Outside Forces

by R E Swirsky

  ***

  Richard and Michael sat alone on opposites sides of his small office desk in the study. The touch-tone phone sat like an ominous beast perched between them. Richard pointed to the clock on the wall of his study, indicating Metcalf’s office was about to open.

  “Before we start, Michael, I need to ask you something.”

  Michael kept his eyes glued to the phone. “What?”

  “It’s just.…” he paused. “Look at me, Michael.”

  Michael lifted his eyes. They appeared droopy and full of defeat, as if Lucy’s death was somehow his fault.

  “Are you okay?”

  A small nod.

  “I mean really okay.”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  Richard didn’t think he was.

  “The voices, Michael. I am guessing they’ve returned?”

  A small shrug.

  “How bad this time?”

  “They’re okay, I guess.” He shrugged again. “I can deal with it.”

  Richard wanted to probe deeper, but he treaded lightly so as not to scare Michael from speaking about it and shutting down. The last time it had happened, he shut Richard out completely for over a week and he nearly lost his son. He wasn’t about to risk a repeat of that, but he desperately wanted to know Michael’s whereabouts on Saturday.

  “The voices—are they speaking to you?”

  Michael’s eyes drifted slowly up to his father’s. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you will tell me if it gets bad?”

  “Yes. Just stop talking about it.” He was becoming annoyed.

  Richard had one last question. He couldn’t put it off.

  “One last question, and then I’ll leave it alone. Promise.”

  A heavy sigh. “God, Dad.” He was getting agitated. “What?”

  “Are they telling you to do things? Like last time?”

  “Like last time? No.”

  That wasn’t necessarily a good answer. “Are you doing things.…”

  “Michael slammed his fist onto the table. “Geez, Dad! I thought you said you would drop it! I don’t want to talk about it right now, so stop asking me effin questions!”

  Too far. He lifted his hands, palms up apologetically. “Sorry, it’s dropped. I won’t say another word.”

  “Thank you!” Michael replied forcefully and then eyed the clock on the wall.

  It was time to move on.

  “It’s past nine, Michael. That’s eight out on the coast. It’s time to make that call.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Michelle to get back? Maybe’s she’s found something.”

  “We need to do this now.”

  Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “And you’re sure you’re ready?” Richard asked. He didn’t want Michael rambling off somewhere. “We can wait five or ten minutes if you need it.”

  He nodded. “I’m fine, let’s just get it over with.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” Michael replied and his brow furled. “There aren’t any voices right now. That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it?” He glared at his father. “Let’s just do this already.”

  Richard pushed the phone across to Michael and pushed the speaker button. The dial tone buzzed and swarmed about the room like some invisible wasp. “Just remember what we discussed,” he said and tore the top sheet of the notepad in front of him, sliding the paper with the prepared phrases across to Michael.

  Michael’s fingers danced nervously across the buttons as he pressed each one, seemingly afraid that if he touched one too long he might get stung by it. He stared at the sheet of paper his father had written on. The list of possible answers and statements was long. Metcalf’s number was scrawled in big bold numbers across the top. He pressed the last of the numbers and waited.

  The secretary picked up on the first ring. Harvey Metcalf was not taking any calls. Richard had expected as much.

  “But I really need you to put me through to him,” Michael whined. “He must have a cell phone. Maybe you can put me through to his cell?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. If you can give me your name and number, I’ll be sure to have him call you when he’s back in the office.”

  “Please just put me through.”

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Metcalf is not taking any calls today. Now if you’d.…”

  Richard scribbled another instruction onto the notepad, tore off the page, and shoved it next to the other in front of Michael as the secretary attempted to end the call.

  “It’s about his daughter, Lucy. I have some information he needs to hear. Please.”

  The secretary hesitated a moment before continuing with her standard close. “I’m sorry, sir. If you’ll just give me your name and number.…”

  Richard tapped his fingers on to the words of one of the other prepared lines.

  Michael looked like he was about to cry and reluctantly read aloud what Richard had written.

  “She didn’t die like it was reported in the papers. I need to tell him what really happened to his daughter. It’s not what was reported in the papers.”

  The secretary’s response was expected, as she didn’t have a scripted answer for that type of statement.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Richard quickly scrawled one word onto the notepad and lifted it up for Michael to see.

  “Boyfriend?” Michael uttered awkwardly. “I mean, I’m his daughter’s boyfriend. Well, I mean I was until.…” He hesitated. “I really need to tell her father what happened.” Michael’s voice broke as he tried not to cry. “Please, put me through to him, please.”

  “Listen, sir. I am going to put you on hold for just a moment. Are you going to be okay with that?”

  “On hold?” Michael whimpered. Richard could sense Michael’s difficulty each time he had to produce thoughts of Lucy, forcing him to relive what he witnessed Friday night.

