“This is all a little . . . you know.”
“Weird.” She started laughing loudly. “I’m not sure who’s more scared of who.” She saw my hands clench and quickly slid the toast closer to me, like a peace offering.
“Have you blacked out before? You don’t look well. You seem like you’ve lived a million lifetimes. Or maybe none at all. California is quite a way from our fair town. Must be some story to your trek here.” Her focus turned away from me, and it seemed like she was proud of her observation.
I tried to think of all my options as I pondered her question. There was no way she was going to let me off the hook. How could I keep her from getting involved? She didn’t need to deal with my problems. She was a psych major and far too inquisitive. But there was no reason to doubt her intentions at this point. It was pointless not to answer her question at least since she did do me a great favor and saved me from a trip to the hospital.
“I have blacked out before. A little less than a month ago was the last time.”
“Wow. Were you checked out by a doctor?”
“I had a CT scan, X-rays, blood tests. You name it; they probed it. They found nothing wrong.” I hadn’t actually gone through all of those tests, but told a similar lie to appease Avery at the time. My problems were far from being physically detectable.
“No, not a medical doctor. I mean a psychologist.”
“Geez, you truly do not mince words. No, but I am pretty sure there’re more people than you can imagine who would enjoy seeing me in a straitjacket.” Remembering the look upon Mr. McCastle’s face when I walked out of his office weeks ago, I laughed at my joke.
“Not to be rude, but if you have some issue, maybe I can refer you to someone. I know I’m just a student, but I might know the right person. I even know some hypnotists. Some of the ones I know achieve impressive progress with the right patient.”
“What you did for me last night was more than enough and, to be truthful, I really shouldn’t intrude any longer. I’ll be all right.” I nibbled on a piece of toast and quickly got up to put my plate in her dishwasher before making my way to the closest door.
She seemed startled by my actions before jumping up and intercepting me before I reached the door. There were two doors. It was the story of my life. I wasn’t sure which one to open and took my cue from her eyes. Unfortunately, the door was locked and, in my haste, I couldn’t navigate the lock. She seized upon the opportunity to block my exit.
“Not every day that a lady makes a breakfast like that for a man she just met. The least you can do is show some gentlemanly courtesy and allow me to indulge in my need to be a Good Samaritan.”
“Do you know what I was doing before I blacked out?”
“No, umm . . . not really. The pub had the local news on the overhead television. There was a newspaper on your table when you toppled over. Luckily, you didn’t hit your head.” She was suddenly hesitant in the details, but I chose to let it go.
I glanced back at her and made the mistake of catching her eyes. I had seen the Medusa and froze from taking further action. “I just don’t want to bother you. You’re a smart person with a bright future from what I gather. You don’t need my problems.”
She sighed as she unlocked the door. “Sorry for being a bit selfish. Helping is very self-actualizing for me. I know I can handle anything. You cannot even imagine what I’m capable of,” she said with a fiery tone contrasting her delicate voice.
I walked through the doorway and she grabbed the door just as I was about to shut it. “If you change your mind and need someone to talk to, you’re more than welcome to come back. My name is Rachel. Maybe you’ll even tell me what brings you to our quaint town.” She grinned at me.
“Well, maybe. For now, thanks for everything. I’m Kiran Wells,” I said as I closed the door. Of course, she must have known that already, having seen my driver’s license.
When the door shut behind me, the solitary nature of my return to my hometown overwhelmed me and felt ominous. What I was unprepared for, as I ventured outside beneath the heat of the morning light, was how my past patiently waited just outside the reach of Rachel’s house.
CHAPTER 2
I stumbled onto the street, my eyes adjusting to the brightness of the morning. To my consternation, everything around me became evocatively familiar. I looked back at Rachel’s home, hoping to make some sense out of everything that had happened. It looked just as old on the outside as it did on the inside. The shingles on the roof appeared ready for take off with the most modest gust of wind. The lawn in front apparently had not been pampered with any landscaping.
I couldn’t deny that I had a blackout episode at the pub. Miraculously, it had never happened in a public place before. My prolonged slumber years ago was likely the cause. Given that I had been under a lot of self-inflicted stress and anxiety, the great surprise was that it didn’t occur more frequently. The circumstances of the night before remained ambiguous, and how it had played out troubled me. I reasoned I was fortunate that this strange and simultaneously approachable student had rescued me.
The more I thought of her, the more I realized circumstances demanded further scrutiny. A lovely girl taking in this old, broken soul sounded like the plot of a lighthearted movie. I debated going back inside to find out more about my friendly young patron. My conclusion was her hospitality earned her a free pass from my troubles. I rubbed my face, knowing full well the heaviness of my plight. My hands ran through the thick coat of hair covering my sensitive skin, the by-product of having not shaved since landing. Aside from passing out the night before, I had not slept very much or very well either.
