“Now what?”
The peace and solitude alongside the hypnotic rippling ebb of the river helps him to think. Belle and Black Top City are here. Surely it’s a foregone conclusion that the man on the bench must also be here?
Midnight. A dark vehicle, pulling in illuminates the empty car park. Jeff parks in the same spot Marcus did, then kills the engine and lights. The silhouette of the rose garden is in front of him. He does not take a flashlight: it might attract unwanted attention to a man alone in the park at this time of night. Through moonlight, he can make out charcoal stems and monochrome roses. He walks on ebony grass towards the outline of the oak tree. The bench is here. He takes a seat and waits. The lake’s still, no wind to rustle the leaves or branches. He hears the flutter of bats, and senses the movement of the passing red fox. Then a dark hooded figure, beside him.
“You made it.” The voice does not sound in the least bit surprised.
“Yes.” He’s mentally exhausted, feeling that he’s gone full circle, back to this spot.
“I had every faith in you.”
“Why?”
“You will do the uncomfortable for the pursuit of knowledge. Life has no meaning without understanding, correct?”
“Yes.” Jeff’s perception is that he hasn’t gained anything. “But my understanding and knowledge have been lost.”
“What did you really have to lose?”
“My life, my values, and my friends. Most importantly Eve. What’s life without the one you love?”
“Memories are the distraction. You may have them all back, if that’s your wish?”
“Yes.” Jeff lifts in an instant. “How do I get my life back?”
“You finish your journey.”
“How?”
“Find Casey Lee Jones.”
“Where is he?” Confusion. “I’ve tried.”
“Retrace your steps, back to Colorado and the prison.”
“It’s derelict.” Despair and resentment resonates in his voice.
“A poor reflection of reality.” His hand reaches up and pats Jeff’s shoulder. “He’s there. That’s where you’ll find your journey's end.”
“But.” Before Jeff gets the rest of his sentence out, the man beside him has gone. “No, not again.” He stands up, looks at the empty seat and raises his voice. ”Please don’t go.” With a childlike bewilderment he whispers: “I need help.”
Sitting defiantly back down, he waits. Time passes. Cold, tired, at the point of collapse, he resigns himself; his mentor’s gone. He walks back to the truck. Exhausted, Jeff drops the seats down. In the morning he’ll head back; he’ll make the prison by evening.
Jeff’s sleep is disturbed by three loud knocks at the window, his open eyes blinded by a flashlight.
“Step out of the vehicle.” A male voice barks the command.
Beside the truck is a black and white patrol car. The black lettering states Police, alongside an emblazoned gold logo.
Jeff opens the door and steps out, raising both hands in a passive submissive gesture. The flashlight in his eyes disorientates. He’s pushed against the vehicle.
“Put your hands on the roof.” Cops kick his heels in a bid to destabilize and spread his legs.
“Don’t struggle.” The voice alone is enough to make him freeze on the spot.
Frisked for knives, guns and drug paraphernalia. His wallet confiscated. Forced to his knees, then pushed down. A knee in his back and his head on the ground; dirt cuts into his cheek. Arms pinned back; cold rolled steel cuffs clamped to his wrists.
“Who are you?” The cop’s eyes bulge as he speaks.
“Jefferson Davies.” The cops have him pinned to the ground.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sleeping.” There’s panic in his voice. “I was only sleeping.”
“At the car park?” The cop puts further pressure into his back.
“Ah. That hurts!” It's hard to breath. His heart pounds. “Yes. Please, I was doing nothing wrong.”
“Why here?”
“It was late, I’d visited friends.” The pressure in his back eases. “I came here for a walk and was tired. I thought it best to have a rest before driving to a motel. I fell asleep.”
“Are there any drugs, guns or weapons in the vehicle?”
“No sir.”
The doors, glove box and trunk are open. A treasure hunt is on, looking for the prize of the night. Jeff’s lays face down in the dirt. Footsteps, then cops over him.
