Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller

by Anthony O'Brien

  “Jefferson Davies.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Instantly he’s on his feet. He doesn’t look back. Cold rolled steel clamps around his wrists.

  “We’re going to take you to the psychiatrist, and get you checked over.”

  “Yes sir.” He’s relieved. This is his opportunity to talk his way out of here.

  Although Jeff’s misdemeanor in the eyes of the law is minor, he realizes that his future hangs in the balance. He’s about to be evaluated by a mental health professional; one wrong answer could spell disaster. He must speak anything but the truth and lie convincingly. Jeff understands that they have the legal means to commit him for an indefinite period: weeks, months or even years. The officer stops outside the door and knocks.

  “Come in.” A blasé voice.

  “Davies to see you.”

  “Thank you.” From behind a desk, the grey haired man unfolds his arms and stretches one hand towards the opposing chair. “Take a seat, Mr. Davies. I’m going to ask you a few questions. Honesty and integrity, if indeed it exists anymore, is all I ask of you.”

  “Yes sir.” Jeff notes his adversary. A mechanical smile, without happiness. The joy of life lost, and etched into his decaying frown lines.

  “I see you have no previous convictions.”

  “No, none.” He’s mortified to be asked such a demeaning question.

  “Any mental illness, delusions or hallucinations?”

  “No.” He bluffs. If they have access to his medical records; he’s just blown it.

  “Then what brings you to my door?”

  “A wager.”

  “And this gamble involved?” His eyebrows raise in anticipation.

  “Heckling a lecturer.” With remorse and a look of sorrow Jeff adds: “In hindsight, it was foolish.”

  “Don’t you think you’re a touch old for such schoolboy antics?”

  “Yes, I think it’s time I grew up.”

  “Indeed.” Jeff can see this man’s not impressed. “I have one problem with your story.” Jeff’s heart skips a beat. “Why do you believe you know the Dean?”

  “I don’t.” Jeff calculated this question, and his answer moments before he walked in. “I thought if I protested enough the guards would let me go.”

  “But you demanded to see him?”

  “It was a bluff.” He begs for belief. “I didn’t expect for a moment they would get him, and then it was all too late. It was easier to carry on with the lie.”

  “So you have no delusions that you were a lecturer at the university?”

  “No, none.” He’s adamant with his answer.

  “What do you work as at present?”

  “I’m between jobs.”

  “I see.” He looks disapprovingly at Jeff. “Do you, or have you experienced any delusions, hallucinations or voices of any kind?”

  “No.”

  “What is your use of drugs or alcohol?”

  “I don’t use drugs, nor have I ever.” He smiles. “I enjoy the occasional beer, that’s all.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Davies, I have no further questions at this time.”

  It’s unclear if his story is believed or not. He’s taken back to the cage; no one stares him down whilst he’s with the cop. Inside, the old man’s gone. Intimidated Jeff sits with his back to the cage.

  With little sign of mental illness other than stupidity, the psychiatrist permits Jeff to walk free. The understanding is that he’s never to be seen on the grounds of the university again.

  Once home, he showers, then phones Chloe.

  “What do you want?” She’s as cold as ice.

  “I would like to take the girls out tonight.” For a second he holds his breath.

  “Not tonight, Jeff.” Yesterday rattled Chloe. He was acting very strange.

  “I fly out tomorrow. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Oh.” She sighs and softens her tone. “Okay, on the condition they're back for nine.”

  “I promise.” He’s sincere.

  “I’ll have them ready for six.”

  “I’ll be on time.” He’s relieved. “Thanks, Chloe.”

  Later in the day, and as promised, Jeff arrives on time. He doesn’t reach the front door before the girls are back in his arms. It doesn’t take much, just his presence, for his daughters' love.