There was a ghost-town vibe emanating from my surroundings. Suddenly, I could hear a gentle roar in the distance, a sound diabolically frightening for a reason I dared not try to understand. Flowing water was nearby! I had been so involved with my thoughts about the house I just left that I failed to notice where I was. The water was most surely the Pauley River.
My heart pounded even before I ran down the street to get a better view of the source of the noise. Once I caught a line of vision, I felt like I was being hit by a rapid succession of lightning bolts. I took a knee to the ground as I fought with every inch of my fiber from blacking out again. I realized Rachel might be watching from her window and would not hesitate to rescue me a second time. My shoelaces were quickly untied and then retied to suggest I bent down with a trivial purpose.
I knew once I had seen the river, Shep’s Hill would be visible soon enough. This area was most definitely near my old stomping grounds, which I’d been avoiding since coming back. That much I recollected beyond any doubt. Without a car and on foot, there was no way I was anywhere close to this region last night. Now here, I thought back to my trip to Pauley River a couple of weeks ago.
I had tried to sleep on the five-hour flight, but my thoughts raced faster than the pacing I did from the front to the back of the plane. It was only the turbulence that got me to sit. The flight attendant kept asking if I needed assistance, and I blamed it on a fear of flying, even though I had flown hundreds of times.
I hadn’t been back to Pauley since I left twenty years ago. My parents moved soon after my departure. They, too, fled to the warmer pastures of the south. The presumption was the demons chasing me would somehow search for them as well, and they would be easy targets if they stayed behind.
Pauley was a small town outside of a growing metropolitan city. You grew up in Pauley and eventually, if everything went well, went off to the local college, Riverside. Those with money could afford the more expensive schools of the south. The majority stayed and continued their education here. Many found jobs in the big city miles away, returning home each evening to the quiet suburban life. Living in Pauley was generally a cradle to grave existence. Not that it was a bad place to grow up. Nor a horrible place to die.
The town had one
high school occupying a central location at the base of Shep’s Hill. Years ago, some town elder tried to get Shep’s Hill renamed Mount Shep. It was a hill; no more, no less. On the opposite side of Shep’s Hill was the Pauley River. Once you climbed the hill, you reached a forest that hid the path to the river on the other side of its steep slope. Swimming was not permitted, since the currents could get unyielding at certain times of the year. The Pauley River snaked through the outskirts of our town, marking the separation between the here and anyplace else.
On top of Shep’s Hill was a chalet for those using the ice rink that went up in the winter and came down in the spring. Within the bowels of the forest was an old rundown shack that most people avoided, claiming it housed a crazy hermit who haunted the town a hundred years ago. The shack was a favorite hiding spot for the local teens who needed a quiet place to go where their parents wouldn’t find them. The shack, made of plain pine planks, was cold and uninsulated during the winter season, and hot and dingy during the summer. It was a convenient place to go from time to time to be alone with your thoughts. It would be a source of refuge for me, and a memory painted over through the years.
Pauley High had about six hundred students back then. Girls and boys were pretty much split evenly in number. The school was refurbished in the early 80s, but by the time I went to it, the signs of age were already showing again. On the other side of the river was the larger college, which had ten thousand students. It was a more modern building and attracted students from Pauley and other neighboring towns.
My father and mother had both followed ritual by going to the high school and the local college. I always assumed I would slog down that same academic path. Along that trail, I would either be dragging friends with me or riding their coattails.
When I fled, I left behind miniscule traces of my existence, like a squirrel’s tracks before a snowstorm. The intent was that nobody would hunt me down or find me. My parents had made sure of it. They wanted my future to be safe from my past. Conveniently, I forgot about the reason I needed to leave. Conveniently, I couldn’t remember the night of my accident.
It was an escape and an illusion worthy of comparison with the finest of Houdini’s performances. It was not yet the middle of June when I headed back east. When the plane landed, I could see the sun beginning to set in the west from whence I had come. I never expected to return.
I could only imagine Rob’s reaction when he heard what I had done. Rob was tough and a consummate game player. He would one day forgive me. He had no choice. Avery would never let him hold a grudge against me.
As I stepped off the plane, the world around me seemed trapped in a web, waiting for a hungry spider to return and nibble on whatever it caught. The sense of purpose I had when I left Beckett and Bells had waned, and the uncertainty of what was to come paralyzed me temporarily upon my return. I could hear ancient watches unwinding with a grinding sound. Sadly, there was no welcoming band for this homecoming. Time would be a competitive foe.
Then, as if on cue, Rachel had brought me here of all places, which meant she had been out last night in a pub that was a sizable distance from her home. The coincidence was too extraordinary. Who was she?
Rachel could not have been more than twenty or so, that much was certain. I was likely long gone from here before she was even a toddler. The present was awash with coincidences and voices from the past whispering sugary haunted nothings. So much more was eating away at me from the inside. I knew I would have to come to this area one day. I just didn’t think it would be today.
I looked back at the house that was now a block away and took a mental note of the address. If she wanted to harm me or rob me, it would have already happened. While the thought of her taking a romantic interest in me was appealing, I was a realist enough to know otherwise. Ghouls with beards don’t do well in romances though. I was no werewolf.