“Seems the neighborhoods going to shit these days, what do you think Bo?”
“I reckon so.” Sarcasm and hatred ring in his voice.
“Give me a break, guys.” Jeff senses something he hasn’t before. Similarities to Casey’s arrest.
“A break.” The cop laughs. “Nigger wants a break.”
“Nigger?” He’s shocked, what the fuck’s going on?
“Best we give it to him then.”
A sharp pain and intake of breath. Voltage ripples through Jeff’s spine, through his limbs and torso. Heart racing, he spasms, face down in the snow. Long forgotten memories of Casey’s life. Him or them, reaching for the gun strapped to his leg. Then twitching, wheezing cops. Call it an execution or call it mercy, he put bullets through their heads.
“Hey.” A concerned voice. Jeff feels his face being slapped. “You alright?”
Back in the moment, he feels the cuffs being released. He’s helped up onto his feet. Shaken from his experience, he dusts himself down.
“Do you have seizures?” The cop checks Jeff’s pupil dilation. “Any known medical problems?”
“No sir.” He doesn’t want fuss, he wants to be left alone. “I haven’t.”
“We can’t be too careful in this line of work.” The cop legitimizes their behavior. “At night the area is known for prostitutes and drug dealers. We’re proactive with our stop and search.” With emphasis he states: “It yields results.”
“It’s good that you’re here.” He would rather befriend than pay further consequences! “I’m sorry, I don’t know the area, I’m from out of town.”
“We know. Your details were checked against the rental vehicle. It’s due back in a few days.”
“I leave for Colorado in the morning.” He rephrases. “I can go now.”
“We’ll turn a blind eye this time.” The cops still concerned. Did this citizen have a seizure? His concern only for their own aggressive behavior, and the diversion of possible consequences. “The park’s quiet, but make sure you’re gone in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Disappointment, walking back through the rose garden; he does not notice the bloom and vivid colors made more so with early morning dew. There is no bench under the tree.
Driving out of the car park Jeff leaves both his night of terrors and his confidence behind.
With a need to freshen up, he stops at the first available motel. Reception is lined with mahogany grain wall tiles. The black ceiling fans slowly rotate. Behind the white service counter, the receptionist greets him with a smile. She’s beautiful; many of the hotels guests, past and present, have found her alluringly attractive.
“Good morning sir.” Her expression exudes corporate politeness.
“Good morning.” He smiles. She’s an uplifting sight for sore eyes, a distraction “I would like a single room, please.”
“How long will you be staying with us?”
“Twenty four hours.” He hands his card over, and takes the room key.
In the shower he tries to wash away the self-doubt the betrayal of reality.
The hotel is noisy: elevator doors, muffled thuds, chatter, as people make their way downstairs. The dining room is a basic no-frills affair. White mottled floor tiles, round beech-effect tables and chairs. Breakfast is served family style; fruit, several hot entrees, baked goods. Unbeknownst to Jeff, back in Boston, Jessica, his daughter also sits at the kitchen table.
&
nbsp; “Where’s Louise, love?” Both girls usually sit together.
“She’s not well.”
“What’s wrong?” Chloe’s face displays concern.
“Just said she doesn’t feel well.” Jessica’s very matter of fact.
“Steve can you watch the toast for me?”
“Sure.” He nods obediently.
Chloe walks upstairs and into the girl’s bedroom. Here, surrounded by, fairies, butterflies and unicorns is Louise, under her flower quilt.
“What’s wrong, honey?” She reaches out, touching her forehead to check her temperature.
“I don’t feel well.” In a weak voice she says: “I have a bad tummy.”
“On the first day of rehearsals?” Chloe raises an eyebrow.
“I can’t go.” Her eyes plead.
“It’s not stage fright, is it?”
“No.” Louise is adamant. “Mom, I really don’t feel well.”
“Okay, love.” She can’t force her, if she’s not well. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Chloe concedes she must be sick. “If you need anything, shout.”
