Acceleration

by Lin Larson

  He sipped from a paper coffee cup as the icy hills rolled by. What had the President meant by meeting with the congressmen and power magnets? Were there more people involved? Infiltrations were meant for who? Innocent people again, he cringed at the thought. Was the attack just the ravings of drug-induced insanity? Sam felt his head was spinning. When would it end? When would the questions all be answered in neat packages?

  Sam popped a couple of antibiotic pills into his mouth and gulped down the last of his caffeine.

  “Heather, we’ll be at the house in a few minutes. I need you to call your Mom. Do you want to do that?”

  “Won’t she just make trouble?” She said bitterly. “My mother in not ethical,” “

  “But she craves a good story. She has no fear about where to tread. That is obvious from her reports. I think she is on our side without admitting it.”

  “You’ve forgiven her, haven’t you? Sam, she almost had you killed. I can’t talk to her again. I hate her.”

  “Honey…” Sam pulled the car into the drive and turned. “We need her. It will work out for the best, at least I hope.” His eyes seemed to smile. “You two are very much alike, both independent, stubborn, and extremely attractive.”

  Heather gave a half smile in return. “You think so. I always did like older men.”

  “I’m flattered.” His light mood vanished suddenly as he gazed at the darkened Victorian house that had been his home over the bitter winter months. It’s heavy cream shutters glared back, as if he were an intruder from the future.

  Sam inserted his key and entered the old home with foreboding. Heather and Eddie followed.

  Something was wrong. He felt it. It was as if no one had lived there in weeks, dust now covered the tables and sills. He bounded the stairs to the bedrooms. They had been stripped clean; only the barren furniture remained downstairs. Closets were empty. Beds were perfectly neat and unrumpled. He felt like he was in an early American museum. Here lived the Sinclairs from two hundred years ago, he thought. They disappeared and were never heard from again. His mind kept rambling the nonsense. He went back down the stairs, with the kids faithfully following. He searched for the hospital number. He had lost his cell phone so used his home’s land line. Alex always like this old phone. Now he was happy they kept it. Sam put in the hospital number and asked to speak to the mother of the young girl in room 607. The mother is Alex Sinclair. The child’s name is Sarah. Her doctor was Hernandez.” He paced, then sat down, waited, and tapped his foot involuntarily.

  He froze. What if she died? She was admitted two weeks ago. He knew he shouldn’t have left. They were all alone, and he had deserted them for his stupid quest to establish his innocence and gain revenge. He stood up and paced a small path in the living room.

  Suddenly the operator came back on. “I’m sorry. Dr. Hernandez has left the staff. We also have or had no patient by that name.”

  Sam felt stunned and panicky. “Lady, I saw them, and the little girl was dying.”

  “You must have the wrong hospital. Try another town,” the operator continued.

  “You are the one who is wrong, ma’am. Where is the doctor working now?” said Sam.

  “I believe he left no information on that,” the operator said and hung up.

  Sam slammed down the phone. “There’s no further information on the doctor.” Sam said as he stared out, dazed. “The lady said that Sarah never was there.”

  Heather spoke in a small voice. “I’m sorry, Sam. What do we do now?”

  “I don’t know. Go home.” He leaned his large frame against the dusty window with the pink flowered drapes. “Alex loved these silly curtains,” he said. “She said that they made her feel like picnics and cotton candy.” He remembered that she had followed those words with virginal, and winked. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “Heather, I’m sorry. I can’t do any more. Please go home. Thank you, for all you and Eddie have done for me.”

  Heather rested her small hand on Sam’s arm. “I’ll call my mom and make her listen. We’ll be back. Right, Eddie?”

  “Yes,” Eddie said quietly and trotted after Heather.

  Sam listened to their retreating footsteps and the creaking of their closing the heavy front door. Where were Alex and Sarah? The house had brought the three of them together as a family. He looked around at its century old interior. Now it meant only painful memories.

