by B K Brain
Out in front of the desk, a couch and two chairs.
Big Sis waited in the next room, reading magazines and playing gem-matching games on her Kindle. Sometimes the doctor talked to Rachel in private before joining Eddie in the office, like today.
All alone, Eddie looked to the cluttered desk. It would’ve been a perfect opportunity to sneak a peek at the pictures. She sat quietly, fighting the urge.
After a few minutes the doctor entered the room with a concerned expression, although to be fair, she always looked that way. Something was written on the back of one of the pictures. Weird.
“How was your week, Eddie?”
“I don’t know. Fine, I guess.” It might’ve been a name, but Eddie couldn’t make it out. Don’t look too close.
“Your sister tells me you went to the bookstore with your mother. How was that?”
“Not good.”
Thatcher sat across from Eddie and folded hands in her lap. “Would you like to talk about it?
“Not really. There’s nothing much to tell.”
“Why didn’t it go well?”
“You know. Too many people.”
“Okay. Did anything else make you uncomfortable?”
“I thought I saw something, but it turned out to be nothing.”
“What did you see?”
“A man…or a shadow of a man, I guess.”
Soon you’ll see everything.
“Did this shadow speak to you?”
“He asked me what my purpose was.”
“Why do you think he asked that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you ever think about what your purpose is?”
“No.” The word came out angrier than she’d intended. “That’d be stupid.”
“Why is that?”
Dumb questions don’t deserve answers. Eddie answered anyway. “Purpose is a fancy name for obsession. It makes people feel better about the things they want, that’s all. It’s a word used to make the world seem deep and meaningful. Purpose, fate, destiny. They’re all the same. None of them mean anything.”
Doctor Thatcher sat back in her chair, opened a small notebook, and began writing. Probably something about her patient not believing in fate, hearing shadows, needing more medication – you know, the usual bullshit. What did she do next? She asked another question of course.
“How many times have you seen this shadow?”
“That was the only time. Like I said, I was just confused. I’m fine now.”
“Okay, Eddie.” The doctor went back to the notebook, probably to add a new entry to the list of big fat lies.
Last week, a flat tire.
This week, the shadowman seen only once. Side note: Eddie is most assuredly NOT fine. In fact, I’d say she’s extra crazy this week. Bonus crazy.
Eddie waited as the Doc continued writing. Toys? Attic. Bats? Belfry. Finally, Thatcher looked up and asked, “What did you do when you saw it?”
“I ran, naturally.”
Again, the notebook. Marbles? Definitely misplaced.
When the hour was over the doctor left her alone in the office again. Eddie did not waste the opportunity. The photographs on the desk were begging to be looked at. She had no choice; it had to be done. She stood, glanced toward the closed door, walked slowly.
The desk was a war zone of eclectic junk. Paper. Reams of it, both stacked in five hundred sheet bundles and loose in single sheet heaps. Candy wrappers. Wadded into chocolate-congealed balls of crinkly plastic. A scattering of pens and pencils. Here, there, everywhere. And picture frames standing with their backs turned. So rude.
She rolled Thatcher’s chair out from the desk, sat down, and then looked up from her new and improved point of view. The revelation was not what she expected. It wasn’t what anyone would’ve expected. Ever.
Each frame held a solid black piece of construction paper - at least that’s what it looked like. There was not a single photo in any of them. Just rectangles of nothing under glass. What the hell?
She checked the door again. It was hard to say how long it would take Thatcher to inform Sis how batshit she was this week. Nevertheless, Eddie would spend the time staring into blank frames, wondering why her shrink had them on the desk. Was it to create the illusion of friends, of family, to people on the other side? Was she recently divorced? Had they been photos of a husband that abandoned her, photos she’d thrown in the trash? That was a possibility, a good one actually, but why were the frames still here? Strange, Eddie thought. And when I think something is strange, you know it is.
Because you’re crazy, a voice whispered.
“Shut up.”
And then, as if blank pictures weren’t enough, something even stranger happened.
A faint light appeared in one of the frames. Eddie jumped at the sight. She looked behind to the window. Looked back. It was not a glare, not a reflection. How could she be sure? Because it was growing and there was something inside. She reached out with a shuddering hand, lifted it away from the clutter, held it closer.
The light expanded into a picture that filled the entire frame. As she stared she realized it was more of a window than a picture. The image inside was…moving.
Not real.
Eddie’s heart threatened to snap her ribcage with concussive thumps. Breath caught tight in her throat, straining to break free.
She saw a man leaned in close, looking into something that reflected off his glasses. An illuminated screen, like a television. His arms rested over a smooth wood surface. In his right hand, a computer mouse. His left, close enough to count hairs on the knuckles. His face was expressionless, worn with age.
Eddie said, “Who are you?”
He kept looking into the glowing screen. His right index finger clicked the mouse.
“How am I seeing you?”
The pane of glass separating them was gone. This window, no matter how improbable, was open. If she had a mind to reach through, she might be able to…
A voice stopped everything. Not a voice from inside a magical photograph, but one from across the room. Her sister’s voice. “What are you doing, Ed?”
