by D J Monroe
“He’s gone,” Creed said, returning to the kitchen that was beginning to brighten with the morning sun. A breeze from somewhere picked up a small cloud of dust off of one of the boxes. It swirled in the air, glittering in the sun. “I can’t believe he would just—leave like that. I thought we’d be able to talk and maybe—”
Creed sat down at the table, devastated and near tears. Suddenly he felt lost, rudderless, more alone than he’d ever felt in his life. He should have told Nate how he felt. What had he been so afraid of- Why had he been so afraid?
Then he realized, he had something else to worry about. He was going to have to act quickly if he wanted to work for Nate’s dad, finishing up the cleanup of this house. He didn’t relish dealing with the rest of the family but he really needed this job right now. Reaching for his phone, he realized he had no idea of how to get in touch with the man.
“Damn,” Creed swore softly.
Almost out of habit, he reached for the camera, held it to his face and peered through the view finder. At least he had this phenomena to take his mind off things. Something his brain could puzzle on, puzzle over.
What he saw there brought him up short sent every other thought or question hurtling out into the void.
Thirty: Running Away
With his duffle bag in one hand, Nate stood just outside the door to the room where he and Creed had been sleeping. Neither of them had slept well during the night. He’d been plagued with worry and guilt, tossing and turning. Creed had been restless as well, talking in his sleep. Nothing Nate could understand, just mumbling. Now Creed seemed to have settled down and was sleeping peacefully on his sleeping bag, covers flung aside, one long, bare leg sticking out, his foot resting on the floor.
Why had he lied about his feelings? To spare Creed’s feelings. Creed deserved someone who could give them their whole heart. Not some half-baked reporter who couldn’t even pull off a simple job like his father had given him.
He stood there for a long time, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Creed’s chest, thinking how handsome he was, his face relaxed in what appeared to be now dreamless sleep. He chastised himself for not taking Creed into his bed that first night when he wanted to. Even now, as he was leaving Creed behind, he wanted to crawl back onto the mattress, wake Creed up and do what he’d wanted to do since he’d gotten back into town.
Creed’s kisses had been as sweet as he’d imagined they would be. Would Creed’s body feel as good against his as he’d imagined? His hands? His mouth? Nate would never know and maybe that was for the best. With the family drama getting out of hand each day, Nate knew he had to get away, doing the only thing he ever did when there was trouble.
Become invisible.
Disappear into someplace away from his father’s disappointed gaze, away from his family’s greed-and the pain that Tammy’s disappearance had left behind.
In the end, Nate decided to leave the mattress behind. If his father let Creed stay there and finish the job, he needed somewhere more comfortable to sleep. He stepped out the door just as the morning sunlight topped the mountains nearby and bathed the tops of the trees in golden light. He realized he was going to miss sitting on this porch in the mornings, sipping hot coffee while he and Creed made plans for the day.
Strange how they had fallen into the easy routine, getting caught up in the excitement of solving the mystery of his missing aunt.
He stepped onto the sidewalk and headed for his car tucked in behind Creed’s. Tossing his duffle bag in the back seat, he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.
Again he hesitated.
Why?
Was he hoping Creed would wake up, run out of the house and beg him to stay? Was that what he wanted? No, Creed had nothing to do with him leaving—or staying.
He drove slowly through town, down main street looking at the quaint shops, some of them already opening for the day. The thought struck him that he should go see his uncle before he passed away. From what he’d heard, Charles didn’t have much time left. It was early so he hoped that meant none of the rest of the family would be around.
Turning, he circled the block and drove back through town.
Charles Palmer lived in a little bungalow just on the outskirts of town. Nate drove through the quiet neighborhood, found the house easily and parked on the street. The house already looked somewhat forlorn as though it knew the man inside didn’t have long to live. A single car was parked in the driveway.
He would make this a quick good-bye, let his uncle know he would not be forgotten.
Nate knocked softly on the door, not wanting to interrupt the stillness of the morning. He listened carefully and just as he was about to knock again, he heard footsteps. The door opened just a crack and Cherry peeked out at him.
“Nate,” she said, sounding surprised.
“Could I see Uncle Charles for just a minute?” Nate asked.
Cherry closed the door and Nate heard the chain rattle. Then it opened again.
“Please, come in,” she said, a tentative smile on her face.
“Thank you,” Nate said, ducking through the low doorway and stepping into the dark house. “I don’t want to disturb him but—”
“He’s awake but heavily medicated,” she explained. “Sometimes he talks out of his head. Doesn’t recognize any of us half the time so don’t be surprised.”
Nate nodded and followed her through a small kitchen and down a short hall to a bedroom. A hospital bed took up most of the room, his uncle looking small and frail, almost disappearing among the white sheets.
Cherry leaned over the bed and whispered to her father, “Dad, you have company.”
Nate waited while Charles finally opened his eyes and squeezed Cherry’s hand. Not letting go of her father’s hand, she stood and motioned for Nate to come closer. He did. He was expecting to smell death, or something. Instead, he simply found himself looking down into the face of a very sick man who could have been eighty years old even though he was only a year older than his dad.