  “Yes. I’m going to try and reach Mr. Metcalf. Will you be okay if I put you on hold for a moment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t hang up. I’ll try to reach him now.”

  “Thank you,” Michael said.

  The phone went silent, dead, as if the entire world was put on hold. Michael sniffed and wiped his nose up his arm as he corralled the emotions that were ready to erupt.

  The secretary came back online. “Sir? I have Mr. Metcalf on the other line. Can I have your name, please?”

  “My name?”

  Richard nodded at him.

  “It’s Michael, Michael Crowder.”

  “One moment, Michael.” The phone went silent again. Michael fondled the single sheet of paper and ran his eyes up and down the list of responses, probably comprehending very little.

  “Hello.” The crisp male voice of Harvey Metcalf jolted Michael to sit upright. His voice was clear yet calm and quiet—not quiet what Richard had expected from such a front-page powerhouse lawyer.

  “Uh, hello,” Michael replied.

  “Good morning, Michael.” His voice remained calm and to the point. “My secretary said you had something to tell me. Something about my daughter?”

  Richard hovered over the notes as Michael replied.

  “Yes. It’s about Lucy.”

  “Go on,” Metcalf said.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, I wish.…” Michael began to cry.

  “Calm down, Michael. Take a breath and take your time, we’re not in a hurry here.”

  “Okay,” Michael whispered back between sobbed breaths.

  “You say you’re sorry. What are you sorry for?”

  Richard pointed down at one of the comments. Michael mouthed the words next to his dad’s finger before replying.

  “The police said she fell while hiking. I don’t think that’s what happened.”

  “Uh huh. Now why would you think that, Michael?”

  That wasn’t the reaction Richard had expected. He’d expected a much sharpe
r response. He scrolled up and down quickly and pointed to another note on the sheet.

  “I was with her on Friday evening.”

  “I see. You were with her the night before she went hiking.” Metcalf paused. “You must be the young chap I had the ticket booked for? You two were going to go hiking along the coast.”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Then please continue.”

  Richard moved his finger to the next note.

  “She didn’t go hiking.”

  “You said that already. Now you must have heard on the news how she died…” Metcalf sounded calm, almost as if he was interviewing a potential client, checking the validity of his claims, while taking notes, “…yet you suggest to me that may not be true.”

  “I am, but.…”

  “She was found at the bottom of a mountain, Heart Mountain near Canmore. She was dressed in hiking shoes, hiking clothes, and her car was loaded with camping gear. Sounds to me like she was hiking. And the police believe those were the circumstances surrounding her death.”

  Michael stared at his dad, unsure of how to respond, as Richard quickly scribbled a new note and passed the sheet to him.

  “Well…” he coughed up a half laugh. “She was hiking, but she wasn’t supposed to be hiking. She would have told me if she was going hiking.”

  Metcalf let out a number of huge sighs. It felt like his breath came right through the phone into the study and Richard stared at the sheet of paper in front of Michael, expecting it to flutter with each breath.

  Richard grabbed the notepad and scribbled again. Michael’s eyes widened and he shook his head No at what was written. Richard thumped his finger hard down onto the paper and he nodded at Michael, urging him to speak.

  Michael stammered as he spoke. “I…I know how she really.…” He stopped and shook his head at his father. He couldn’t say what was written down. “I just know what happened to her,” he said instead.

  The dance continued. Metcalf took his time again before answering, his next word was slow and drawn out. “Aaaannnd?”

  “Ask him,” Richard whispered with just enough voice for Michael to hear.

  “Ask him what?” Michael whispered back while still leaning deep into the table above the speaker on the phone.

  Richard recoiled, rolled his eyes, and waved his arms about.

  “Is there someone there with you?” Metcalf said suddenly. “Who’s there?”

  “No one’s here. I’m alone, honest,” Michael replied.

  Harvey Metcalf’s response was immediate. The intimating power of Metcalf’s voice that had been carefully concealed up until now erupted. “Don’t you dare lie to me!” he shouted. “You called me, and I want to know what the hell it is you want! Haven’t you done enough already? Tell me who you really are!”

  Richard and Michael both reeled.

  Michael managed to stammer a squeaky reply. “I am…Michael…I am me.”

  “Your name isn’t Michael Crowder just like mine isn’t goddamned Santa Clause! Now let’s get to the brass tacks on this!”

  “But it is,” Michael rebutted. “Why won’t you believe me?”

  Metcalf remained quiet on the other end as if preparing his next words carefully. Richard didn’t like this engagement at all. He put his hands up motioning Michael not respond so quickly.

  Metcalf corralled his outburst and gave a short laugh. “You think I don’t know who’s there with you, telling you what to say? I read the papers, too. You knew I’d figure it out.”

