned guitar. Students walked by on the sultry spring evening oblivious to his music and even more oblivious to his off-key notes. But Grace listened intently, soaking in the song as if it were pitch-perfect and inspirational.
That was the first night they kissed and he played for her every night for a month afterwards.
The sound of his out-of-tune guitar faded away, and soft elevator music came down from above. When his vision cleared, Scott was surprised to see they were actually riding in an elevator, going down to the parking garage five or six flights below in the medical complex. The walls of the elevator contained large mirrors and he saw that his own eyes were red and bloodshot. Again, Grace had a short arm around his waist to support him in a tough time.
“It’s all right,” she said.
“No, you’ve always wanted children and I’ll never be able to give them to you,” he choked.
“I will always love you,” she whispered.
Her whispers faded back to the sound of mountain crickets. The sun had not fully set and would be up for just a few more seconds. Grace place an aged hand on his, holding it as warmly and tenderly as ever. But her hand was wrinkled and spotted, just like his own skin. He realized they were back in the mountains, only years into the future and were sharing another mountain sunset from their back porch.
The scene slowly changed, but Scott couldn’t tell if he was still in the vision or not. The mountains lay out before him. The sun was almost gone. The cool breeze kissed his face. Grace walked out the back door and proclaimed, “I do love this view.”
Scott stood up, turned around, and pulled his wife to him. He kissed her deeply.
“Okay, Scotty,” she said. “I’ll do the dishes every night if I get this kind of a response from you.”
“I love you,” he said, as he realized all her fully-lived moments were with him. Through the years she supported him, loved him, and helped him without so much as a request that he return the favor. He had, however, but her selfless love never insisted nor demanded that he do so. It was just a natural response.
They kissed again and he signaled his passion by slipping his tongue between her moist lips.
“Mmm,” she said, urging him on.
“I so love you,” he said after they broke apart.
“I love you,” she said.
When his hands slid down her side to her waist and then further to her buttocks, she pressed herself to him. And when his knee slid in between hers, she accommodated him by spreading her legs a little wider apart. In moments, they were dancing, probably to the rhythm of the crickets, but definitely to their own rising passion. He felt his leg brush her sensitive area over and over and realized with pleasure she wanted him, needed him there.
Their passion rose and he carried her back to the bedroom and laid her down on the soft bed flanked by naked logs on all corners. She gasped at each button as he unbuttoned her blouse. She arched her back and allowed him to slide her panties down. She sought his jeans and reached inside to massage and stroke and prepare him for her. Through it all, her lips never left his, not even when she panted hard and gasped for air.
Then, their sweaty bodies parted in exhaustion and they lay on a bed blessed with moonlight through a large window that looked out to the view they had watched earlier that evening.
Scott reminded himself of one of the only nice things about his being sterile. When they made love, neither worried about contraception, but both loved without bounds.
“You know,” he said after his breath came back to him. “We’re going to retire up here one day.”
“I know,” she answered. “You just realized that?”
“I saw it,” he said.
“I knew it the first day we arrived,” she responded.
***
“Scott! Grace!” Pounding on the cabin door heightened the urgency of the call.
Scott leapt from the bed, dragged on a shirt and sweat pants and ran to the living room. Tom Jackson stood outside the front door.
“What’s happening?” Scott asked after yanking open the door.
“We need your help,” Tom answered. “Old Ray Sawyer is missing. We’re forming a search party.”
“Let me get Grace,” Scott said, welcoming Tom into the living room.
The trio dashed down to Tom’s truck and sped into town. A light mist floated over parts of the mountain road, causing Tom to slow the truck, and draping the mission in mysterious danger.
On the drive in, Tom explained the situation. “Ray’s almost as old as these mountains. Lived at one of the old houses constructed in the sixties just off Main Street. A couple a years ago he was diagnosed with Alzheimer ’s disease, and he’s gone down quickly ever since.”
Tom slowed to maneuver a turn and then added, “Ray’s a good ole’ boy. He just gets real confused these days. His son, Jerry, along with Patti, Jerry’s wife, moved in with him when he was diagnosed, to look after him. But, somehow Ray slipped out the back door a couple of nights ago when Jerry and Patti were in bed, and nobody’s seen him since.”
Grace asked, “Was the house locked up securely?”
“Jerry said the back door was unlocked. He must have accidentally left it that way before he went to bed.”
