“I miss you,” Jack said. He struggled to his feet and stood before Howard, who helped support him. “I gotta go. Want to be with my Heddy.”
Howard nodded.
Jack made a few steps toward Hedda and was instantly there. Howard watched Jack kneel down to his wife and encircle her with his arms. They hugged. Howard closed his eyes...
* * *
Howard stood on a windswept desert. The sound of horses thundered behind and among the great dunes surrounding him; a bright white hospital bed stood behind him.
“So... you’re this ‘Tiger’ I’ve heard so much about,” Howard said.
Tiger lay in bed; looked up to him. “I am.” He spit out a mouthful of ants. “Why do these damned things follow me everywhere I go!”
Howard smiled.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I? Big trouble.”
The judge nodded, the sound of horses still echoing crazily in and around the dunes.
“I had it coming, huh?”
“Well,” Howard said, as he stared off into the dunes, “we all have our challenges... some just chose to handle them differently.”
“I’m sorry, so very sorry” Tiger said. “I’m having a hard time with everything—”
“I understand—”
“You’re no saint, either, from what I hear.”
Howard grunted.
“I wish I could do it all over again—I mean, I wish I could do things differently.”
“You are.”
“I’m still so very sorry.”
“Learn from it.”
Tiger smiled. “I—”
He started to say something, when a sirocco of sand and hooves blasted through Tiger and Howard, trampling over Tiger and his white, bright white and radiant bed. Howard watched everything before him obliterated. When it all passed, Howard found one ant left rooting around in the sand. The sound of the horses faded. Howard stooped, extended a finger, and let the ant climb on up. Returning upright, he watched it crawl about the ridges of his skin just before it bit him...
* * *
What do you think? Enoch thought.
This is going to be one helluva case, Howard returned in thought.
Enoch smiled. It’ll keep you on your toes!
I like that. A little grit, Howard said, spitting out particles of sand, never hurt anyone...
* * *
Howard bolt upright in bed, wide awake. It was 2:03 a.m., Nora fast asleep beside him.
4
Banner entered Harry Gordon’s Sarasota Circuit Court office. Harry met him, hand outstretched.
“Find anything?” Harry asked.
“There’s something weird about the whole thing.”
Harry wrinkled his face. “What do you mean?”
Banner pulled out his notebook. “I got into a couple homes, and it was pretty much all the same. Attacks were mainly in the bedroom, where there were marked signs of struggles, and in some cases, quite a wake of carnage.”
“Like?”
“Blood... everywhere. Broken furniture and windows. Slashed and smashed beds. It all looked... fanatical. These weren’t random attacks. There’s motive behind these murders; we just have to find it.”
“And... Garrett’s place?”
Banner held his gaze. “Same. Signs of an intense struggle. He put up a good fight.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I’ve also been to the detention center—they don’t know each other, that’s the weirdest part,” Harry said. “Many don’t even recall what it was they did. Some’d even taken their own lives.”
Banner grunted. “How’re your headaches?”
“Still there. From time to time.”
Banner nodded, pensively. “Well, there you go.”
Harry saw him to the door. “Keep me posted.”
“It’s what you pay me for.”
As Banner exited, he caught sight of the urn.
“Don’t remember this...”
“A client gave it to me as payment last week. Said it was valuable. I had it appraised at a tidy sum. It was made during the 1700s, about an invasion of some Japanese island. Kyushu. I was never much interested in Oriental art, but when she showed it to me... I just took it.”
“Huh,” Banner said. “Garrett had one just like it.”
“Huh,” Harry said. “Hey—what about that reporter?”
“Headin there, now,” he said with a casual wave of a hand, not looking back.
5
“Kacey Miller?” Banner asked, standing before a tiny and cramped desk at the absolute rear of the Sunset Harbor Gazette offices.
Kacey looked up. “Yes?”
Banner extended a hand.
“Moses Banner. I work for the prosecution. We’re investigating the Safe Harbor murders. Read your article.”
Banner flashed his credentials.
“Oh,” she said, getting to her feet and tucking loose strands of hair behind an ear. She shook his hand; rough and calloused. Muscular. “Pleased to meet you. Have a seat.”
Kacey scrambled to make room for his huge frame in her little corner of the world by the storage closet. Banner pulled out a chair from another desk and sat.
Her first, honest-to-God private investigator—coming to talk to her—about an article she’d written.
“Good scoop.”
“Thanks,” she began, “I hadn’t been sleeping very well that night so I’d been driving around, listening to scanners. Looking for work.”
“Appears you found some.”
“Yeah. So... what can I do for you?”
“There anything you can tell me that you hadn’t written up?”
“No... I pretty much wrote up everything I learned.”
Banner nodded. “How’d you get in with the Hockers?”
“I was there, is all. In the right place at the right time.”
“Inside the crime scene?”
“Yes—well...”
“So you know someone.”
Kacey paused, smiling. “Might.”
Banner nodded. “Guess you’re already aware of the Hockers’ Fate?”
The smile drained from Kacey’s face.
“I... I visited that scene, too. It was quite upsetting....”