“Uncle Charles,” Nate said. “It’s me, Nate.”
Charles looked at him blankly for a few moments, still clinging to Cherry’s hand.
“Everett’s son,” Nate said, thinking that would help Charles figure out who he was.
The reaction was immediate. Panic grew in the old man’s eyes, spread quickly to his face. His mouth worked but no sound came out and now he was clutching Cherry’s hand with both of his.
“Does he know?” Charles croaked.
“He knows you’re dying, Dad,” Cherry said. Her voice remained calm.
“Is he going to hurt me?”
“No, Dad,” Cherry said.
“Everett, I am so, so sorry,” Charles said, panic rising in his voice. Tears streamed down his face and his legs thrashed about under the covers.
“It’s not your brother, Dad. It’s not Everett,” Cherry said. “It’s Nate.”
“It’s okay,” Nate said, backing away. He didn’t know what kind of welcome he had expected but this surely wasn’t it. Nate understood that at this late stage of his illness, he might not recognize people. Cherry had warned him of that. So thinking that Nate was his father was understandable. But why would he think Nate or his dad was going to hurt him?
“I’m so, so sorry,” Charles repeated over and over, sobbing in between each word.
There had been a couple of things Nate wanted to tell him but under these circumstances, he decided it was best to leave. Nate retreated to the kitchen and waited for Cherry to get her father to calm down. Finally, the croaking, screeching sounds stopped and all Nate heard was Cherry’s low voice as she murmured to her father, soothing him. Moments later, she joined him in the kitchen.
“Coffee?” she asked, pouring a cup for herself. She looked exhausted.
“No thanks,” Nate said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him. I just wanted to-.”
Cherry shrugged. “I told you he might not know who you were. H
e’s gets confused about most everything these days.”
“How much time does he have left?” Nate asked, feeling sorry for the woman he barely recognized as the cousin he grew up with.
“Maybe a week or two. More like days,” she said, not looking at him.
“Aunt Judy came to see me last night,” Nate began.
“I know. I heard,” Cherry’s voice was cold, clipped. “We’ve passed the information along to Walter. He’ll be getting in touch.”
Nate wanted to tell her he was sorry about the misunderstanding. He had no intention of keeping his uncle’s belongings away from Walter. Instead he said, “Just so you know, I’m leaving town. You can pass that on to the others.”
“When?” Cherry asked, looking surprised.
“I’m on my way out of town right now,” Nate said. “After Aunt Judy’s visit last night- I just can’t take any more of this drama,” he explained. “I’m sure you understand.”
“What about your friend?”
“If Dad will let him continue to clean up the house, he’ll be there until it’s on the market,” Nate explained, feeling more guilt over leaving Creed than any other emotion at that moment. “After that-“
Cherry stood there looking at him, her lips pressed together to form a thin line.
“Please tell Uncle Charles I’m sorry I upset him,” Nate said, turning when it became apparent that Cherry was finished talking to him. “I’ll let myself out.”
“You do that.”
Nate nodded, hesitated but then strode to the front door, opened it and stepped outside. Back in his car, he looked up at the house only to see Judy standing in the front window, her phone to her ear.
“What a waste of time,” Nate muttered to himself as he headed back into Lost Creek. He could have filled up at the BP station just off the interstate and already be on the road by now. He should have known going to see his uncle was a waste of time. And he’d end up scaring the old man half to death so it was a loss for both of them.
Time to get back to- To what? To a nearly empty apartment? To a city where no one cared if he had a job or lived or died or-
His cell chimed. It was Creed. He started to let it go to voice mail. The last thing he needed was to hear the disappointment Creed’s voice.
At the last minute, he tapped the screen. “Hello,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“Nate,” Creed said, hesitated and said his name again.
Nate heard something akin to fear or panic in his voice instead of the disappointment he’d been expecting. An urgent sound almost as if Creed needed help.
“Man, listen, I’m sorry for running out on you like that,” Nate said. “I’m not good at saying good-bye.”
“Nate, something is wrong,” Creed said, his words halting punctuated by a breathlessness.
“You mean with the house?” Nate asked, wondering what could have happened in the short time he’d been gone.
“The camera-”
Nate sighed. “Please, Creed, I know what we saw but-”
“It’s not working now,” Creed said.
Now Nate heard the disappointment. “What’s not working?”
“The camera. Nothing. I see nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When I look through the view finder, it’s just like a regular old camera. I don’t see Tammy or- or anything.” Creed’s voice dropped and he sounded near tears. “It’s almost like she gave up, too.”
Nate winced at that last statement. Pulling into the gas station, he sat there in front of the pumps feeling as if he was at some sort of crossroads in his life. He heard footsteps, imagined Creed pacing back and forth on the porch or up and down the hall.
“Maybe what we saw in the first place was just a fluke or something,” Nate said. “Maybe we weren’t meant to see it at all,” he said.
“No. It wasn’t a fluke,” Creed said and then added. “I’ve tried it in every room in the house with the same results. I think it has something to do with us. Me and you. Together.”