  Outside the cinema complex, Joe drives away. Now it’s time for burgers, fries and shakes, then popcorn from the main foyer. Jeff feels a touch of sadness; they’re growing up fast. It wasn’t that long ago they were viewing aquatic cartoon gangs wreaking havoc on screen. Now they’re dressing more like young women, and are interested in romantic comedies and boys. Jeff settles in for an hour of adolescent fun. Hearing the girl’s laughter makes it all worthwhile. The girls love the film, but as with all good times and touching moments, it passes too quickly. There’s laughter in the cab on the way home, until they draw up outside the house. Joe hands them a card and says farewell. Jeff has that gut wrenching feeling as he walks them to the door.

  “I won’t see you for a while, but I promise I’ll be back soon.”

  “We don’t want you to go, Dad.” His daughters stand before him; how can he just walk away?

  “I have to, I have work to do.” It’s the only excuse he has.

  “Please stay here.” They both look sad. “Mom still loves you, we know she does.”

  “It’s not that simple. It’s grown up stuff.”

  “We love you.” He sighs.

  “I love you both too.”

  “But you’re leaving us.” Their faces plead.

  “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  Jeff holds them tight. He is shaking as he walks away from them. The girl’s wave as the white limousine pulls away.

  “Did you see that?” Jessica’s surprised.

  “What?”

  “Dad had tears in his eyes.”

  Joe knows Jeff’s composing himself in the back of the cab; he’s seen it all before. Respectfully, he gives him a minute before asking.

  “Home, Jeff?”

  “No, just one more stop, Joe.”

  The cab stops outside the Federal architecture styled house. There was an exclusive gathering of lecturers here many years ago. Joe’s been asked to wait. Jeff’s here to collect something, it’s a long shot, he knows, standing outside the black door. The brass door knocker strikes three times. A moment passes and Izabella opens the door; the cab outside had already caught her eye. Jeff recognizes her as John Martin’s wife, although it’s been many years since they last met. She’s aged a lot faster than he would have expected, but then again he’s unannounced and there’s no occasion.

  “May I help you?” She does not recognize him.

  “Forgive the intrusion and my unannounced visit. I’m a long-time friend and colleague of John's. I’m not sure if you’ll remember me? My name is Dr. Jefferson Davies.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Davies, I have no recollection.” She’s sure she would remember him, if what he said were true.

  “There was a gathering of lecturers here many years ago.”

  “Yes, there was.” She stares trying to recall him. “Although I can’t place you.”

  “I was here.” Jeff thinks back to that night. “You wore a long red dress.”

  “Yes, yes I did.” She smiles, her guard drops. “You do have a good memory.”

  “Only for the prettiest of ladies.”

  “Thank you for the flattery.” She sees through his ruse. “How may I help you?”

  “Is it possible for me to speak with John?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not up to visitors anymore.” She can see his determination, or is it desperation?

  “Please, it’s important, I wouldn’t trouble you otherwise. Just five minutes?”

  “Five minutes then.” She caves in with a sigh. “Although I doubt you will get a conversation, or even a word, out of him.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jeff steps ins
ide and closes the door behind him. The hallway exhibits framed photographs of John, the university, and his many friends and colleagues.

  “What a wonderful collection, do you mind?”

  “Go right ahead.” She’s pleased to have someone take an interest; no one does anymore.

  Izabella stands by his side whilst he enthusiastically looks at the photographs. Cap and gown presentations; the lecturers. Throughout all this history, Jeff notes there’s an absence of one. He himself is nowhere to be seen: erased from history.

  “May I see John?”

  “Of course, follow me.”

  John’s sitting in a wheelchair, close to the window, a tartan blanket placed over his legs. He wears a blank expression.

  “Hello, John.” Jeff walks forward to shake his hand and receives no reaction. John’s right hand is clenched tight. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He has Alzheimer’s, Dr. Davies.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” He realizes the hopelessness of the situation. “I wouldn’t have troubled you had I known.”

  “I was hoping a familiar face might have sparked a response from him.”

  “Is there nothing that can be done?” Jeff’s heartbreak for his friend is obvious.

  “The disease is quite advanced. His speech has become limited to single intelligible words. The doctors now focus their efforts to postpone loss of mobility.”

