The Time Stopping People

by Kristy Evans Beckwith

  Chapter Five

  Music thundered. The smell of cinnamon woke me up. I was on the couch with one leg hanging from the edge and a comforter over my face; one I didn’t put there. This was enough to send me flying off the sofa. What the heck? Where'd the green-checkered quilt come from?

  In one gigantic leap, I pulled the curtain back and saw the van was missing. The others weren’t back yet from the meeting, and couldn’t have turned on the radio or placed this blanket on top of me while I was asleep.

  The antique clock above the television read twenty minutes passed noon. Hours passed since Chris and the others left me here with the double 07 cell phone and the house full of personality. I remembered taking a bath and following the non-existent footsteps down the stairwell, chasing the red scarf into the woods and finding an mesmerizing cocoon along the road, only to discover the trail was watching me. An unseen force had been there, for sure, holding my legs down.

  Then I came back here, grabbed my favorite novel and got comfortable on the sofa, in order to get my mind off things. I ended up reading myself to sleep. After wiping my eyes and sitting on the edge of the coffee table, I knew this wasn’t a dream. The book I’d started reading earlier was face-down on the floor, worn and curled around the edges. Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, which I proudly read more than eleven times, served as my tranquility in the passing storm.

  Despite the van being gone, I felt someone was here in the house. And yet, I didn’t have much time to ponder who. The warm scent of cinnamon drew me down the hallway. Round fluffy cinnamon rolls awaited on a crystal platter, along with slices of bacon at their sides. I got right down to business, chewing on two strips at a time, until I realized what it wasn't. I spit the gunk back out onto the plate. This looked like bacon and smelled like bacon. But this was not real bacon.

  “What the heck are these people eating? PlayDoh?” I remembered Chris mentioning they didn’t eat meat this time of year. So what the heck was in my mouth? At least the rolls were edible, except for the frosting, which tasted like rubber goo from a sugar-free cookbook.

  “Geesh.”

  I motioned towards the patio as a gentle waft passed through the curtains. The lights inside the pool dazzled through the surface, and rap music blared through the speakers. Tre was sitting at the poolside with his feet dangling in the water, talking on the phone. He didn’t seem to notice me standing there, because he was so excited about whatever topic they were discussing. There wasn’t any sign of Chris around. He must’ve dropped them off while I was asleep, and then headed back out to run errands. It would explain the van being gone. I also had a hard time wrapping my brain around Tre, Kevin, or Blue making a huge breakfast.

  Later on when nightfall approached, I eventually changed clothes and returned downstairs. The music was off and the house was calmer now that the storm passed. My book was still on the floor near the couch, and when I went to pick it up, I could sense someone in my peripheral. Chris was in the entranceway with his head titled against the wall, wearing an open flannel shirt and rugged blue jeans.

  He was most fine.

  “When did you get back?” I asked.

  The black circles around his eyes were gone, and there was no trail left behind to be remembered. “I’ve been here,” he uttered. “Our meeting was shorter than expected, so we came back early. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You don't startle me.”

  “Do you like chocolate ice cream?” He waved a large carton.

  I examined the treat and clasped my book shut. “I do.”

  Making our way toward the kitchen, he noticed the book in my hand. “What are you reading?”

  I revealed the front cover.

  “Oh yes,” he said enthusiastically. “How is it for you?”

  “Only extraordinary.”

  There was a comfortable silence between us as we entered the kitchen side by side. I pulled out a stool from the farthest end of the counter and watched him take down two bowls from the shelf.

  “I like your tattoo,” I complimented the unusual dark inked shape. It was the same spade I’d found on Kevin’s arm. “What does the spade mean exactly?”

  He didn’t answer right away, but served three scoops of ice cream into each bowl and brought the final serving to his mouth.

  “I thought sugar wasn’t allowed,” I reminded him, openly recounting the time Tre threw my candy bar out of the window.

  “It’s organic.”

  “Cheater,” I joked. “Are your friends still here? I saw Tre hanging out by the pool earlier.”

  He nodded and replied, “Yeah, they’re upstairs. You were asleep when we got here this morning. . . I didn’t want to wake you up, so I brought down one of my comforters.”