“Thanks Mom.”
Louise's gut wrenches. She can't put her feelings into words: that today of all days, she should not go. It's easier to say she's sick. Chloe walks back downstairs and into the kitchen.
“Looks like you’re on your own today, Jess.”
“I don’t mind.” Secretly she’s happy, this way she’ll get all the attention.
“Thanks for doing the toast, love.”
“At least it isn’t burnt when Steve does it Mom.” Jessica loves teasing her mom at every opportunity.
“Less of your cheek.”
Jessica enjoys fresh orange juice, cereal and toast. Back in Kansas Jeff pushes his plate to one side. He feels separate from humanity, the loneliness and isolation of the crowd. Finishing his coffee, he walks out of the dining area and takes the elevator back up to the room. Retrieving his case, he glances at the bed, missing the closeness and companionship he shared with Eve. If this is life without her, he’d rather not be.
A black truck in Kansas drives away from the motel. In Boston a white limousine pulls up outside the blue townhouse.
“Mom, he’s here.” There’s excitement in Jessica’s voice.
The girls like Joe, and he’s now the family designated cab driver. Chloe walks Jessica up the path. Joe stands by the side of the limousine.
“Hi Joe.”
“Hi Jessica.” He smiles, then asks. “Where’s Louise?”
“She’s sick.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” He opens the door for Jessica to step in.
“Pick-up is for three.” Chloe is direct in her manner.
“I’ll be there.” He speaks with pride.
Jeff is on the outskirts of Kansas City, happy to be leaving it: in his mind the sprawling metropolis only served up the horror of Marcus and the pain he endured in the past. If it were not for the homeless man on the bench, this journey would have spelled the end for him. The highway steers him, green pastures and rolling fields of wheat. Then ahead, by the side of the road, a hitchhiker, somehow familiar. A black leather jacket, long braided hair; blue jeans and long legs. Where did she come from? He could swear no-one was there a second ago. But that figure... damn, he knows every inch! He stares intently, passing her, slowing. She smiles, thumb out; he pulls over. A heartbeat. The door opens.
“Hi.” She smiles at this handsome stranger.
His heart sinks. There’s no recognition in Eve’s eyes. She leans forward, displaying her assets. It’s hard for him to keep his eyes off her breasts. A silver cross, faith close to her heart. The same piercing in her plump lower lip. He’s staring.
“Sorry.” He snaps out of his trance. “Hi.” He smiles, telling himself; don’t blow it! “Where you headed?”
“Colorado.” She has many effects on men; a stunned look isn’t usually one of them.
“I can take you most of the way. I stop at the prison. You can hitch a ride from there.”
“Cool.” She climbs into the truck. “Thanks.”
Holding the same beautiful smile that first captured his heart, her emerald eyes are unmistakable.
“I’m Rosie.” His look is one of curiosity, she feels, somehow a bond.
“Jeff.” He has a warm smile.
“You seem familiar?” But she can’t place him.
“Yeah.” He can’t tell her about their past, not yet. “I feel it too.”
Jeff puts the vehicle into drive and re-joins the highway.
“You’re a double for my partner.” He feigns a laugh, unsure how she will react?
“Really?” Taking the statement as flattery, Rosie’s curious. “Where is she now?”
“Ah.” He sighs. She’s sitting next to him. “I’m not sure.”
“You don’t know?” She frowns.
“It’s a long story.”
“It’s a long drive.” She gives him the look: what have you got to lose?
Jessica’s behind the curtain at the side of the stage. Today is the first dress rehearsal. The rush of adrenalin pumps around her body. Questions fly through her mind; how will she perform? What will they think? How will they respond? Although she’s in the company of other dancers, Jessica’s the main attraction. Then the moment of anticipation passes, and with no more time to think, she’s on stage. The spotlight hits, she feels like she’s flying.