  Figure it out? Metcalf’s words hit Richard like a cement block. He motioned to Michael not to say a word, but Michael blurted out his response.

  “I am Michael Crowder. That is my real name. Lucy and I have been going to school together all year.”

  “Stop the nonsense! Put him on the phone! Now!” Metcalf shouted into the phone.

  Michael crumbled. He looked at his dad in confusion. “But I was…we we’re supposed to be flying out there Sunday. The tickets were booked.” Michael began to cry. “The only reason I’m calling is because we never showed up, and I felt I should at least call you to explain.” Michael gasped, trying to catch his breath. His voice broke again. “I just wanted to say that I was sorry…so sorry. I…I…I should have tried to stop them.”

  Richard threw his hands in the air. Michael had said way too much. Whatever Metcalf had going on went deeper than anything he’d imagined. He’d only wanted to feel Metcalf out, but there was much more to his daughter’s death and Michael had just turned over their ace card.

  Metcalf said nothing in response, as if digesting the full content of Michael’s rant. Heavy breathing puffed out from the speaker.

  Michael stared at his father and frowned, “…and it’s my Dad here with me.”

  There was no controlling Michael’s mouth. Richard waved his hands again to silence Michael, but it was of no use.

  “Your father?”

  “He made me call you. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else to say.”

  The phone went silent. The sound of keys on a keyboard clicked away in the background. Metcalf grunted. “Your dad is Richard Crowder, that seminar guy?”

  Richard was easily found on the web. That seminar guy? He’d never heard someone refer to him in that manner before.

  “Yes, that’s him. Do you want to speak to him?”

  Metcalf hesitated. His voice calmed immensely. “No, no. I don’t want to speak to your father.” He paused a moment. “Stop them, you said? Stop who?”

  Michael’s mouthed dropped open. He was too flustered to think straight. Richard motioned for Michael to breathe and calm down, but Michael continued to speak.

  “I don’t know who,” Michael cried out. “I don’t know.” He recoiled back from the table and clenched his fists up against his cheeks. “Shh…” he whispered quietly. “Go away.…”

  The heavy breathing by Metcalf coursed its way out from the phone again for a few rapid breaths. He resumed speaking again after clearing his throat once, as if to rewind the conversation back a few minutes prior to his outburst. “You say you went to school with Lucy?” His words were oddly calming, curious, and almost musical.

  “Yes, all year. Honest. I was in most of her classes.”

  Again Metcalf paused before speaking. The man was cunning, sly, and calculating. “Tell me, Michael. What courses did you share with Lucy?”

  He was probing. Measuring up his foe.

  Michael rambled for the next few minutes on a number of different classes he had shared with Lucy, the studying they did together, lunches they shared, and their interest in hiking. “We were really close. Especially lately, and then.…”

  Metcalf cut Michael off. His voice tightened, became stern, stiff, and to the point. “Listen, Michael. My daughter died on Saturday when she fell off a mountain while hiking alone.”

  “But she wasn’t alone.…”

  “I want you to stop this now. She was found at the bottom of the mountain alone. Photos taken on her phone showed she was hiking alone and was very much alone when she died.”

  Did Metcalf just do an about face?

  “She wasn’t alone. And she wasn’t hiking,” Michael repeated.

  “I’ve had just about enough of this nonsense. Now, you listen very clearly to what I am about to say. Are you listening?”

  “I am.”

  “I spoke with my daughter on Friday night. She may not have told you she was going hiking on Saturday but she certainly did tell me she was going hiking.”

  “That’s not possible.…”

  “I’m sorry if she didn’t tell you and you feel left out, but there is nothing more to this.”

  “That’s not true.…”

  “You need to stop this right now. This was an accident and nothing more. And if you’re still there listening, Mr. Crowder, you need to get your bloody son under control.”

  Richard cleared his throat in preparation to respond.

  “But I’m not lying to
you.”

  “You heard me, young man. I want you stop making these wild statements right now. And please stay away from me and my family. We are in mourning over Lucy’s death.”

  “But I was with Lucy Friday night. You didn’t talk to her. You couldn’t have. I was there. You didn’t.…”

  The phone went dead. Metcalf had hung up.

  Richard stared at Michael in disbelief. Michael was distraught, confused, and on the verge of tears again.

  “I was with her from four o’clock on, Dad. He didn’t call her, he didn’t. No one called her. I’m not lying.”

  Metcalf’s responses swirled like a mad tornado in his mind. Metcalf was fishing just like they were, and Metcalf’s turn of face showed that he’d caught his catch of the day. It was clear Metcalf knew his daughter’s death was no accident, but why the cover-up? Why shun Michael like this?

  Richard pushed his chair back and moved up behind his son. He hugged him from behind and held on, his mind miles away—trying to recall every word Metcalf had said. “I believe you, Michael. Every single word.”