Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller

by Anthony O'Brien

“We’ll come back later.”

  “Promise?” They sweetly smile.

  “Yes, I promise.” He quickly diverts them away. “Look, there’s the funny mirrors.”

  “That’s boring, Dad.”

  “I don't think so.” He has to think fast. “Then we’ll go on the big wheel.”

  “Okay.” Disappointment, but both girls are eager to please their dad.

  The frontage has funny mirrors emblazoned in big bright lettering. A gentleman in blue is painted to the left of the entrance, a lady in green to the right. The ticket booth has 'Boston Fun' written beneath. After the initial sulk, the girls are hopping around; carnival mirrors twist and distort them.

  Jeff’s vision blurs. The light takes on a whiter hue. The mirror shows him himself, as an old man. Distorted, twisted, once again decrepit. Standing next to him is Louise. She’s a woman, a beautiful young woman; she stares and smiles to him. He feels tender, timeless love. A microsecond, then movement in his brain brings reality back together again.

  “Dad.”

  “Yeah.” Their voices register. “Sorry?”

  “The big wheel.” They both look worried. Dad’s acting strange.

  “Yes.” With resolve he reasserts himself. “Come on, girls.”

  And so, from the Ferris wheel to the masterpiece of the antique carousel, swinging bridges, the water park and bumper cars, the afternoon is full of fun. For all the adrenalin rides, Jeff’s highlight is seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter once again.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Food first.” He smiles. “Then you can have cotton candy.”

  The diner is only a short walk away. They find an empty table, and the girls enjoy burgers, fries and shakes, before Louise gives Jessica a devilish look.

  “Dad.”

  “Yes, love.”

  “Are you and mom going to get back together?”

  “No, love.” Louise had to ask the one question he didn’t wish to hear.

  “Why not?” Her face expresses concern.

  “Well, you know when you fall out with your friends at school?”

  “Yeah.” She’s heard this before. “It’s the same for me and your mom.” He’s not sure if they are buying into his weak explanation. “We’re friends, but we choose not to live together.”

  “You left us.”

  “We’ve been over this before.” He sighs, feeling like shit. “I love you both just as much as when I lived with you. This way when we spend time together, it's a treat.”

  “But it’s not the same, Dad, and we don’t like Steve.”

  “I’m sure Steve’s a very nice person.” He quickly changes the subject. “Who’s up for cotton candy?”

  “Can we have doughnuts?”

  “Go on then.” Relief; he can still bribe them with cotton candy and doughnuts.

  The girls wander round with a bag of doughnuts each, sticky fingers coated in sugar. Then they take themselves off to the fun house. Jeff waits outside; with the park being so busy there’s no vacant seats. People sit on low walls that border flower gardens. Unable to sit down, Jeff blends into the crowd; one of many standing next to a wall. The girls have stirred his emotions and his fears.

  A woman out of the blue passes and looks directly at him.

  “Adulterer.”

  This takes him by surprise. Did that really just happen? Was it directed at him?

  “Deadbeat.”

  Another. What’s going on? The crowd and people that pass are eyeballing him like he’s a piece of dirt. Names are being thrown like rocks. It’s nothing he hasn’t already called himself; the crowd appears to have become his thoughts, his consciousness, his mind. This barrage is terrifying, a glimpse of mob rule, the terror souls have suffered before being lynched, beaten or stoned to death. Then confusion; he’s on the floor, shoes around him.

  “Are you alright?” A softly spoken, comforting female voice.

  Opening his eyes reassures concerned bystanders that he’s okay. Jeff sits up. Two men offer to help him back onto his feet. He takes the seat kindly offered to him on the nearby bench. Shaken by the experience, he sits and catches his breath; his body shakes. It’s half an hour before the girls appear at the exit of the fun house. He smiles and waves to them.

  “Did you enjoy yourselves?” He over emphasizes his joy at seeing them, in part to cover his horrific experience.

  “Yes Dad!” They reply with equal excitement.

  “Good. Girls, I’m sorry, but we have to leave now.”

  “Can’t we stay a while longer?” They plead. “Please, Dad.”

  “We can’t. I promised your mom you would be home no later than seven.”

  “It’s not fair.” Feet almost stamp.

  “I’ll bring you again.” He tries to reassure them. “I promise.”

  “Well, if mom was here, we wouldn’t have to go, would we?”

  “Yes, you would.” He’s firm. “Now come along, girls.”

  And that’s Jeff’s final word. They have no choice but to make their way out of the amusement park.

  “See, Joe’s waiting for us.”

  They reluctantly climb into the back of the limousine.

  “Hi, Joe.”

  “Hi, ladies. Did you have a good time?”

  “Yes, but we wanted to stay longer.” The look they give their dad states it’s all his fault.

  “Everyone wants to stay longer, but the fun is coming back next time.”

  “When are we coming back, Dad?”

  “Soon, I promise.”

  Jeff sits in the center of the seat. The girls snuggle up either side, under his arms; in this way they travel through the city. Outside the house, the hardest part is walking them to the front door. He kneels down, gives them both a big hug and a kiss, before they walk inside.

  “Chloe, I would just like to say thank you.”

