The Uninvited

by F. P. Dorchak

  “You and I are meant to be. I know this—”

  Kacey shot to her feet.

  “Dammit Sheila! I did not leave my husband because I’m lesbian!”

  “I know!” Sheila said, also getting to her feet and holding her hands helplessly before her, “That’s the problem. It’s not like we’re even on the same page! When I met you that night in the airport, something inside just...”

  Don’t say it... please don’t say it...

  “clicked. I don’t know how else to describe it. Before or since, no one has ever affected me like you affected me. Affect me.”

  Kacey turned and faced her. Good God, if ever there was a moment they were having one now, Kacey thought. The two of them... in her apartment, late at night—no one would ever know—she could just go to her. Wrap their arms around each other and plant pure sweet love on each other’s lips. Let the night, the moment, forever take them away. This is where Kacey could, once and for all, put herself to the test. Put herself out of her misery and find out, once and for all, was she,

  (one rendezvous did not a... )

  or was she not? Did she have a thing for women? For this one? Well, here she was, standing before her, hers for the taking, begging her with all that was her soul, for her to find out.

  Sheila continued to stare at her, unaccusatorily, arms crossed loosely before her. She quietly sat back down, but this time in a chair adjacent to the couch. Her knees pressed tightly together. She stared down at the coffee table.

  “I was furious at you,” Kacey’d finally said. “You’d taken advantage of me... got me drunk, lured me up to that hotel room—”

  “I know. I did. I’m so, so very sorry—”

  Kacey closed her eyes, splaying her hands out before her. “No... you didn’t. I let you do it. All of it.”

  Sheila was ready to say something, but just stared at her.

  Kacey opened her eyes.

  “I... I don’t know what had gotten into me... I’ve never experimented with other women, I’ve always known myself to be totally and unequivocally hetero... and I’ve been with a fair amount of men in my lifetime before Mark, but something happened when I saw you that I’d been trying to deny ever since—I’ve been questioning whether or not I can ever return to my family. Would doing so be me living yet another lie? I left Mark and Emily because I was confused, trapped—couldn’t handle settling down—but things have grown since then... questions have... matured... but I still don’t have any answers.”

  Sheila again looked to her nestled hands. “So, basically, I’ve added another level of complication to your life.”

  “It’s not so much you, don’t you see?” Kacey said, kneeling beside Sheila. “It’s not so much you... or whether or not you’re a woman and I’m attracted to you... I feel that there’s something much deeper here... but I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t know....”

  Kacey got back to her feet.

  “Maybe I’m just a reporter in the most superficial sense, but I feel a need to investigate this more... find out what it is that’s bothering me. I’m not saying we have to have sex to find our answers—I’m not all that sure that’s what I really want with you, but I’m willing to explore us... our relationship... if that’s what you want to call it. I just don’t know at what price. Do you understand? Can you live with that? I’m not saying I love you... but I definitely have deep feelings that seem to be somehow centered around you.”

  Sheila nodded.

  “Does any of this make any kind of sense?”

  Kacey sat back down.

  “I can’t believe I’ve blurted all this out to you... but I can’t go on like this. I just found out today that my syndicated story is in USA Today—with my name plastered all over it. I don’t know why I never thought about it before—maybe, with everything on my mind... I don’t know.”

  Sheila looked confused.

  “Oh—Mark and Emily!”

  “Yes,” Kacey nodded. “Now they know where I am. Then in walks you. So not only am I still trying to figure out why I left my family, now I have to figure out why I can’t go back just yet! I was almost there, can you grasp that, Sheila, almost there. Except for one thing—you—or whatever all this is about surrounding you. But don’t blame yourself, please don’t, because it’s so much more. There’s something else at work, here, I don’t know if you can feel it, but ever since I took on this gig, I’ve felt—and had—weird things happen. Others have felt it, too. There’s something bringing us all together, and I feel it’s coming to a conclusion with this trial. And it’s precisely for this reason I can’t return home. Not yet. I need to find out what’s going on, not only with this story, but with you and me.