Kacey looked away, briefly, unconsciously, rubbing the ring she’d found there and now wore.
“Understandable.”
Banner eyed the ring.
“Find anything?”
Kacey stopped rubbing the ring and folded her hands in her lap out of sight. “No.”
“No keys, glasses... jewelry?”
Will be together...
“Nope.” Kacey cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact. Again touched her hair.
“See any skid marks? Blood? Anything unusual—”
“It was all pretty much picked clean by the time I got there, and I really wouldn’t know ‘unusual’ if it bit me.”
“There anything you found, or saw, which might be of use to us—at the original scene? I mean, you come out of nowhere, get a gig like this—”
“Look, Mr. Banner—I wish I could be of more assistance, I really do—but I’m just beginning my investigation. I really just happened to be in the right place at the right time, that’s all there is to it... I really have no special insight into any of it... no special privileges you don’t already have. I’m just a simple girl trying to make a
(lesbian)
“living. If I do think of anything—or find anything remotely of interest—I’m more than willing to share, as long as you let me print it first. You have to believe me on this. I’m really at a loss.
“So—if you’ll excuse me—I need to get back to my work—just as I’m sure you do.”
Kacey stood up, extending her hand.
“I don’t mean to be rude... but I really do have a lot to do.”
Banner slowly got to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Miller.”
“That’s ‘Miss,’” she said, shaking his hand.
<
br /> Banner eyed the ring. “Miss.”
Chapter Ten
1
Harry sighed and closed his eyes.
“So, same dream,” Dr. Richard Arnot said, scribbling on a note pad. He eyed his camcorder. “Okay... Harry, I’d like to try something different, if you don’t mind.”
Harry lay back in a comfortable recliner, eyes closed. Without opening them, he said, “Anything.”
“As you know, hypnosis has been used for centuries—”
“Oh, no, you’re not telling me you believe in that stuff,” Harry said, opening his eyes and sitting back up.
Raising a cautionary hand, Arnot said, “Now, Harry... all hypnosis is, is focused, relaxed concentration. Every one of us do it every day when we’re so tuned in to whatever it is we’re doing to the exclusion of our spouse’s questions, the noise outside our offices... whatever. What I’d like to try, with your permission, is a clinical version of it. I’m not going to tick-tock you out, or anything like that, but I am going to ask you to relax, then we’re going to play a mind game of sorts—a free association. You’ll have total control over it—if you don’t want to play, you can stop at any time. Up for it?”
“You mean I just kick back and say whatever comes to mind?”
“Exactly. And don’t worry if it’s right or wrong or feels made up.”
Harry paused for a moment. “Alright.”
“Okay, I’d like you to relax... just think of a relaxing scene that’s pleasing to you. Tell me when you have one.”
Harry didn’t immediately reply, but soon found himself enjoying an almost immediate sense of a deep, relaxing calm. He sat along a beach, eyes closed, and allowed the soothing sound of the breakers to wash over him.
“Okay... I have one... I’m on a beach, listening to the waves....”
“Good, good... now just follow the deep, relaxing sounds of those waves,” Arnot coached. “Enjoy the rhythmic sounds of the ocean, the birds screeching above, the wind in your hair... you inhale deeply of ocean air... hold it—then let it out.”
Harry did as instructed.
“Now, do this a couple more times... at your own pace.”
Dr. Arnot waited patiently for Harry to complete several more cycles before continuing.
“Harry,” he said, his voice taking on more authority, “I want you to blank out your mind. You’re still sitting on that beach, but I want you to close your eyes and not think about the breakers any longer... I want you to drift inward... to be at home and at ease in the warm, comfortable blackness of your mind... it’s a secure, restful, place... just drift about, not consciously trying to think about anything in particular... you’ll shortly see shapes and colors gradually forming out of the darkness... passing by and through you... all kinds of shapes and colors....”
Harry did see shapes and colors and allowed them to emerge and fly past, when an image of a squat Oriental structure flashed through his mind.
“Now... what is the first image that comes to mind... no need to rush—”
“I see an Oriental structure. A house of some kind. Low and flat.”
“A house?”
“Atop a mountain... by a cliff.”
“What else can you tell me... look around, turn around.”
“Well... and this is kind of weird—am I making this up?”
“Doesn’t matter, Harry, we’re playing a game, remember? Go with it.”
“Well, I don’t so much as ‘see’ as feel things. Does that make sense?”
Arnot nodded. “Just go with it, Harry. Do you see yourself?”
“I seem to have visual images without the images, is the only way to describe it, though sometimes I do seem to actually see something.” Harry chuckled. “I feel like I’m this—a warrior-philosopher—enjoying a sunrise. He—me—stands on an overlook looking out over what appears to be Mount Fuji... there’s a beautiful sunrise... I feel at one with myself and life... calm yet powerful....”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-three comes to mind.”
“What year is it?”
“I’m unconcerned with time, the year... it’s... a non-issue... I’m here on a mission.”
Amused, Arnot quietly continued to scribble notes and checked the camcorder.