  The afternoon for Chloe was spent glamorizing herself, trying to look younger, applying concealer, curling false lashes, adding lip gloss, and a touch of blusher. Her hair had conveniently been cut earlier in the week, given extra blonde highlights. All that was left to do was to fasten her corset and find something sexy to show off her cleavage. Chloe’s unsure why she’s doing this, she hates Jeff! Convincing herself it’s just to show him what he’s missing.

  She feels like a million dollars. Jeff’s eyes drop for a split second before rigidly maintaining eye contact; Chloe smiles. Meanwhile both girls run back up the hallway and are now standing behind the door, trying not to giggle, and listening to the conversation.

  “You’re looking well.”

  “Thank you.” A compliment, she would like his eyes to drop, to see more of what he’s missing.

  “I’m sorry if I was a touch late today. My car’s been stolen.”

  “Your car?” She’s surprised.

  “Yeah.” Her reaction, doesn’t seem right?

  “I didn’t know you had a car?”

  “Of course you do.” How could she forget the red Toyota?

  “No, you told me you haven’t had a car for the last couple of years.”

  “What?” His hands stretch out. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did.” Her head starts to sway with the words. ”You couldn’t afford one.”

  “Rubbish, I’m a bloody lecturer for crying out loud.”

  “A lecturer of what, bullshit?”

  “What?” Now she’s fucking insane! “I’ve worked for years at the university.”

  “See, you haven’t changed a bit. I worry about you, I really do.” Her finger prods into his chest. “You need to go and see a shrink. Lecturer my ass, go on. Just go.”

  “What fucking planet are you on, Chloe?”

  The front door opens and Steve steps out.

  “Is everything alright, Chloe?” His words are stern. His eyes bore into Jeff’s.

  “Yes, it is.” She puts her hand up. “Everything’s fine, Jeff’s just leaving.”
<
br />   And on that sour note, Jeff turns and walks away from any further confrontation. The last words he hears from Chloe is that he should seek help.

  “What’s up, Jeff?”

  “Nothing. Just take me, Joe.”

  During the journey, he catches words here and there from Joe. The city lights pass through his window. He’s in a dream. What’s got into Chloe? She lived with him for years. What game is she playing? It’s obvious; she’s played the sympathy card with Steve.

  “Here we are.”

  “Thanks Joe, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Sure thing, take it easy.”

  Jeff steps out onto the harsh reality of the sidewalk. What a day! He steps inside the house. Even the checkered floor tiles have seen better days than this. Back in his apartment he sits on the couch and tries to phone Eve without success. He dials a new number.

  “Operator.”

  “Good evening, how may I be of service?”

  “Can you give me the number for Al’s Diner. It’s located on Highway Sixty Seven, Colorado.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, there isn’t a number listed for Al’s Diner. Are you sure you have the correct name and address?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.” He’s puzzled? “Okay, would you locate the number for the maximum security prison in Colorado?”

  “I’m sorry, but our records do not show any maximum security prison in Colorado.”

  “But there must be.” Is this woman an imbecile?

  “I’m sorry sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, that’s not possible” His voice wavers. “There has to be a telephone number.”

  “I’m sorry sir, if there’s nothing else I can help you with, I will have to terminate this call.”

  “No, wait.” He panics.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Please check again.”

  The line goes dead and Jeff slams the phone down. He holds Eve’s Saint Christopher in his hand, thinking. He gets up. It’s time to stretch his legs and clear his head.

  There’s nothing like the streets to bring life back into perspective. Shadows and specters lurk around each street corner. He finds that whenever a crowd of people pass and glance at him, he fears what words are about to be thrown; fearing not the lone individual but the masses. The park looks inviting and safe: plenty of dog walkers and joggers. The twisting path is flanked either side by colorful flower beds. He passes lovers and others, always with Eve on his mind. He approaches a bench. A familiar looking figure stares back at him. The old man smiles a greeting, long matted hair still sprouting from beneath the brown hoodie.

  “It’s you!” He can’t believe his eyes. “The hobo from Kansas City.”

  “We travelers do like to get around.”

  “It’s not possible.” Jeff arrived by plane only yesterday.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences either.” He smiles. “Would you like to take a seat?”

  “Yes I would.” He needs to sit down, before his legs give way.

  “How’s your faith today?”

  “You know what’s happening to me don’t you?”

  “Your destiny presents itself to you.”

  “This isn’t what I would choose.”

  “I warned you in the beginning, there are no U-turns at the end of this road.” He shakes his head. “What’s been started cannot be undone.”

  “I seek only the truth.”

  “The truth is coming. As with all truths there are forces that will try to suppress and confuse you. Reality is feeding you disinformation, Dr. Davies. Focus only on what you remember.”

  “Reality is feeding me disinformation?”

  “How’s your car? Your neighbor, wife and lover? What do you have to show for all those years of study and lecture? Where are all your tokens, memories, friends now?”