Her vision snapped upward to see Rachel standing at the doorway with Doctor Thatcher. “Oh. Um, I was just looking.”
Thatcher smiled. “It’s okay. Everybody gets curious sometimes. Those are my kids.”
“Your kids?” Eddie said, still working to catch her breath.
“Yeah. That was taken at Mount Rushmore.”
Eddie looked back to the photo. As the doctor said, it was of two children standing in front of stone likenesses of presidents. The man with hairy knuckles was gone. What she held was a picture frame containing a still, unmoving image, just like in all the other frames.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s alright.” Rachel held out a hand. “You ready to go?”
Don’t look too close.
Eddie laid the picture on the desk, face down. “Yes. I’d like to leave now.”
9
Paul was just a computer technician. He wasn’t even supposed to be at the lab today. He wouldn’t have if his boss hadn’t called.
Officials were conducting interviews about the missing research materials and two rogue scientists. All facility employees, even the maintenance staff, had been called in.
He’d never been so scared as he walked into the main building checking text messages on his phone. There hadn’t been anything new since last night. That was worrisome but expected, he supposed. They were laying low. Good. He didn’t know where they’d made off to - didn’t want to know - but it would’ve been nice to at least be confident his friends were safe. As it stood, he could only speculate. Maddening.
He’d arrived at ten. By twelve o’clock he was being interrogated in a small, darkened office, threatened by men who refused to identify themselves. The agency they represented remained nameless, their agenda classified. They seemed to know everything even before he sat down. One of the resear
chers, Doctor Jacobson, had been in contact with Paul and they demanded to know where he was.
“I don’t know,” Paul said. “Sam wouldn’t tell me. I have a phone number. That’s it. That’s all I have.”
“You’ve spoken with him?”
“No, not directly. I’ve sent and received text messages through someone else. I don’t even know who the other person is.”
A tall agent, the one in charge, un-holstered a pistol from a shoulder harness. He slid the magazine free, saw that it was full, slapped it back in. “I won’t waste your time or mine making threats about federal prison. You see, I’m going to be brutally honest. If you don’t cooperate I will shoot you. Right here. Right now. In the head. Do I make myself clear?” He pointed the gun at Paul’s nose.
“I’ll give you the number, for Christ sake! It’s all I have!”
“What does Jacobson mean to do with the stolen equipment?”
“He means to get the system up and running again. And then he’s going public with everything. That’s what he told me. I swear that’s it.”
“Text him this message: They are monitoring media outlets in all major cities. If you try to go public, they’ll know.”
“You want me to-”
The man pressed the pistol against Paul’s forehead, hard enough to draw blood. “Begin typing now.”
“Okay. I’m doing it.” Paul’s thumbs tapped at lightning speed. When he was finished he held it up for the man to see.
The man smiled. “Don’t forget to press send.”
He sent the text.
“That should buy us enough time to track him down,” the agent said to the man standing behind Paul. Then he holstered the pistol.
Paul breathed a sigh of relief. “Not even supposed to be here today,” he said, trembling.
A bullet to the back of the head is a funny thing.
There was no time to feel every muscle in his body seize. He didn’t know the phone had slipped from his fingers - didn’t realize he’d lost all motor control or slumped to the icy floor.
He didn’t even hear the hammer trip.
CHAPTER TWO: SPOOKY ACTION AT A DISTANCE
1
Peter Lewis’ office was located at the top floor of the tallest building on the studio lot. David arrived at five till nine with an uneasy feeling in his guts. Last season’s numbers were down, which meant this season’s sponsor income was down. And things like that prompted the guys in the upper offices to make stupid decisions, like slash budgets, or worse, cancel programming. He cringed at the thought.
He walked off the elevator fully prepared for the worst. If they cancelled the show before the current contract was complete they’d have to buy him out. He was reasonably sure they wouldn’t do that, but what did he know? It was their network. They could do anything they wanted, legally obligated or not. The contract was up after the six-episode run David was now shooting.
At the end of the hall he rounded a corner and found the Vice President’s secretary sitting at her desk with as bitchy a smile as he’d ever witnessed.
She pre-empted the exchange. “Wait over there,” she said pointing to a row of chairs next to a cappuccino machine. “Mr. Lewis will be a moment. Make yourself a coffee if you want.” She went back to reading a magazine.
There was nothing natural about Lewis’ secretary. Bleached hair, fake tits, fake smile. She was attractive, yes, but more like a department store mannequin than an actual woman. Hot from across the food court, slightly disturbing up close.
Just as David sat down Mr. Lewis appeared at the doorway. “Come in, Dave,” he said.
David had been to the office a half a dozen times or so in the last six years, and it never failed to amaze. The sheer square footage of the thing was unreasonable, especially since most of it was just plush-carpeted empty space. The desk was roughly a half a mile from the doorway - the window overlooking the entire studio lot, a mile or so beyond that. If a person squinted just right he might’ve been able to catch sight of a mini bar in the distance.
He took a seat and waited for Vice Dickhead to speak.
“You should be proud, Dave,” Lewis said. “You’ve had a great run.”
David didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. “I am proud. I realize the numbers have taken a hit but I’m sure we’ll rebound. We’ve got some great episodes coming up in the second half of the season.”
“Yeah,” Lewis said taking his place behind the desk. “The thing is, we’re not so confident. The ratings have been steadily falling since season three. Viewers for this type of program tend to be monogamous and we all know Wormhole owns it right now.”
Morgan fucking Freeman.
“I’m telling you we can get back to where we were in season three. With the right push we could be stronger than ever.”
“I’m sorry, Dave. The decision’s already been made. Finish out the season as planned. We’ll make the announcement next Friday.”
“There was a time when we were the face of this network. I’m asking you to give us a chance to improve the numbers.”
“We’re going a different direction. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. We have two new reality programs in production that-”
“Reality shows? Really?”
Total bullshit.
“Yes Dave, really. Reality is king. And we’re about to prove that technology TV can do it too.”
“You’re a bit late to the party, Peter. The Science Channel already owns that racket too, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Clearly the vice president didn’t like being called by his first name. His posture went rigid, his expression cold. “We have noticed. But in reality programming there’s always room for more. People like to watch things explode, Dave. So that’s what we’re going to give them. Perhaps you’d have more viewers if your show was more engaging.”
David stood. Stared Lewis down for a moment. Turned and walked out.
He was gonna need a drink tonight.
Maybe he’d invite Cathleen. Hell, maybe he’d even invite Randal.
Wait.
No, that would suck.
2
Eddie spent most of the morning keenly staring into photographs, waiting for something amazing to happen. She tried the pictures on the dresser, the ones hanging on the wall in the kitchen, even a stack of loose Kodak moments she found in a box under the bed. Nothing.
Maybe Dr. Thatcher’s pics were special for some reason.
Maybe the magic window was a singular opportunity, a one-time offer that had now expired.
Or maybe she was just batshit crazy, an unstable girl in need of meds with a higher vowel count.
Whatever the reason, Eddie did not see a man at a computer. She didn’t see light reflecting off glasses. There were no hairy knuckles.
Damn.
The ride to Mom’s house was spent listening to classic hits from the eighties. Peak 105, Rachel’s favorite. Today’s selection considered the never actually explained reason for walking like an Egyptian, the somewhat ambiguous power of love, and the intrinsic challenges that came with wearing sunglasses at night. Twelve minutes.
Her mother was even more distraught than usual this morning. According to her, she had literally a million things to do and no time to do them. Literally? They were hosting a dinner party tonight and she had yet to clean the house or shop for all the food required. Eddie hadn’t the chance to remove her jacket when Mom announced their departure. “Leave your coat on, Edith Ann. We’re going to the grocery store.” She glanced around in a panic. “As soon as I find my keys.”
The keys were eventually discovered on the kitchen counter, right where Mom left them the night before. Eddie presented them to her with a smile. “Found ‘em.”
The discovery relieved none of the stress. “Let’s go,” she said.
Another car ride meant another bout of music. Mom’s taste was quite different than her sister’s. Star 98.4, classic country. Eddie plugged her ears and focused on c
ounting blurry mailboxes. Thirty-six mailboxes. Eight minutes.
The City Market parking lot buzzed with activity. Shoppers pushed overloaded baskets across the blacktop, creating a chaotic human obstacle course. A line of cars weaved around and between groups of distracted adults and barely-contained children. One such child slipped free, widening the gap like a runner trying to steal a base.
Mom slammed brakes. “Contain your children,” she said with a snap. After a moment a woman yanked the boy away from oncoming traffic.
Mom pulled into a spot and shut down the engine. “Stay here, Edith. I don’t have time for any of your episodes today.” The word ‘episodes’ could have easily been replaced with ‘bullshit,’ if a person with less couth had said it. But this was Eddie’s mother. Her insults, no matter how hurtful, were always expressible in polite company.
Eddie was grateful to be left behind. She wanted nothing to do with the inside of a supermarket. She checked each door to be sure it was locked and then ducked down, out of sight, to wait.
A large dog in a nearby truck barked in a frenzy. A baby cried from somewhere unseen. An old woman walked by in a daze, looking for her vehicle and mumbling. A man slammed an empty basket into the cart retrieval area, creating a surprise crash of cymbals. Eddie nearly jumped through her skin. She ducked lower.
I hate this stupid place.
She swallowed back fear and then looked out the window, scanning. Families. Children. Normal people that heard only normal voices, saw only real shadows. Pictures didn’t move in their frames. The dark did not come alive when they shopped.
Then she saw the girl that used to be her best friend, Stephanie.
Bags of groceries dangling from her fingers, walking across the parking lot with another girl. She was laughing. Happy.
How many years had it been? Two? Three? It didn’t matter. Steph had new friends now, better things to do.
Eddie gasped. They were headed her way.
She considered ducking down, turning away, hiding like she always did. But no. Not this time. Eddie’s newfound courage, fleeting as it was, came from curiosity. She needed to know what Stephanie would do when she saw her. Kind of like an experiment.