Jeff inhales the faint smell of perfume; Rosie uses the same brand as Eve. He feels that he could tell her anything, that she wouldn’t be judgmental. Damn those legs, so close, he wants to touch her. Then he remembers what Eve said, that she could feel his thoughts and snaps himself from the moment.
“So tell me about yourself.” Rosie would like to know more about Jeff, and get him talking about his mysterious partner.
“What would you like to know?”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a lecturer.” He pauses. “Well, I used to be.”
“A lecturer” She’s impressed, he’s intelligent. “Why did you stop?”
“A number of reasons.” He looks sad. “It’s complicated.”
“Did you lose faith in the system?”
“The system?” He huffs. “Yeah I lost faith.” He speaks as much to the universe as he does to Rosie. “In everything.”
“What about love?” She waits in anticipation for his answer.
“Love?” Jeff didn’t expect the question. “Well, yes I believe in love.” Confusion, then expression. “It’s the one true experience we all share that cannot be controlled. There’s no barriers with love.”
“What if the one you love lies?” She tests.
“Then it’s not true love.” He senses she’s going somewhere with this.
“And you love your partner?”
“Of course.” He’s surprised she has to ask him this, but then, she wouldn’t know, would she?
“Does she love you?” She’s not simply curious. Rosie has an uncontrollable urge; she hasn’t felt before, to be closer to this man.
“I hope so.” He sighs and glances to her with love in his eyes.
“And she looks just like me?”
“Yeah.” He nods in disbelief at the situation. “She does.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“It just is.” She takes the plunge. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Oh boy.” He laughs. “Do I believe in fate? I guess I do.” Shaking his head. “I didn’t, I used to be able to explain everything away.”
“And now?”
“Now, I have to believe in fate.”
“So what happened?” She senses, this man’s been through something.
“Fate intervened.”
“Are you going to keep me in suspense?” Rosie knows he’s close to the point of no return.
“Oh.” He sighs. “What the hell.” He confesses. “I’ve nothing to
lose.”
Jeff tells Rosie his story as they drive to Colorado. The more they talk, the more he’s convinced she’s Eve. Rosie shares the same mannerisms, and they have that special connection, bouncing off each other as they talk.
“So once you get to the prison what do you expect to find?” She’s not met a man this fascinating before.
“I’m not sure, destiny?”
“Destiny doesn’t exist.” Snapping the words out. She’s unsure why, but knows his destiny does not lie within the prison walls.
“Why doesn’t it exist?” He finds it strange; her statement sounds so adamant.
“Because God gave us free will.”
“God?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, God.” She reinforces her statement with a look. “We are free to choose and create our own reality, are we not?” He hears the echoes of the homeless man in her voice. “The now we live in is the residual of our past thoughts and actions. There’s no fixed course or plan for us to follow; you’re chasing an illusion.”
“You’re philosophical.” Her words feel like they are coming from someone or somewhere else. Hinting that he would be wasting his time visiting the prison.
“Some say I’m deep, too deep for most people.”
“I like that in you.”
“You’re not a puppet to destiny.” She manipulates. “I feel close enough to be open with you, are you comfortable with that?”
“Yes, yes I am.” He welcomes this closeness.
As the miles diminish, the more affectionate Rosie becomes. Blurring boundaries between Rosie and Eve. They pass a sign for refreshment up ahead.
“Like a coffee?”
“Oh yes, please.” She flashes a smile.
Outside the themed diner Rosie steps out of the truck; walking towards the entrance, purposely a few steps in front. Jeff checks out her curves; she’s perfect. With the way she holds herself, she knows it. Inside a replica of Noah’s Ark acts as service counter, and robed waitresses serve the customers.
Jessica’s finished her dance routine, dress rehearsal has gone well. The dancers line up to take a bow. The artistic director, choreographer and the production team are on their feet clapping. Back in the changing rooms, Jessica’s in her blue jeans and pink top. Anabel, her friend has walked over, but before she gets a word out the mistress speaks.
Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller Page 25