I found a bus route and got general directions on how to get back to where I was staying. My landlady must be freaking that I had disappeared for so long. My thoughts swam while paranoia circled me like a starving shark. I went to the back of the bus. While I had enough money for a cab, I needed time to think. Hopefully, the bus ride would jar memories free. No way could I stomach a conversation with a curious cab driver.
Why had I returned? On the surface, it was because of the letters. What was I trying to accomplish here? I stayed so far away from where I was raised and then when I finally ended up in my old neighborhood, I was running away again. Where to begin untangling all these knots? Intuitively, I knew I could find someone from the old days if I tried. I could easily go back to my old neighborhood. The sense of great peril trapped and enslaved any courage I could muster. I would be confronting emotions returning from a black hole, light years away. I felt a cold shiver. I had gone far enough on this one journey today and had enough to ponder.
When the bus brought me to the opposite end of town and farther away from the sound of the river, I finally started to breathe more easily.
Walking from the bus stop to my apartment, I could see my landlady hiding behind the gray curtains of her foyer, watching me. It would be moments before she was out on the front steps. I slowed my steps to face the inevitable, and sure enough, her door opened just as I was putting my key into the lock.
“Oh, hello!” My tone was far too excited.
“Everything okay?” She didn’t let me answer. “I had some leftover lasagna and was going to give it to you. Your loss since you didn’t return last night.”
“Sorry. I took your advice, went to the bistro, and after the bistro met a couple of old friends and . . .”
“Friends? Really. You were gone all . . .” Suddenly, there was a twinkle in her eye. “Yes, friends. I remember when I was young.” She smirked and my face turned the color of a ripe beet. “Wait a second.” She ran back into the house and came back with a plate. “You look hungry. Take it. You can warm it up later.”
“Thanks, and please don’t worry about me.”
“I came to bring you lasagna and a message. Someone was trying to call you yesterday. I heard the phone ring a few times last night from your place. I’ve barely heard it ring since you arrived—it was strange.”
“It was probably one of my friends from back home.” Probably Avery or Rob since no one knew my number here. I brought no smartphone with me either.
Upon thanking her again for the food, I climbed the stairs to my rental. I could see a spider had started its web on the inside of the windowpane. I ignored it. I was exhausted and wanted to nap. I was too tired to undress and just laid back on the couch as I slid into cavernous thought.
Trying with the best of intentions, I visualized myself leaving my current abode last night to find a place to eat. I ran into the landlady on my way out, and she recommended a place called Jack’s Bistro and Burgers. It was a pub-type place—a fancy hamburger joint—that served imported beer. I remembered the waitress getting my order. She asked if I wanted a beer and I could hear my voice say “no.” Through the haze of my memory, I tried to picture some of the people sitting in the restaurant near me. Eating by yourself in a small town will usually draw some interest. I did recall some of the other patrons. I most certainly did ask the waitress for a newspaper. Yes, that’s what I did, and that was all I could recollect.
I must have drifted off to sleep because two hours later I awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. It was an anxious ring. I could tell.
“Hello.”
“Kiran! Is everything all right? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.” It was Avery, sounding frantic, nearly hysterical.
“I’m fine, Avery. Fine. How are you and Rob?”
“Fine? Where were you yesterday? We were ready to fly out! Especially after the girl called and we didn’t hear from you. I felt so guilty for not stopping you.”
“Girl called? The girl called who? You?”
“Yes. Yes. Someone called here looking for you the other day. I told her you weren’t home.”
“This person called you?”
“No. Your place. I was there watering your plants and the phone rang. I thought it might be your dad.”
“Hmm. So what did this girl say?”
“She sounded sweet and young. She said she was a relative of yours and needed to reach you.”
No one had tried to contact me in years from either my mom’s or dad’s side of the family.
“What else did she say?”
“I told her that you’d gone back to your hometown. She said she was living there now, and that’s why she wanted to get in touch with you.”
“That is interesting.” I could tell Avery was getting concerned, mainly sensing that I seemed confused. I knew what I had to do. “What did you say to her?”
“Well, she sounded sincere, so I gave her your number and told her where you were staying. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I made a mistake giving her your coordinates. Did she find you? We tried calling, and nobody answered, so we got worried. Damn you for not taking your phone with you!”
“Avery, don’t be a mother hen. She never called here. I went out last night to get a bite and was watching the ball game at a place near here. When I got back, it was kind of late. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s three hours earlier here, Kiran.”
“Oops. Yeah, right. Forgot. I guess I was so tired that I probably crashed and didn’t hear the phone.”
“Are you sure? She never contacted you?”
“No. I must have missed her call, too. I’ll let you know if she calls again.”
“If you need help, call us.”
“Yeah, no problem. You say she sounded youngish?” I asked hesitantly.
“Yes, why?”
The Boys Who Danced With the Moon Page 2
