The Kaleidoscope

by B K Nault

  Stan jumped out, and Harold twisted to check Pepper. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m all right,” she said really loud, holding her hands on either side of her head. “My ears are ringing, though.”

  Harold’s were as well. He also worried they both might go into shock. His own mind grew fuzzy as people with guns drawn swarmed the cars. Images of a similar crash so long ago swirled together as this scene unfolded, and he jerked himself back to the present when he remembered Pepper was still in the backseat. He pushed against the door, anxious to be near her.

  “I’ll have to crawl through the windshield,” he told her. “You wait and I’ll get help.”

  The air still buzzed with energy and car exhaust. A chopper overhead stirred the treetops. People’s lips were moving as if the sound had been turned down. Harold had to get out of the car, and without thinking, pulled himself through the broken windshield, dragging his thigh over jagged glass and ripping open a gash. “Ow!”

  “Oh, honey!” Pepper called from inside. “Are you okay?”

  “Stay in there while I find out if it’s safe.” He held up a hand, preferring his privacy while he spilled his guts that roiled from the fear and gouging pain in his thigh. When he’d emptied his burning stomach, he stumbled to the front of the car, curious about whoever had been so anxious to evade arrest that they’d shot at a fully-armed team. The cops were cuffing men he didn’t recognize. None of them were Gus.

  Stan joined him, abuzz with the rush, and Harold turned his head to test his ears for better hearing. “…found Gus still at the house. Harold, you want to go in with me? The area’s secure now.” Stan spoke loudly into his right ear.

  “I’m coming, too!” Pepper waved from the car.

  Still woozy, Harold pulled up on her door handle until it finally opened. “Stan, I’m afraid your car’s going to need a little work.”

  “I think you’re still a bit dazed, buddy. Why don’t you stay here?” Stan grabbed a flashlight from his trunk, which had already popped open on its own.

  “No. I’m going in.” Pepper grabbed his arm and together they hiked up to the compound where the aftereffects of the raid were apparent. The clearer air was helping Harold’s head return to normal, but as they drew near, smells of burning wood relaunched his nausea. One of the small buildings was in flames, and several men aimed extinguishers and tossed buckets of water on the fire. The air smelled like gunpowder, and the vegetable garden had been trampled. They stepped up onto the porch and went inside.

  Gus was strapped to a kitchen chair with plastic zip ties, and didn’t look up at Harold and Pepper when they stepped in. Stan nodded at a couple of the uniforms standing guard over him.

  “We found him already like this.” One of them gestured at the man. “We’re waiting to find out who gets him first.”

  “What are you two doing here?” Gus demanded, still without making eye contact.

  “We’ll speak with you in a minute.” Stan grabbed Pepper’s elbow. “Show me what you saw.”

  She pointed to the bedroom.

  “Don’t go in there!” Gus growled.

  “We have a warrant, sir,” Stan growled back. “He been Mirandized?”

  A quick nod from the guard standing next to Gus confirmed he had been.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Stan instructed and opened the door, but Harold had some burning questions of his own.

  “Who are you, what’s your real name?” He faced Gus. “Do you recognize me?”

  “I demand an attorney.” Gus, or whatever his name was, averted his gaze from Harold, who perched on the coffee table in front of him trying to force him to acknowledge him.

  “Who tied you up?” Harold leaned to the side trying to get in his line of vision.

  “No questions. I’ve asked for a lawyer.” Gus turned his head aside.

  “Let’s check out what you saw.” Stan led Harold and Pepper across the room to the door. Behind it was a makeshift bedroom with a camp cot and an old quilt. A misshapen plank of plywood partially covered broken glass in a window also draped with a dingy blanket. On the other wall, a desk made from an old door rested on cinder blocks. Stan yanked a blanket off the window. A crew had set up strong work lights to illuminate the compound so investigators could process the yard and porch.

  The covering gone, their harsh beams lit up the tiny room, and Stan let out a low whistle. Harold followed his gaze. Newspaper articles, pictures, graphs, and charts covered the wall over the desk, tacked up with nails and thumbtacks.

  “I told you!” Pepper whispered. “It’s a murder board.”

  Stan stepped up to get a closer look. “Something like that.”

  “You mean he’s been keeping track of his own crimes?”

  Stan used a pen to lift the edges of newspaper articles pinned over pictures and diagrams. “He’s got articles from before you were born, Harold.”

  “These are pretty.” Pepper forgot about Stan’s order to not touch anything, and picked up a carved stone animal from a menagerie of others like it. “This is just like your tiger, Harry!”

  ****

  They left Stan waiting for a tow truck, and Harold and Pepper drove back down the mountain. They’d waited around to see if any drugs or guns were found. But no evidence of anything except squatting was turned up, and they were shooed away so the investigators could do their work.

  “When he’s finished with intake you can go see him,” Stan told Harold. “If you want, I can go with you.”

  “I will, too,” Pepper told him.