“What?”
“Please. I don’t know how far out of town you are and I know you want to get away from here as soon as you can,” Creed said, his voice broke a little on that last statement. “But could you come back just to make sure I’m wrong.”
Nate sighed and stared out the windshield. Far ahead, just on the horizon dark storm clouds were beginning to gather. He’d watched Lost Creek disappear in his rearview mirror before. Was actually happy about it. Had felt as if he was suddenly free. Why was he having such a hard time leaving Lost Creek this time?. Was it the mystery of his missing aunt that was holding him back? No. He knew exactly why he didn’t want to leave.
Creed Autry. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He wrapped both arms around himself and leaned his head on the steering wheel.
“Nate,” Creed’s voice came through the speakers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.”
“I was just about to hit the interstate,” Nate said lamely, as if that was an excuse for not coming back, as if that explained anything.
“Listen, I’ll-I’ll buy an extra tank of gas or whatever it takes if you’ll just come back for a few minutes.”
Nate felt his resolve weakening.
“I’ll come and meet you if you want,” Creed offered as a second option.
“Turning around now,” Nate said.
“Thank you,” Creed whispered, his last word breaking on a sob. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Thirty-One: Unexpected Visitors
It was the longest twenty minutes of Creed’s life.
He’d been pacing back and forth on the porch while talking to Nate. When the call ended, he stopped and peered into the old camera, aiming it this way and that. All he could see were dark clouds building up on the horizon, flowers blooming at the end of the porch, his empty cup sitting on the table between the rocking chairs. No Tammy. No clues or anything that hinted at what might have happened to her.
No energy. No presence or spirit or whatever had invaded the house since they’d arrived.
She had given up, just like Nate. But why?
Nate had to be the key. Because of the family connection? Maybe. It didn’t matter at this point. Creed tried to puzzle it out in his head but finally gave up and looked through the camera again. The storm clouds were coming closer. What had begun as a sunny day was going to turn dark and gloomy by noon.
He remained on the porch. Without the energy in the house, he felt lonely, almost unwelcome there. That was because of Nate as well.
Suddenly chilled, he began pacing again, phone in one hand, camera in the other. Just hearing Nate’s voice had sent Creed’s heartrate skyrocketing as if the man had been gone years instead of just hours. He’d been so sure, so afraid Nate wouldn’t take his call. And then, when Nate did answer, he found it difficult to even breathe.
He’d been prepared to beg Nate to come back if necessary, something he’d never done before in his life. He hadn’t meant to say anything about Tammy giving up, too. That had slipped out and he’d regretted it immediately. Again, he expected Nate to hang up on him.
But he didn’t.
Much to Creed’s surprise, Nate had agreed to come back, if only for a few minutes. Creed had to know why the camera was no longer working, why Tammy had stopped trying to tell them what had happened. Because now, he truly believed that was what was happening with this phenomena. If it was because of Nate, then he’d try to talk him into staying.
When he saw Nate’s car coming down the street toward him, his knees grew weak with relief. He sank into the rocking chair, still clutching the camera in one hand.
“Please, don’t think I’m an idiot,” he whispered to himself while he watched Nate’s car approaching slowly.
Just to make sure of himself, he looked through the camera again. Caught the car in the viewfinder. Yes, it appeared to be nothing more than a n
ormal, everyday camera. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. If he’d been wrong about Nate being the link Tammy needed to tell her story, Nate would be angry with him.
When Nate opened the car door and stepped out, it was all Creed could do to keep from running to him, throwing himself into Nate’s arms. Instead, he forced himself to walk slowly down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
Nate stopped a few steps away from him, hands in his pockets and a little grin on his face. “Is there any coffee left?” he asked.
“Yes,” Creed said, feeling as if they were starting all over, just meeting for the first time.
“Could you spare a cup?”
“Sure,” Creed said. His voice wasn’t steady enough to say much more. “Come on inside.”
Creed led the way inside as if this was his house instead of the one belonging to Nate’s family. The moment he stepped inside the door with Nate close behind him, he felt the energy in the house return. It was almost like a cool hand on the back of his neck that calmed and energized him at the same time.
He sent up a little silent, ‘thank you’.
Sidestepping the boxes that crowded the hall, Creed led Nate to the kitchen. By the time they made it to the kitchen, the presence was stronger than before. Was it happy Nate was back? No matter. It was so strong it made the hairs on his arms stand up and Creed was aware of the low level hum returning.
Appearing not to notice anything out of the ordinary, Nate remained standing by the table as if he was going to leave any second.
Creed found a clean mu, poured coffee into it and placed it on the table next to the pictures, the newspaper articles and the notes.
“Do you feel it?” Creed asked, deciding it was time to tell Nate everything he’d been experiencing, put the denials aside.
“Feel what?”
“Something. There’s something, a spirit, an energy, a presence here in this house that left when you did. Now it’s back.”
Nate changed the subject. “So what do you think happened with the camera?” He continued to act as though he was in a stranger’s home, not touching anything except the coffee cup.