  Pacing the empty hallway and longing for the past staggered Sam. He had to get out. He ran out the door and down the stoop. He circled the two story structure. It’s very presence haunted him. He pulled away and staggered to the ancient apple tree, now naked in the freezing snow. He knew how it felt, exposed to forces it couldn’t control. Sarah had tried to climb this mother of trees. He ran his hand along the tough bark. It was only three months ago. Sam looked up and memory pictures and sounds assailed him.

  #

  “Daddy Matt,” Sarah had giggled, “push me up!” Her little arms had tried to reach the thick branch, but each time she jumped up, it was a near miss.

  “Sarah, you’re too little,” your mother has said.

  “No, I’m not. Daddy Matt will you help me.” She had stretched out her arms expectantly.

  Sam had boosted her up and turned to Alex. He had only taken his eyes off the bubbling child for a minute, when she fell. There were no broken bones, but the tears were very real. It tore him up to see her sob in her mommy’s arms. Alex had kissed and bandaged the bumped and cut arm, and Sarah was off, ready to challenge the monster tree again. She was fearless, and he was in awe of her childish courage, but he was shaken by the accident. Sarah had seemed so fragile to him. Could he protect her from evil? Alex had teased that he was just like a new father. Sarah was a strong cookie, she had bantered.

  Alex and Sam had flopped on the frozen ground near the evergreens that speckled the yard. The late November wind had swirled about their light jackets and tossed their hair.

  Sarah had found a stray orange striped Tom cat and pursued his every turn. The Tom had patiently settled under a spindly bush. Then Sarah had curled beside it and talked blissfully to the cat’s marble eyes. The Tom cat gazed clearly back, as if he understood her giddy chatter.

  Alex had cuddled under Sam’s husky arm and rested her head on his broad chest. “It’s electric and rather sexy, isn’t it? And cold.”

  “What?” Sam mumbled comfortably.

  “Winters in the Midwest.” Alex said, as she glanced over to see Sarah, who continued her cat communion. Alex put her hand under Sam’s shirt, pulled it up, and kissed him hungrily. She paused after a moment, leaned back and propped herself on her arm. She ran her fingers over Sam’s mouth. “I am very attracted to you, Mr. Stone. It’s pure animal attraction with an awful lot of love thrown in. Am I being deceitful to Caroline’s memory. You can tell me to leave this platonic if you like, but it will be hard on me, Sam.”

  Sam sat up. “Stone is another person. His life is over for now, along with Caroline’s. We are different people here.” Sam turned, braced himself, and held his weight above her. “I like you a lot, Alex.” He lowered himself and kissed her tenderly.

  “Momma, the big kitty likes me,” Sarah knelt down beside them.

  “Oops,” Sam said as he rolled off Alex.

  “Sarah, that’s nice.” Alex was flustered also. “Come on, Daddy Matt, let’s see the big kitty.” She scrambled up and took Sam’s hand, as she pulled him up. “Later for us,” she whispered in his ear. She noted Sarah scampering ahead. Alex roamed her hand flirtatiously over Sam’s body and played with the snap on his jeans. “Tonight at 10 P.M., my place, the only adult bed.” She popped open the snap.

  Sam smiled. “It’s a date.” He pulled up her slim hand and clasped it firmly. With his free hand, he closed the fastening. They then joined their excited child.

  Sam shook away his memories and turned away from the trees. It was a sad-looking house now, and he was discouraged.

  #

  Sam settled back on t
he old oak bed. It creaked noisily, as he pulled his arms under his head and interlocked his fingers. He thought for a moment, then stretched out his arms and smiled. Alex and he had tried to stifle the creaks but seldom succeeded. Once they had held their laughter ‘til they were ready to explode.

  Sarah had awakened and jumped between them. She wanted to be told the joke. They then told her every children’s riddle and gag that they could think of.

  He inhaled deeply of the memory. They had giggled, and Sarah had bounced up and down with glee. Finally, she had kissed her mommy and Daddy Matt on the cheeks and he carried this lovely child to her little bed. They had all been happy then, except for the nightmares.

  Sam remembered. They had had no problem at the beginning, but Alex was tortured nightly by the vision of her father’s brain floating about the room. She described huge eyes bulging and erupting from the throbbing mass. She thought that it watched her during sleep and times awake. She felt like it followed her everywhere. She would often cry herself to sleep hysterically. She couldn’t keep it from Sarah.