  “That’s why you found me crying—and that’s why I’m spilling my guts to you... I need to face things head on, Sheila. No more running away. Which is why I wrote Mark and Emily. Trying to bring out whatever’s directing us all together like this, and I have to do it now, so I can get my life back on track. For my husband, my daughter, my sake—and yours. We need to get on with our lives. And then I have to testify at this trial. How did my life get so messed up?”

  Sheila shook her head. “Wow.”

  Kacey let her head fall back against the couch-back and wall. “God, I’m so screwed up.” She sat back up. “What time is it?”

  “One a.m.”

  “Great. Look... if you want... and don’t read anything into this, but if you want... you can stay here, tonight. On the couch.”

  Unflinching, Sheila responded, “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I’ll set the alarm for five, and we can grab a bite to eat on the way down? McDonald’s or something?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let me get you some bedding.”

  Kacey got up, rummaged around in the back a bit, before bringing out some blankets and a pillow. She set them on the couch.

  “I’ve also put out a washcloth and some towels for you in the bathroom,” Kacey said, “feel free to use anything in the apartment you need.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Um, nooo, that’s not what I meant—”

  “I know,” Sheila, said, smiling uncomfortably.

  Kacey looked away, slightly embarrassed, conceded and nodded. “Yeah, well, okay. Anyway... we can stop by your hotel on the way out—”

  “You okay?”

  Kacey nodded, her face a mixture of exhaustion and confusion. Then she turned and left for her bedroom without another word.

  Sheila looked longingly after her as she disappeared, alone, behind her bedroom door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  1

  Kacey was having no luck as she fiddled with her car window, waiting for Sheila to return from her hotel with her change of clothes and gear. The driver’s side window just wouldn’t budge. She cursed to herself, as Sheila pulled up alongside in her rented Buick. Sheila exited her car.

  “No luck, huh?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Well... what do you wanna do?”

  Kacey sighed. “I’m just gonna have to leave it here, I guess. Is rain in the forecast?”

  “It’s supposed to be just another gorgeous day in paradise. Low nineties, or whatever it usually gets to around here. I just caught the tail end of the report on the radio. Have anything valuable in there?”

  Kacey again sighed. “No....” She did a quick once over, checking her glove box and between the seats. “Nope—but I think I actually had some duct tape somewhere,” she said, getting out of the car. In the trunk, she pulled out a battered half-roll of the gray friction tape, holding it up triumphantly. “Ha!”

  “Hey,” Sheila said, “and I think... I have something you could use to cover that opening with. I think I still have those plastic mats in the car.”

  Sheila opened the rear passenger side door and pulled out the folded up floor mats. “Here we go! We’re set!”

  Together they taped up the open window. When done, they both hopped into Sheila’s car and
made their way south, to Fort Meyers.

  * * *

  “You know,” Sheila said, breaking the silence first, several miles south of Punta Gorda, “I kinda lied.”

  Kacey looked to her.

  “Last night when I’d said I’d had business that’d brought me back here... I’d actually overheard you tell someone you were returning. I’d wanted to see you... talk with you... that’s why I returned to Sunset Harbor.”

  Kacey nodded, pensively. “I see.”

  “Mad?”

  Kacey emitted a short chuckle, then a long sigh. She turned back to her passenger-side window. “Nooo... I guess not. I’m really finding it hard to be mad—let alone stay mad—at you.”

  Sheila repositioned her hands on the wheel. “I was really afraid you’d be angry, but I had to tell you.” Sheila paused. “Thanks for not being angry with me. I don’t want any replays of that hotel. I want to be honest with you.”

  Kacey nodded, smiling. “I appreciate your honesty. Thank you.”

  Kacey looked to Sheila long and hard. She then did something she couldn’t believe she did—and had she actually thought about it instead of just mindlessly acting, she probably wouldn’t have done it.