  The thought of his gesture made me turn away to stare at the elegant vase of flowers on the table. “Thanks. I’m glad it was you and not some psycho ghost trying to scare me,” I joked again, even more easily this time.

  “Ha.”

  “I didn’t see the van outside.”

  He peered over his shoulder. “Sometimes we park on the side of the house,” he replied. “It depends on who’s driving. Was everything alright here? Leaving you alone wasn’t on my to-do list.”

  Shaking my head, I responded, “Yeah, it was fine. I was perfectly alone and incapable of meddling.”

  “Missy didn’t escape her cage?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  He watched me, taking me in. “What else did you do while we were gone? Besides read your book?” he asked.

  “That's it,” I confessed, circling my spoon. “There wasn’t much to choose from. Everything’s bolted up like a safe house.”

  He laughed whole-heartedly. “I’ll be sure to leave everything unbolted the next time.” Chris's humor was dynamic enough to be on stage.

  “What’d you expect?” I asked. “There wasn’t a car to drive around. It’s not like I can go anywhere or call anybody.”

  A simple squint captured the rest of his face. “You could’ve gone to the gym and practiced. Didn’t you say you used to be a gymnast?”

  “Ballet.” The way he remembered the smallest of details about my life, was leading me to believe he was a properly nurtured socialite. “Wow, I did tell you everything. It's true. When I was younger, Dianne signed me up for ballet classes. I was really into it when I was twelve. After she died, I stopped going altogether. Which was excellent news for Carl. Since he declared it was unladylike for a girl to be able to do the splits, or lift her legs in the air.”

  Chris was amused by my old talent. “I think it’s very ladylike. It’s good to have that kind of experience under your belt in this line of work.”

  I grinned at his acute forwardness. “I don’t know how useful it's going to be for me today. You've seen me. Just a delicate blob of goo,” I teased and repeated, “Delicate. Delicate.”

  He nodded reassuringly. “Give it some time. It’ll kick in.” With that motivational boost, he stood up from the stool and continued towards the living room. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  “Only if it has to do with lock-picking.” I said jokingly, batting my eyes and hoping he'd catch wind. “I'm kidding.”

  “I think you’ll like this better,” he said.

  Without hesitation, I jumped from the stool and trailed behind him at an even distance, ready to see what he had in store. If he had something cooler than jacking locks, I was eager to see what he was talking about. He obviously wanted to show me something cool, and I liked seeing cool things. Whether it was a pet beetle or a hidden burial ground; it didn’t matter one iota, as long as we were doing things together.

  He led us toward another room below the basement. I didn’t know what to expect crossing into the storage room. The space was full of tools, worn out tires, and smells that reminded me of the old town shop, along with the boy who worked there.

  Everything else was lined up along the wall an
d neatly stacked into piles. Trampling across, we came face-to-face with a door that had a security pad. It resembled the one on Chris’s bedroom. I was starting to think maybe he had a lock on his pillow as well. So far, he was meticulous about how he wanted his environment.

  “The house locks on its own whenever we leave,” he finally said as though he knew what my mind was saying. “It's an automatic trigger. Just so you know. It's nothing personal.”

  “Oh.” That was good news. Their regular routine was normal, and their house locked on itself (so-to-speak) whenever they left for errands, and apparently had nothing to do with me personally being here. “Great.”

  He paused in front of the door and signaled for me to turn around so he could type in his oh-so-private password. Finally, the door snapped open. “Watch your step,” he said, following slightly behind me.

  I walked over the ledge and continued down the corridor. When we reached the end of the hall, the extended room was a plethora of colorful lights glistening in four corners, flickering against the walls.

  “What’s all this?”

  He wandered to a luminous area. “Have a look.”

  In each corner, there was a unique pile of diamonds. I couldn't help following the rainbow of colors emitting from every side. “Can I touch them?”

  He nodded. “Go ahead.”

  My jaw dropped. I’d seen a lot of money in my day, lots of nice cars and jewelry, and I knew from experience having money wasn't everything life could offer. It was a nice accessory. And yet it was something about holding these many diamonds in my hand and seeing those stones glitter all around, all at once. It took my breath away.

  Looking around, I saw another larger crystal sitting on an isolated stand in the center of the room, shielded in glass. By this time, Chris reappeared from the darkness and carefully removed the shell. The glow from the crystal shot upwards.