  “Momma’s seeing the monster again, Daddy Matt!” Sarah would rush to the den as Sam was reading late, and she would bury herself in his lap. Sam would comfort her and carry her up to Alex. Alex would see Sarah’s tears and stop her own. She would reach out. Sam would crawl into bed also and together they cuddled Sarah between them.

  At other times, Sam would hear Alex crying and mount the stairs in seconds. He would often find her in a corner, covering her head with her arms. “He’s here,” Alex would sob. “Father is mad at me for not letting him live. I killed him!”

  Sam had caressed her soft brown hair and eased her bangs away from her delicate pale features, now damp with tears. “Honey, you did nothing wrong. He killed himself way before you found him that night. Please, you have to stop blaming yourself. Blame me instead, or better yet, Silas. Silas encouraged the experiments and helped make your dad into this horrible remembrance. It was also your dad’s fault. He didn’t realize how bad things would become for him and how wrong it was to go further. Alex, think of him instead as he was before, he would want that. He loved you, he wouldn’t want to leave you like this. And he’s very happy buried under that tree that he had planted. You did good.”

  Alex would grow quiet. He would then scoop her up and carry her to the bed to rest. Sam would say, “Sarah, go play in your room while I take care of Mommy.”

  Sarah would plant a sweet kiss on her mother’s anguished face and then very seriously enter and close the door to her room. She was a good little girl.

  Alex experienced the ritual repeatedly. It had begun occasionally in the night and then occurred daily, and finally it would happen a couple of times each day. But when the news started splashing the reports on Sam Stone by Elizabeth Martin, the visions began to cease. It was as if she was brought back to reality. Alex got better and became carefree and truly happy in the big old house.

  It was strange that as Alex improved, Sam began to get worse. The past began to relive itself in the nightly broadcasts. To him, he was living a lie. To Alex, her life with him became a lovely dream come true.

  Alex blossomed when she helped him plan his lectures and grade his mountains of paperwork. She was a true Professor’s wife now, a storybook life. They would conscientiously fulfill their roles.

  Sam even began writing again. He wondered about the manuscript for his new novel. Was it still hidden in the den? He thought of Alex and how she had perched herself at the table and eagerly awaited each new handwritten page. She identified with the young lovers in the story. The character of Alice was her. Alex said that through Alice, she realized that a person is never too old to forget or identify with young love. She cried and then smiled mysteriously when Alice and lover Ethan had grown old in the story. She thought it was an exquisite ending for all love. She said once that she would never grow old with anyone, however. She just felt it. She had walked over to him at that time and embraced him sadly. He had seen a faraway look in her eyes when she broke away. She had laughed and said that she had to have everything in life now, and she couldn’t wait.

  #

  Sam rubbed his face and gasped for air. He felt that he was smothering, and that the walls were swallowing him. He yanked himself from the bed and suddenly hesitated. Could that story, that Alex liked so much, could it still be in their secret place? He walked through the empty house which seemed to reverberate with memories with each lonely step. Sam didn’t want to wake those memories, but he felt driven to see if the story was still there, or if it was all a dream.

  Was it in its special place? He pulled up the edge of the faded carpet under the roll-top desk. Alex had called it their magic carpet, which would hide all their secrets. The manuscript had been nearly completed. He slid it out and settled in the old chair. He reread it, page after page until there was no more.

  Sam then moved over to the huge black manual typewriter. He inserted a sheet of paper. He stared at the white page. He had handwritten the manuscript, and now he wanted to type the ending. But was it too late now? He didn’t know how to end his story. It needed an epilogue or ending. His eyes fixed upon the large glowing moon, suspended over his little kingdom. He brushed his hair away from his eyes. It had grown long, he felt he would get it cut soon. Most of the grey dye had washed out, now to get rid of the moustache and he could stop hiding. He reached into a bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out an electric razor. Alex had put it there, saying that she wanted to shave away the disguise when they were free of the past. No point in waiting now, she was gone. He ran the razor over his face and brushed the remains into the waiting trash container. He slid his hand along the face of the old Sam Stone. Welcome back, he thought. I missed you fellow.