  Kacey reached out and took hold of Sheila’s hand.

  Squeezed it.

  Sheila shot Kacey a surprised look, momentarily causing the car to swerve. Both continued to steal disbelieving glances to each other that ended up in smiles. Sheila regripped Kacey’s hand. Kacey smiled and returned her attention back out her window.

  Kacey couldn’t explain any of this... but there was something about this woman beside her, with whom she was holding hands, that stirred an unknown, emotional whirlpool within her.

  Why fight it?

  Should she?

  Just go on down and drown in the unaccountable attraction she felt toward her...

  Closing her eyes, Kacey leaned back in her seat. Images about that traveling couple split up by those three marauders on that deserted plain filled her head...

  As Kacey continued to hold Sheila’s hand, she realized it really didn’t feel much different from holding Mark’s—or any other guy’s, for that matter—except it wasn’t as rough. Soft, warm. It kinda turned her on. Not only was she still one confused girl... but she was also playing the bad girl.

  Again.

  2

  Mark awoke abruptly and leapt out of bed.

  He rushed into Emily’s room, but found her peaceful and asleep, curled up on her stomach. Her tiny little fingers calmly clutched and unclutched air.

  Quietly, he hurried downstairs and flicked on NNC. A spot on Yellowstone wolf relocation was just finishing up, when the newscaster filled the screen, babbling on about world and domestic events. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, dammit, they knew what he needed. But after a few minutes, when it became apparent that there wasn’t going to be any Florida trial update, he turned on the DVR and replayed yesterday’s recording. Of course there wasn’t going to be any news... nothing happened overnight. The trial would start up in the morning, and he could check out HLN’s In Session court television coverage and catch the whole thing live. But for now, he played the recording up to the spot where Kacey was in-frame. Paused it.

  Tears immediately filled his eyes.

  He brought up the scrap piece of paper where he’d written down the Sunset Harbor Gazette number he’d found over the Internet. No picture, but, sure enough, she was listed on their roster, along with her extension and e-mail. He’d tried the e-mail a couple times, but it kept coming back with destination rejects. For some reason he felt there was little time. That he had to get hold of her, now—soon—or something was going to go terribly wrong. Yeah, he was pissed at her for having left, was enraged actually, and that surprised him. He thought he’d been dealing with it fairly well, but when he saw her name... her image on TV, for chrissakes... he just lost it.

  Why hadn’t she called?

  Written a letter?

  Anything to let them know she was at least alive and okay. Thinking about things. Was she that heartless? Was the woman he’d married that changed? That spiteful?

  And he had a deep and troubling sense that things were going... weird... that he hadn’t much time to bring her back—if that’s what he really wanted. That if he didn’t do something now he was going to lose her forever...

  But he had her number. Her extension at the Gazette, and that was something. He could leave a message, and if she was still any kind of thorough (which she used to be), she’d check her messages. She couldn’t have changed that much.

  Yet she had left.

  Mark hit “Stop,” put down the remote, and went for the phone. Dialed her number. He got that automated menu dialing service. He worked his way through the menu and punched in her three-digit extension.

  His hands shook and his mouth had gone dry.

  For someone who’d run out on him, he was the apprehensive one. Scared. Angry.

  Mark got the generic voice-mail, the beep, then he spoke.

  “I hope I got the right number, but, Kacey....”

  Instead of all the anger he’d been feeling, he suddenly felt shaky and chilled.

  He hadn’t spoken to his wife in seventeen months.

  Almost a year and a half.

  What the hell was he going to say? Should he say?

  Could he keep it together?

  You only had one chance at a first impression. What was his going to be?

  Mark inhaled deeply.

  “Kacey... this is Mark. I, uh, know you obviously didn’t want to be found... but I found ya. I, um, I’m not rushing to get together, or anything—or maybe I am—God, honey, I miss you—we just wanna know how you are. Are you okay?”