A small crowd was gathering at the courthouse when Grace, Scott, and Tom rounded the corner. Before they exited the truck, Scott requested they keep his abilities a secret. “Let’s not say anything about seeing the future or reading people�
��s minds, or anything like that, okay?”
Tom instantly said, “Of course. I’ll do my best.” He parked in a small parking lot across the street from the courthouse. As they climbed down from Tom’s truck, Scott noticed a couple arguing in the courthouse parking lot. “Who’s that?” he asked Tom.
“Oh, that’s Jerry and Patti.”
The trio paused briefly to watch the confrontation from afar.
“I wanna help with the search,” Patti said.
“Git on back to the house. He may come wandering back home,” Jerry retorted.
“He ain’t coming home and you know it,” Patti said.
“That ain’t true woman,” Jerry insisted. “You’ll see. We’ll find him. If it ain’t today, might be tomorrow. But daddy’s gonna come home.”
“Wake up and smell the coffee. He ain’t—”
“Stop that kinda talk right now and git on home,” Jerry interrupted. “I’ll catch a ride with Donnie after the search is over.”
Patti stared at him a moment before complying and driving away in a run-down Chevy.
Scott, Grace, and Tom joined the small crowd at the steps of the courthouse where the local sheriff was addressing the crowd. “Ray’s been out for ’bout three days, now,” he said. “Unless he hitched a ride, which is a tad doubtful, he can’t be too far away. He may be sleeping in some culvert or walking around in someone’s back yard. We’ve just got to spread out and see if we can find out where he is.” He handed out photographs of Ray. “If you’ll turn these over, you’ll see a full description of the individual. He’s six feet, one inch tall. He is balding with gray hair around the side and back of his head and he has brown eyes. He is confused easily, but may answer to the name, ‘Ray.’ If you find him, just stay with him and call me. We’ll come to you and pick him up. Are there any questions?”
“Is he dangerous?” a man near the front of the crowd asked.
“No,” the sheriff said. “He’s probably pretty tame, however, like most people, if he is confused or startled, he might react.”
“Is there a reward?” another asked.
“The county is offering a five-hundred-dollar reward to the first person who finds Ray.”
A few people in the crowd grumbled. “Is that all?” One short, skinny guy who looked like he desperately needed a makeover, asked.
“I heard he got sixty grand from the insurance company after his wife died. All you can muster up is five hundred dollars?” Another guy asked.
“Now you know, Bobby, that money is all tied up in the will,” the Sheriff said. As if on cue, he turned to Jerry who had just walked up. “Do you want to add anything?”
Jerry seemed a bit sedated. “Ah, you probably covered it all.”
“Okay,” the sheriff said. “Bob, why don’t you take a handful of folks and spread out north on Highway twenty-three. Bill, you go in the opposite direction. Sarah-Jane, you and a couple of people go west on Little Mountain Road, and Jerry and I will go east on Hazelwood. If you see or hear anything, call me on my cell. The number’s on the back of your photographs.”
Scott stood at the back of the crowd and watched the volunteers. No one acted suspicious. No one acted strange.
Grace asked, “Well, should we join one of the search teams to get a better look?”
Tom seemed to consider hailing one of the group leaders, but then turned back to Scott and Grace. “You know, Jerry’s wife went back to the house. Maybe we should check on her, first.”
“That might seem kinda suspicious,” Scott said.
“Don’t you do pastoral visits?” Grace asked.
“She’s a Baptist,” Tom muttered. “I’m Methodist.”
“Well, we’ll just have to go as concerned neighbors,” Grace offered.
They loaded back into the truck, drove out of the parking lot, and headed toward Ray’s house. On the way they stopped at the local Piggly-Wiggly and bought a casserole to bring with them.
Patti’s Chevy was parked under an oak tree at the edge of the driveway. Ray’s house was a small, nondescript, clapboard structure, similar to many constructed around the mid ‘60s. The front porch overlooked a yard, apparently once adorned with ornamental flowers and bushes, but now overgrown with weeds. Tom led Grace up the three short steps onto the porch and rapped on the screen door. Scott hesitated, waiting by the truck.
Grace turned and waved him forward.
Feeling like they were imposing on someone who obviously had a lot to do at the moment, Scott wanted to call the whole thing off and go back to the cabin. But then, he got a closer look at Patti.
***
She looked whipped. She stared through the screen door, eyes buried deep in their sockets, shoulders slumped, and hands twisting a worn-out dishtowel. Even through the rusty screen door, Scott could see a red welt on her arm. “Yes?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Sawyer. I’m Rev. Tom Jackson. I’m a retired minister. My friends, Scott and Grace and I just wanted to drop by and share our thoughts and prayers with you.”