  A couple walk towards the bench and give each other that knowing look, ensuring as they pass that they’re not too close to the poor unfortunate mentally ill soul, who sits there talking to himself.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The following morning Jeff embraces, as he’s done for many years, his brisk stroll to the university. He's going to pick up personal belongings that John Martin kindly stored away for him. He relishes in the eclectic architectural styles of the campus; Georgian and Romanesque to a touch of modern. The students are equally diverse. Jeff loves teaching; molding fresh inquisitive minds with new thoughts and ideas. Shaping not only the individuals future, but, in his mind, the future of America.

  Nostalgia is a powerful force. Jeff doubts he will have the opportunity to visit his lecture theatre in the future, and decides on a quick detour. In this building; he knows every crack, every door squeak, every corner. The acoustics are so impressive that from the moment he steps in he appreciates a lecture is in progress. Taking the route late students have used for years, he takes a seat. The stout, bearded lecturer is unaware of his presence.

  “A convincing case may be the referral of an individual to, say, a memory clinic. The individual states that the appointment is pointless; they’ve been there countless times before. They may even give the doctor’s name and appointment times of past visits. Life for the patient is nothing more than a series of repeats, a recurring dream. A simple explanation for déjà vu is fatigue. Information is recorded by the brain using our senses. If it’s faster than the consciousness can retrieve it, it makes sense that when we have caught up with ourselves, we have the feeling of experiencing the event already.”

  “What about premonitions, sir?” The blonde female student interrupts at the pause in his sentence. The lecturer smiles; he’s friendly, and openly invites questions and discussions throughout his lectures.

  “Premonitions only exist in the delusional minds of conjurers, mediums, scoundrels and sociopaths.”

  “I disagree.” Jeff speaks out. In part in anger; this is his course, the one he was told was no longer running!

  “I’m sorry.” The lecturer is shocked to discover a stranger in the shadows. “Who are you?”

  “Forgive the intrusion. My name is Dr. Jefferson Davies, and until recently I was the lecturer of this course.”

  There’s a hushed silence in the room. All eyes fall on Jeff. The lecturer gives his aid a nod for security.

  “If that’s the case, Dr. Davies, why would you disagree? After all, if you were my predecessor, then you will be well versed in delusions and premonitions.”

  “Premonitions appear fragmentary and vague.” Jeff looks up as he speaks, to the man behind his lectern. “Like yourself I once believed they were delusions. However, having experienced déjà vu, premonitions and the paranormal first-hand, I disagree.” His eyebrows raise as he continues. “How else do we explain the foreboding for some passengers, the day they boarded the Titanic? How do you explain that only sixty four seats were occupied out of two hundred and eighty nine available on the Boeing 757 that hit the Pentagon? How do you explain that the planes that hit the World Trade Centre were eighty one and seventy four percent empty? We have hundreds of thousands of documented premonitions throughout history. It’s our history that’s being academically ridiculed and suppressed.”

  Jeff’s addressing the students as much as he does the lecturer; unaware that security has just stepped round the corner. The student’s faces express delight as the guards approach, locking his arms together.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Jeff has no idea he’s trespassing.

  “This way sir.”

  “No, you have it all wrong.” Realizing their mistake, he tries to legitimize himself. “I’ve worked here for thirty years.” Words fall on deaf ears; his blood boils as he barks. “Take me to the Dean this instant!” The students burst into applause and laughter.

  “Settle down.” The lecturer holds his hands up, as the class settles, he reiterates his point. “Now that’s a delusional mind.”

  Jeff waits in the security room for the Dean, who’s been notified that an intruder
has been discovered on campus. The door swings open and Jeff stands to his feet.

  “Charles, thank goodness you’ve arrived.” He’s relieved to see a friendly face.

  “Is this the gentleman?” The Dean looks straight at Jeff.

  “Yes.”

  “Explain what you’re doing on my campus?” His tone is anger and concern.

  “Charles?” There’s not a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “It's Jeff.” Still no reaction? “We’ve been friends for years.”

  “How dare you come onto my campus, invade a lecture, and tell me I’m your friend!” Jeff sits back down, he holds his right hand, which is profusely shaking, to his now spinning head. The Dean addresses the guard. “Make the call.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Jeff faces the shame of walking out of the building and onto the sidewalk in cuffs. Students stop, whisper and point; others have pity in their eyes. He steps into the police car; hands bound behind his back. He sits quietly watching the streets. People’s stares glance off the side of his face. This isn’t the world he left behind. At the police station he’s booked into a holding cell. An old black gentleman sits beside him, smiling with a very noticeable gold front tooth.

  “What they got you in for, kid?”

  “I’m not sure.” He’s in a daze. The only friendly face is the one in front of him.

  “What the fuck you on about? You know what you did!”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Stroking his forehead, he tries to comfort himself.

  “Join the club.” He smiles, a knowing smile.

  “I came back here; nothing’s the same. The people at work don’t know me, my photographs are missing.” He shakes his head. “My identity’s been stolen.”

  “I can fix you up with a new one, for a price.”

  “No thanks. I have one.” He looks at the man. “Why would you try to send someone mad, to make others believe that he is?”

  “Lock them up and throw away the key. Then they can’t trouble you no more.”

  “Of course.” It all clicks into place. “Something doesn’t want me to go back!” The old man shakes his head.

  “You ain't making any sense, kid.”

  A cop walks to the cage and opens the pen.