  “Is this yours??

  “Yeah, most of it,” he answered and crouched to the floor. “Some of it is for our clients.

  “That's right,” I said. “We collect things and return them to their original owner.

  He smiled. “They pay us well for getting the job done.”

  I slid my fingers across the sparkling glass. “Are diamonds the only things you collect?”

  He shook his head. “Diamonds aren't as valuable as they look. Not really,” he explained. “Sometimes we exchange gold, or paintings. Other times it's suitcases of - ”

  “Money,” I finished the line for him. “Who gets to make all these rules? I mean, who gets to decide what missions you go on with these important people?”

  He looked up, studying my face. “We have a certain ingrained order here. In this house, I'm in charge of running it. Everyone gets to do a special task. Once or twice a year we'll go on an assignment as a group.” His explanation was thorough and clear. “Do you remember the first night we met?”

  I nodded.

  “After the show we talked,” he continued. “I told you about the stash I'd gotten from a guarded room. Well, here they are,” he confessed, instantly pointing to a large stack of lovely sparkling gems, which were as much beautiful as they were entrancing. “That's when I saw you there,” he admitted again. “I would've left sooner. I could've made it out. There was a moment, a small gap in time, I could've disappeared without you noticing. But I couldn't stop watching you.”

  My mind drifted back to the time and place where I'd been sitting in the audience. As I opened my eyes, Chris was the first image I saw, and what a lovely image he was staring up at me from the lower level floor, like I was his precious darling.

  By the night's end, we shared our innermost confessions. I showed him a picture of my deceased mom, which was enclosed in a blue locket around my neck. In return, he shared his reason for being at the theater, and the benefits of being a Collector. He'd clapped his hands lightheartedly and said, 'Welcome to my world.'

  Now I found his gaze, searching from the remnants of what had transpired between us. “You’re so casual about this,” I admitted. “I could always run off and tell the cops.”

  “I thought you're here because you want to be.”

  “I am,” I answered. “But I can change my mind.”

  “In that case, it's a risk I’m willing to take.”

  “For someone you don’t know?”

  “That's the thing,” he interrupted. “I know you quite well.”

  The certain way he claimed to know me was mind-boggling. He had no doubts about our arrangement whatsoever. He was pure confidence. I could tell from the way he never hesitated. “Why the woods then? You and your friends can clearly train somewhere more sophisticated if you wanted to.”

  “We could.” He smiled and looked up. “But that would defeat the purpose, since we're using this open space to practice and train with. I'm showing you this, because you asked me to,” he said, reminding me of this favor. “I'm showing you what you’ll be working for. Once you get into the groove of things, like you've been doing, it'll get easier.”

  Browsing over my new sparkling environment, I replied, “Thanks for showing me your museum. It's beautiful.”

  Hearing this, he pressed a button on the wall, which allowed the ceiling to open wide. The night was strikingly boundless, twinkling in every direction. My gaze drowned in its luster . . . its perplexing formation. For several moments, I was in awe of the rainbow of darkness, exuding from the very ground we stood on.

  “We don't keep the stars in our pockets,” he uttered. “We look into the sky and stare at them.” When he said those words, as amicable as they were, I was surprised at my reaction. Tears swelled in my eye sockets and dared to force themselves down.

  “What are you thinking?” He took my hand, and started drawing over the lines on my palm. “You're not alone.”

  It was nice seeing his comforting side again. There was something so brave inside of him, so spirited, that was naturally being rubbed off on me. And I liked it. The intimate way he found my gaze was sexy. He was so grounded and rooted and intelligent. No wonder lovers were looking for the very thing we had.

  Looking up to him and admiring him the way I did, was exactly the whole point to everything else. His sparkle made everything else around us sparkle.

  “Is there anything else you want to show me?” I asked gratefully, wiping my eyes.

  Suddenly he stood up and stretched, and then covered the crystal. “Nope,” he replied simply. “That's it for tonight. You should get some rest.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.” I ran out before he could respond, or before he noticed my blushed face. I knew there was nothing he could do to bring Dianne back. I wouldn't ask him to. She was shining bright in the sky tonight. So were we.

  I was crying, because, lately, I was starting to feel her presence more than ever before.

  And I didn't feel alone anymore.