Grace stepped forward and extended the casserole like a prized gift. “Oh,” Tom added. “We brought a little something to help you through this tough time.”
Patti opened the door a crack and gratefully accepted the casserole dish.
“Would you like to join us on the porch?” Tom asked, sweeping a hand toward the rocking chairs.
“I guess,” Patti said. She quickly added, “But I do…” and turned to look inside as if to retract her acceptance.
Tom interceded, “We’ll only stay a minute.” Scott held the screen door open for her and patted her lightly on the shoulder as she walked to the porch. Patti took the chair closest to the door and Grace and Tom carefully descended into the other two, somewhat rickety chairs. Scott moved to the end of the porch and sat down on the floor, leaning against one of the posts.
“How are you holding up?” Tom began.
“Well,” she answered. “You know…it’s hard, especially since you don’t know if he’ll ever come back…or when.”
“I understand,” Tom reassured.
Scott stared down at the dirt at the base of the porch and let Tom’s voice slip away as he focused on Patti. Tracing patterns in the dirt with his shoe, he slipped into a vision-state, cautious of what he might find there.
“I don’t care for all the attention,” Patti continued. “The search parties and the phone calls in the middle of the night.”
Scott saw several of Patti’s vision-windows. He slipped in and out of them, one at a time.
She was playing with a little girl on a playground on a bright, sunny day. She stood before the altar with Jerry on their wedding day. Then he found more than what he was searching for.
An older man, strongly resembling the picture of Ray Sawyer the Sheriff passed out earlier, was standing in the doorway of the house they were now visiting. “Where is it,” he shouted. His left hand gripped the doorframe. “Woman, I ain’t gonna ask you again. Where is my wife’s picture?”
“I ain’t seen it, Ray. Did you look in your bedroom?” He heard her say in a trembling voice.
“It ain’t there, ’cause you took it. You took it…like you took my home and like you’re gonna take my life insurance money,” Ray shouted.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Patti plead.
“You and that no-good son of mine are stealing it all.” He came toward her with glaring eyes.
Patti held her arms before her like a boxer guarding his head from coming punches.
Ray swung his right hand, finding cheek beyond her protective arms and she slipped, falling hard to the wood floor.
“You’re gonna learn a lesson, bitch!” He kicked at her, but she scrambled away.
“No! Don’t!” she cried and rolled over. On hands and knees she tried to crawl away.
Ray reached down to his waist and unbuckled his belt. “You can’t get away from me.”
The first lash slashed her slender back, sending bolts of pain through her skin. Sc
ott winced in pain. A scream ruptured from deep in her belly in response. She gasped to suck in air when the second belt lash, this one harder than the first, sliced across her skin. She desperately tried to crawl faster, but Ray stayed atop her. Timing her getaway as well as she could, Patti jerked to the right when she thought Ray would strike again. Her instincts were close and his belt glanced off her left side, ripping down her hips and buttocks.
“God damn it!” he shouted.
Patti scrambled faster, trying to reach the screen door to the back porch and safety.
She heard the swish of the belt as Ray swung again and jerked to her left, hoping to dodge the deadly leather. But her movement wasn’t fast enough and the strap found its mark, sending stabbing pain through her arm. This time a guttural wail passed her lips and she body-rolled toward the door. When her back hit the floor, striking pain from the floggings shot through her, reigniting the numbing torture.
“You never learn, do you?” Ray shouted.
“No!” she managed to shout, backing away on all fours crab-walk style.
Just then lights panned the dining room wall behind them and the creak of Jerry’s rickety Chevy over the loose gravel in the driveway interrupted the assault. Ray hastily dropped his belt and turned toward the living room to meet his son. He turned back to Patti and cautioned, “One word of this and I’ll beat the hell out of you.” He closed the door securely behind him.
Patti could hear the two men talking casually in the next room. She pulled herself up to a sitting position and leaned against the kitchen wall. She gasped for fresh air and hugged her knees to her body. Vengeance replaced the fear in her soul. It was over. The terrible ordeal was over. But things were about to get worse.
***
“Excuse me, sir,” Patti said, her face just a few inches from Scott’s. She was leaning over to get his attention, offering a cup of lemonade. “Would you like something to drink?”
2nd Sight: Capturing Insight Page 16