  Mark composed himself. Man up! Stop sounding needy!

  Taking on a more confident timbre, he continued.

  “All right... look, could you call us? We miss you.”

  And then he said it:

  “We still love you.”

  Damn it!

  He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Mark squeezed his eyes shut, but it did no good. His voice began to waver and his knees buckled.

  He simply couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t go on pretending he was all tough and stuff, when it came to emotional shit.

  Mark pressed the phone against his shoulder and lost it. Here he was—Mr. Grown Man, Mr. Nerves Of Steel Spelunking Cave Diver—yet he was behaving no better then his twenty-month-old daughter.

  Mark hung up.

  Good, Lord, why hadn’t she called? Why hadn’t she sent one goddamned letter? Did she really hate them that much? What the hell had happened to her that she had turned so callus... to him... their sweet, darling, daughter?

  And why had he this sudden, overwhelming feeling that he was almost too late?

  3

  Tiger lay in his cot flitting between slight consciousness and deep dreamstate. But as he lay there, he felt he also lay somewhere else... some time else... there had been a battle... brutal and swift. He’d lain on

  (his back?)

  the ground... there was some kind of loud “white noise” somewhere... approaching... trembling the ground... and there was nothing he could do about it...

  (ants)

  Tiger bolt upright in his cot. He was sweating... profusely sweating... shivering. Blinking tearing eyes, he wiped at them with shaking hands.

  He was going to die—he knew this—and not from old age.

  How was one supposed to behave with that kind of knowledge? Was he supposed to feel content? At peace? Or just plain old fucking scared?

  He got up off the cot and went over to the cell door’s tiny view port. Peered out into the aisle. There was nobody there... at least, not currently patrolling the detention center. But there were other cells, behind other closed doors, and in those cells, others like him... he could feel them. Knew they were all there, and they were all in the same boat. Had all been involved on that same, fateful, day. That day they’
d all gone crazy, and none of them had had a clue as to why. What had possessed them—for he was certain of that, as much as he never used to believe in such things. They’d all been possessed, had to have been. How else could you explain such atrocities? He didn’t know the others, not one of them, but he damned-well knew he wasn’t a murderer, just as he was sure the others also weren’t murderers. Okay, maybe he’d BBQ’d some flies under a magnifying glass as a kid, but that didn’t make him a killer.

  Was this supposed to be some kind of Karmic repayment?

  Tiger left the door.

  What the hell were they all going to do? Plead insanity? Yeah, sure, that made no sense, since they’d already all been checked out by that court-appointed shrink... even to his semi-muddled way of thinking, he figured what would probably happen was they’d try to pick one of them as the ring leader and turn it into a cult thing. Like Manson. There was no religious zealotry involved, he guessed—at least not on his part, and if he wasn’t one, he was sure others weren’t, either—no, they’d try to pin it on a cult-leader figure, and do a Manson rerun.

  And Tiger was getting the most unsettling feeling that he was their man Manson.

  4

  Fort Meyers Judge’s Chambers

  August 3rd, 7:56 a.m.

  Howard Stoker sat behind his desk in his Judge’s Chamber. He had nineteen minutes before the trial, and there was something uneasy gnawing at him. He felt extremely edgy... apprehensive. Something was hovering about the edges of his consciousness, trying to punch its way through. “Tuning in” just before a trial wasn’t good, threw his concentration off. He didn’t have much time. Looking to the clock, he set his watch alarm for ten minutes, placed it on his desk, then grabbed a clean sheet of paper and a pen. Put them on the desk before him.

  His hands immediately went into motion.

  Jerking, sporadic action across the page produced what looked like a poor attempt at chicken scratch. He looked to it dispassionately. This wasn’t right... there was a presence. A huge one. As large and vast and deep as an ocean—but it wasn’t quite making its way through to him. There was some kind of difficulty in... translating... the information...