“What are you wearing?”
Harry again paused. Internally, without seeing, he “looked” down to himself.
“I’m wearing a heavy, stiff—I can actually feel the stiffness of it—overgarment, over white undergarments.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“Why are you asking me these questions? Can’t you come up with something more important... more constructive to the session? My clothing—the time—simply aren’t important....”
Arnot raised an eyebrow, jotting down the observation.
“... my garment is brown. On the upper portions of it is a gold sash that crosses from the shoulders to the waist. The entire outfit is ornate, the gold... embroidered....”
Arnot sat quietly, amused, scribbling on his pad and again checked the camcorder. “Amazing....”
“I’m wearing wooden sandals. I have a sword... my hair... is black... ponytailed, but only shoulder length or so...
“I’m powerful and confident... a good fighter, but don’t like fighting. I became a warrior out of need. I consider myself... a philosopher-teacher. I have much to teach, and learn, and were I to... publicly... come out with my views, I’d be put to death—”
“What views?”
“—so I became a warrior... and take to solitude and travel... I’m very good at being a warrior. I’ve done this many times before and since....”
“You have a name?”
“Kioshu.”
“Incredible....” Dr. Arnot again said to himself, continuing to scribble madly.
“I consider myself... journeying—that wherever I am I’m just visiting—philosophically... physically—journeying through life. This is but a stop for me. I live alone in that meager dwelling. Behind it, where I’m standing, are colorful flowers and other vegetation. There’s a dirt and stone path leading back to the house... as I stand with my back to the cliff and face the house, off to my right, is an incline into lush, heavily vegetated mountains, which I find beautiful and soothing. There’s no real path, though, but I, and others, have walked it so frequently there’s a worn trail. In the distance are high mountains with low cloud cover. It’s spiritually dense, here... I love it....”
“Where does the path lead?”
“I take to this incline and walk with only the clothes I’m wearing, my sword... I feel it’s my mission to help those who seek me out—but also for me to learn... I just go where my journeys take me....”
“What’s the next important incident that comes of walking this path?”
“I come to an ancient temple hidden just off the trail. I feel this is one of the reasons I’ve come to live here... it’s extremely secluded, this temple, which is tall and very narrow—or it’s the façade of whatever’s left of this temple. It’s abandoned. I stand before it and smile. Amused. I think: good effort... for children. I understand why the temple was built... I feel that those who built this, as do all people, make their best attempts at understanding life, however misguided, and that it is the intent toward understanding and the bettering of life that counts. I do not agree with the belief systems of my time... and feel it is my chosen... my chosen ‘task’... to help others understand... and that being a warrior is... a ‘necessary compromise’... to better serve this end.
“I continue along this path and have images of conflict and battle—but do not engage in any. I am a teacher, to teach whoever’ll listen and ask of my help—I teach whatever they come to learn—it’s different with each traveler. But I also learn....”
“What lesson do you feel you’ve learned in your life as Kioshu?”
“Sanctity of life. That, as I stated, I had to make certain... ‘agreements’... to kill... so the ‘greater g
ood’ could also come across to those I wouldn’t normally have interacted with and who most need the teaching. I also,” Harry said, and here he smiled, “there is something about the feel of physical objects, a sword—though not in using it to kill—but in its inherent feel, its use in practice—kendo. There’s a certain... heft... to steel and sword. I draw a metaphor between the sword and life: both are double-edged. It is the intent of the wielder to make each what it is.”
“Are you still okay, in this life?” Arnot asked.
“Ask what you want.”
Arnot again raised an eyebrow.
“I’d like for you to jump ahead in time... to the next significant event in your life—”
“I’m thirty-five... confronting bandits. Two of them. I’m protecting peasants in a field... I have extreme... conflicting... emotions....”
“I...,” Harry began, but his voice grew thick, his face strained and contorted in pain.
“I’m ambivalent about helping these peasants and those I will soon dispatch. I’m frustrated these men are doing what they do!
“A third man is behind them, on a large horse with bow and arrow—he’s dressed as me. Watches us. I’m extremely angered... these bandits, their greed... but if they continue, then fine, they’ll die... and I kill them—”
“All of them?”
“Only the two before me.
“I look to the horseman and sense he wants to kill me... but for some reason does not. He says nothing and calmly turns away without ever looking back...
“I’m greatly saddened. These people—including the peasants—only see the exterior manifestations and do not realize I have not really killed anyone. They will not understand the greater philosophical ramifications... and I am a teacher, a—a... Kyoshi... it is my passion to teach. I grow weary with killing, but continue on my path, because there are still lessons to learn. Don’t know why I choose not to fight—except that there is still... a ‘greater good,’ something I have not learned... that seems in the best interest, yet....”
“Okay,” Arnot said, “I’m bringing you back... you’re no longer in that field... you’re back in this room, with me, in the present... slowly returning... returning... you are now Harry Gordon, prosecutor for the state of Florida, in the town of Sunset Harbor... coming back... when I count to one, you will be back, alert, and conscious of all that occurred... three... two... one.”
The Uninvited Page 12