  “How long will that take?” Harold couldn’t wrap his brain around facing his father after all these years. “I want to make certain it’s really him.” Why wouldn’t he acknowledge his own son?

  Stan checked his watch. “You’ll know by this afternoon, but it doesn’t appear he’ll be here much longer. He broke no serious local laws. Squatting, but no drugs were found. He had a gun, but it’s his word against yours about the other day. The DA has been contacted, and he’ll likely be transferred to Los Angeles.”

  “What was going on?” Pepper wondered. “Why was he tied up?”

  “When they approached the cabin, two men—we’re still trying to determine what they were doing there—were apparently preparing to torture Gus. He won’t press charges against them. Maybe you can get him to talk, Harold.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because he could be your father?” Pepper nudged him. “And if he is your dad, what he’s been up to all these years.”

  ****

  Harold sat in a cubby just like the ones in the movies, and stared at the handset on the dividing wall. A layer of filth prompted him to dig for a tissue to hold between his mouth and the handset’s speaker. A bell rang, and he expected Gus to sit across from him. But without the beard, his hair washed and combed back, all his doubts flew out the very high window barred against the clear blue sky. The man was without a doubt Walter Donaldson. His father.

  “You have to believe me, son. I didn’t kill your mom.”

  So many conflicting emotions, not to mention questions, swirled through Harold’s head and he realized he’d missed half the things this man had said in the first few minutes after he sat down. He switched the handset to his good ear. This was all happening so fast. “If you didn’t kill her, then why did you disappear as soon as she died? Gus—whatever your name is—I was all alone. Grandma did everything she could to convince me you were of the devil and that mom was miserable with you. What with your mental problems and all the drinking, your cockamamie inventions, get-rich-quick schemes, and then you’d disappear for days—”

  “Now wait just a minute.” Gus, AKA Walter, peered at him through the glass. “I was onto something and you know it.” He talked as if Harold was a co-conspirator.

  “What the hell do I know about it?”

  Walter looked around. “The object I gave you in the park.” He half winked.

  Harold squinted at him. The Kaleidoscope. “That was you? You
were also the homeless guy? What do you mean, you gave me a kal—”

  “Shh!” Walter’s hand flew up, cautioning him to stop. “Don’t say it. We are being listened to.” He twisted his chin sideways, giving Harold the eerie feeling the guy was as crazy as Grandma Destiny said. “Took me decades to get the object perfected. Didn’t you notice it has…” Eyes shifting side to side, he formed his words one at a time. “Certain qualities?”

  Harold was losing his patience with this nut job. “What does all this have to do with my mom’s death? If you didn’t kill her, then how do you explain your car being involved? The LeBaron?” Anger rose within. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were before now?”

  “Because I didn’t want them to harm you as well.”

  He really was paranoid.

  Walter waited for a guard to pass, then continued. “I loved your mom, she was everything to me. I would never harm her. Or you, son. They were onto me. That’s all I can say about it. For now.”

  Who were they? “What about the drinking?” Prepared for another excuse or wacky answer, Harold expected denial.

  “Not proud of that, but I’m eight years sober. Started going to AA, and I ain’t…haven’t taken a drink since.”

  Harold had a million more questions. “Who’s after you, why am I in danger? Who are they?” He realized something that could be worse. “Is Pepper in danger? What about Morrie? Are my friends in danger as well?”

  A bell sounded, echoing in Harold’s damaged ear.

  “I gotta go.” Walter rushed to finish. “I kept a journal. I wrote down all my suspicions, all my research. I kept details about the people who are responsible for your mom’s death but it wasn’t…no Katzenjammers.” He flicked his glance toward the guard, who was striding over. “And that day in the park wasn’t the first time we saw each other. Be careful, Harold, they’re everywhere. Do not trust anyone. No one.” He chattered quickly. “It’s got rubber bands around it, real thick, made of—”

  The guard swiped the handset from his dad and replaced it in the cradle. Harold was pretty sure Walter mouthed “leather” before walking out ahead of the burly guard. Harold replaced his own handset, his ear throbbing, his mind racing.

  What was so special about the ’scope, and who would kill to get it? No Katzenjammers?

  ****

  “What did he say?” Pepper was anxiously waiting when he came out. She sobered when she saw Harold’s expression and grabbed his hand. “Tell me what he said.”

  “Gus is my dad, Pepper.” Harold recounted as much as he could recall from the confusing conversation. She didn’t start the car, they just sat in the parking lot, going over all that had happened. “He told me there was something about the ’scope that people are willing to kill each other for.”

  “Oh my god.” Pepper let out a long breath. “Because it can tell the future?”

  He stared at her. “It can, can’t it?”

  She ran her hands around the steering wheel. The interior of the car was heating up in the afternoon sun. “What makes it work, Harry? What did your dad put in it?”

  “I know one way to find out. As soon as we get back, I’m taking it apart and finding out, even if I have to break it into tiny little pieces.”