  “It must be hard for you.” Jeff understands that Izabella’s watched her husband, a highly intelligent man, crumble.

  “He doesn’t know if I’m his mother or his wife.” A tear falls. “Please spend a few minutes with him, I’ll be back shortly.”

  Izabella walks out of the room. Jeff turns to face the man he once knew so well.

  “John, its Jefferson Davies, do you remember me?” Jeff can see there’s nothing left but an exterior shell. He doesn’t know what else he can say to a man who, even without the disease, probably wouldn’t recognize him. Jeff stands and sadly turns to walk out of the room. Reaching the door, the sound of a marble bouncing onto the wood floor, rolling, stops him. He bends down and picks it up. John’s right hand is now open, and Jeff’s eyes widen as he recognizes the marble. It was so long ago. John had approached him in his office.

  “Just passing, thought I would drop in and see how you’re settling in?”

  “Fine, thank you.” Jeff’s pleased that his colleague is so welcoming.

  “Is there anything you need?”

  “You seem to have thought of everything.” He smiles. “It’s all appreciated.”

  “That’s quite alright.” He looks around and whispers. “We lecturers must stick together.” He looks to Jeff in an enquiring way. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve sat and listened to your lectures with interest. Academia aside, do you not have a shred of doubt regarding fate or the supernatural?”

  “Not at all.” Jeff smiles. This is a valid and often asked question.

  “And religion?”

  “Religion is a construct which aids the elite in social order. It’s served and continues to serve its purpose well.”

  “But what of the soul?”

  “We have no permanent self. Our religious guidance is nothing more than social conditioning. Right from wrong, good versus evil. These basic values form our thoughts and affect our behaviors. Without a soul you cannot be damned.”

  “Then why do we sense a soul? Why are we spiritual beings?”

  “Because we are frightened to face the truth.” Jeff reaches into his drawer and pulls out a large and unusual marble, holding it between his fingers. “Marbles have been used for divination throughout history, from the Greeks to the Chinese. Drop them in sand, roll them around, make lines or patterns. Then interpret, decipher. But why would a higher energy be concerned with human affairs? It’s only human minds that cling to the notion of meaning.”

  “You may be right. I’ll hold onto my soul, just in case.”

  “Keep the marble as a totem.” Jeff says. “If you find any evidence to disprove my theories, then please return it.”

  Jeff stands in the room holding that marble, the only piece of evidence he’s discovered to validate his existence as a lecturer. His good friend can tell him nothing more. Jeff walks out of the room, and the totem in his hand, returned.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The night is spent in restless despair. Jeff holds the marble in his hand, contemplating the series of events surrounding its return. The hours feel eternal as he watches the second hand tick on the clock, drifting in and out of sleep. With the arrival of morning, darkness finally loses its hold.

  Thankful to be leaving, Jeff closes the door, walks down the steps, and into the taxi. He fears Boston may not set him free. An accident, a delay, even thoughts of a plane crash reverberate through his mind. How will he explain to Eve the series of events that have conspired against him? Traveling without incident through the Boston landscape, he looks out, irritated by the city that tried to imprison him. Jeff reads the sign for Logan International Airport, and is grateful for his freedom as they pull up outside the terminal.

  “Thank you.” He sighs with relief.

  “Take care, Jeff.”

  “You too, Joe.”

  Stepping out of the cab with a single farewell wave, he walks towards the departures entrance. Inside the building he checks in, purchases coffee and finds a seat in the airport lounge. He sits contemplating the fact that he’s leaving his daughters again. The flight is called; once through the routine of boarding, he settles into his seat. It isn’t long before the plane reaches flying altitude. He’s escaped the clutches of Boston, its disturbing reality. The flight is routine, allowing him to sleep. When he wakes, below him are the plains of the South West, the New Mexico Rockies and home. It’s a long descent towards Pueblo Memorial Airport; cloudless skies ensure a smooth landing.