  He lay his fingers on the keys of the typewriter. He grinned as he remembered Alex again.

  “Oh, more, give me more,” she had demanded at the typewriter with her arms extended. “I’ll give you a plenty good time if you do, handsome.” She had batted her eyelashes and shaken her short curls. “You can’t resist me, I hope.”

  “No, Beautiful, I can’t,” he quipped, as he threw her the newly scribbled pages.” She would scramble for them and eagerly read them with delight.

  Once she had crawled onto his lap, as he sat watching an old sad western on the television. She kept scanning his face and wiping the tears that were forming in his eyes until he had thrown her over onto the floor in embarrassment. She had stayed there spread-eagle and very serious. She said that it was good to see a grown man mist over when he watches death, even if it was only on television. It showed he had heart. She said she liked that and had yanked him down to join her on the floor. They had consummated their love many times over, but that night was special. He had let his guard down and showed his feelings, and she had welcomed them.

  When they were both exhausted, Alex had asked Sam to write her a poem. He had said he was lousy at poetry. Together they had created a silly verse, indulgent with verbs. He’d forgotten it now, he wished he had written it down.

  Sam rose and lit a fire in the cold damp den. He watched the flames snap hungrily at the wood and then seemed to be dying out. He had set the logs in place weeks ago. It was the night when Sarah had gotten sick. He had intended to help her build her snowman the following day. Now that will never happen. He poked angrily at the dying embers. A flame ignited briefly with life.

  Sarah loved having a fire in the fireplace. She kept saying how much she loved her mommy and Daddy Matt. She saw Silas once on the television and said that daddy was dead and in heaven with Grandpa. Alex had never really told her that Grandpa had died or Silas. She had just said the Grandpa was not coming back. Sarah had created her own happy explanation that Jesus had come, and he had walked happily away with him. Alex was relieved. It was for the best. She never corrected her daughter’s illusion. And who knows, perhaps after he was buried, she was right.

  Sam was getting sleepy. He stared at the flames in the fireplace. Sa
rah’s form seemed to coalesce and lay down on the floor beside Sam. She seemed to be coloring in her booklet intently. Alex sat across from her in a chair, trying to figure out how to knit. Alex finally grabbed a marshmallow from a bag that she had been eating from, and plopped on the floor. She carefully stuck the ball of marshmallow fluff onto one of her knitting needles and said cooking was more to her liking. She had then held the marshmallow over the fireplace flames and set it ablaze atop the needle. Sam had slid down on the floor and joined them. They had blown out the flame excitedly on the marshmallow and stuck their fingers in the sticky warm goo. They roasted more of the gooey balls and devoured them in delight. Sarah then had jumped up, said she was a big girl now, kissed them both, and walked sleepily up the stairs to bed. Alex and Sam had continued their picnic. They ate from each other’s fingers. It had become another moment of intimacy.

  Sam stared as the flames shrank and disappeared. He felt melancholy wrap it’s heavy quilt around his senses now. He didn’t want reality or sleep. He wanted to wake the happy remembrances and live again those cherished moments. The ugliness of reality would raise its deformed head and shake his stability and happiness soon enough. But sleep came, and he was right. He would wake to his sad reality. But he knew that Alex, Caroline, and Sarah would not want him to give up. Neither would Ben, Heather, and Eddie. He wasn’t totally alone. He wouldn’t give up. But, Alex and Sarah, where are you?

  #

  Sarah’s sweet face dissolved into dust. “Daddy Matt!” she screamed. The voice change to that of Alex, and then of Silas Jensen as he sarcastically mimicked the words, “Daddy Matt!” Sam clutched at his face and searched the darkness. Something woke him. There it was again. It was a telephone and very real. Sam almost knocked the old telephone over as he grabbed the receiver. Relief chased away the cloud of ugly blackness and confusion as he recognized the voice.

  “Sam, are you awake? It’s me, Heather.”

  “Sam cleared his sleep away, “Hi. Yes, Heather?”