  Walking out of arrivals, he scans the crowd in anticipation. Other passengers are greeted, but Eve’s nowhere to be seen, and she’s not in the car park. An hour passes sitting outside the airport, leaning against the wall; waiting. Disappointed, slightly angry, he’s left with no choice, taxi or rental? He drives away from the airport in a cool black four-by-four truck.

  The road ripples like a ribbon floating on the red sea. Wasteland scrub drifts by. Thoughts ebb to and fro. His daughters and Eve are on his mind. Al’s diner; he scans, brakes slam on. He sits motionless.

  “Fuck.” He shakes his head. “This isn’t happening.” Trembling, he drives up to the chrome diner. The sun sparks diamonds of light from the spots not yet covered in rust. Cautiously approaching, using his weight on the door; finding broken glass clawing the checkered floor. Confronted by the old dusty counter, torn booths, cobwebs, Jeff knows fear. Does Rainbow Ranch still exist? More importantly, does Eve?

  The miles feel endless. The turbo whistles like a steam train on full haul. Are all his memories false? He turns left at the black mailbox. The raven watches.

  It’s the same dusty farm track, the same stone pillars, the same log poles. The entrance still announces Rainbow Ranch with faded white lettering. The building is nestled in the valley, as it should be, but there’s no Camaro. The closer he gets the more anxious he feels. The truck stops. Silence descends; is the solitude too much? Stepping out, it’s the same rustic beauty, the same colors and charm, but there’s no footprints or tire tracks in the red soil. The old timber weathervane is motionless as he walks up the steps. The single rocking chair sits on the porch. His hand reaches for the handle, and the door creaks open.

  “Eve?”

  No-one replies: there’s no one here to reply. No Indian rug in front of the fireplace, no psychedelic painting hanging on the wall. It’s desolate, isolated: abandoned. Shaking, he sits. His teeth start to chatter. Rocking himself, his eyes close to a world that’s insanely cruel.

  The wind picks up. The door bangs on its frame. Waking, startled from the comfort
of not knowing, Jeff returns to the grim reality of consciousness. It’s not him, he knows this with absolute conviction; he has the marble and the Saint Christopher. The answers must lie in one place: inside the prison walls.

  He pulls out onto the highway. The surrounding barren landscape is now nothing more than a wasteland. Without companionship it leads only to isolation and loneliness. He now feels the truth of the literature of human emotion. He spent endless hours studying, yet not once did he appreciate the true depth of the printed word. He aches for Eve. The human condition had him come into this world alone, journey through life as an individual, to inevitably die alone. Yet to love, to have someone travel with him through this eternal loneliness made everything worthwhile. He's in exile; his academic doctrines have gone out the window. Jeff is now running on faith.

  He passes the billboard advertising trust. He glances in the mirror, sees the cop shielding there, acknowledges the irony. Once the trooper is out of sight he picks up speed. The turbo whistles as he whips every last horse out of the engine. He approaches the prison.

  “No!”

  The road is blocked by six large concrete blocks, each block with its own steel lifting handle set in the top. A large white sign, reads, in red lettering, ‘Danger. Keep Out. Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted.’ The truck door opens. He walks past the sign and the concrete blocks. The blue guard house slowly peels in the sun. The concrete steps that lead up to the door are full of sand. It’s locked, empty and still. The red and white barriers are chained down.

  He walks the trail that belongs to murderers and outcasts. The heat burns into the back of his head, into his neck and shoulders. The hot tarmac burns through the soles of his shoes to his feet.

  The perimeter gates are locked, the gun towers empty. A bird of prey sits on the razor wire, watching. He walks back to the vehicle contemplating fate. He needs a sign. If there is one to be found, it will be at the ranch. He'll spend the night there.

  On the highway pulls over to ask the cop where the nearest stop is for provisions. The trooper hears the engine of the truck decelerate as it rolls off the highway, drawing alongside his Dodge. Unarmed white single male, no threat. He looks at Jeff, who removes his sunglasses and steps out of the truck.