  ****

  Harold hadn’t fully appreciated his perfect recall for numbers since college, but when he took apart the Kaleidoscope and it lay in pieces on his kitchen table, he knew the one number he had to call. His kitchen table cleared off, he laid out a clean bedsheet, and lined up each part until he had the ’scope into its smallest parts. From the metal tubing to the bits of colored glass, polished and gleaming, a mechanism to stop the shapes, and the viewing ends. Pepper had watched, and they inspected each bit for the clue as to what caused the magic.

  “Rhashan, this is Harold. Donaldson. From work.”

  Pepper held a magnifying glass over a section of the copper tubing.

  “How you doin’, Harold?” Rhashan melodied. “You’ve made quite a stir at work.”

  “Oh?” He hadn’t hung up on him. Maybe the news hadn’t gotten to Rhashan yet that Harold was about to lose him his job.

  “When you ran out of de interview. Is everything all right?

  “Yes, it was something I had to take care of. Say, buddy.” The term felt odd on Harold’s tongue. Walter’s warning to trust no one replayed in his mind, but Harold needed information, and fast. “I’m sorry to call you at home…I recalled your phone number from your application form I helped you with. This is something I can’t really speak about at work.”

  “No worries, mon, how can I help?”

  “Do you…can I—is it a good time if we come by your house? I need to ask your wife some questions.”

  “Leesa? I guess it’s okay. Mind if I ask why?”

  “I’d rather not say yet. Until we get there.” Harold usually avoided being so cryptic but worried about being heard by the wrong people. “Is fifteen minutes okay?”

  In a few minutes, they hurried to Pepper’s car, and Harold checked for anyone following them. In a flash, Harold realized the irony.

  The moment he’d dreaded all his life had finally arrived. He was now acting as paranoid as his father.

  ****

  Rhashan opened the door of a small bungalow, and showed Pepper and Harold to a well-worn couch. “Leesa is just putting Dante to bed. She’ll be out soon. Would you like a cold drink?”

  “That would be nice.” Pepper had been patiently by Harold’s side all afternoon, only excusing herself once to walk Glenda and feed her dinner.

  “Thanks for sticking with this.” He was glad they were alone.

  “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t miss finding out what’s inside that thing for the world.” Pepper wiggled a sparse brow at him. “It’s like we’re in some kind of adventure movie all of a sudden.”

  The lingering scents of something grilled for dinner reminded Harold of his own hunger. Bright pictures of island scenes galleried one wall, and bookshelves filled with texts and classics lined another. Clustered between the leather spines were geodes, rocks, and gems in various sizes and shapes. A window unit churned cool air into the small space.

  Rhashan came back in with two glasses, followed by the woman Harold recognized from the photo. “I brought a plate of Leesa’s brownies. She makes dem gluten free.”

  After the introductions, Leesa sat down on the arm of a chair next to her husband. “Rhashan said you have a question for me?”

  “Yes.” Harold expected the brownie to be taste-free as well, but it went down nicely with the refreshing tea. He swallowed. “I understand you’re an expert in crystals.”

  Rhashan patted his wife’s knee. “She’s putting the finishing touches on her thesis.”

  “I told Harold they are believed to have healing powers,” Pepper told her. “But you are obviously the expert.”

  Leesa regarded Pepper. “How are you doing, dear? I pray you’re in good health now?”

  “I’ve had some setbacks, but I’m doing well, thanks.” She lifted her scarf. “I’m cancer free for now, but still wearing these until the hair’s grown back.”

  Leesa gently patted her hand. “We’re so glad to know that.” Eyes the color of the sky regarded Harold. “Does this have to do with the Kaleidoscope?”

  “Go ahead and show her,” Pepper prompted him.

  Harold pulled the tissue from his pocket and opened it. He handed her the clear crystal that had been nestled inside the ’scope.

  Leesa palmed it. “This may be an industrial diamond.” She picked up a headband magnifier and slipped it on to examine the gem.

  “What does this have to do with the ’scope?” Rhashan asked.

  “It was inside.” Harold watched Leesa turn the crystal over. “I brought the other bits, but I think they’re just glass.” He removed the top of the tiffin Pepper loaned him to carry them in.

  She laid out the gems, and sorted through. “Tell me more about this Kaleidoscope. From what Rhashan
tells me it appears to have mystical properties.”

  Harold told her what he found inside, and about the visions.

  “These are just glass.” She held one up to the light. “Beautiful colors, but just glass.”

  “We want to know how it shows people images.” Pepper’s tone dropped. “I saw my own grave.”

  Harold remembered something else. “It warms up. I thought it was just me. But I think it really heats up on its own.”

  “And Rhashan saw…then it’s coming true.” Leesa’s remark almost missed arriving at Harold’s one good ear, but Pepper repeated her hushed comment.

  “What’s coming true?”

  “What is, babe?” Rhashan watched his wife searching the titles of the books. “What’s come true?”

  “Have you ever heard of scrying?” Leesa ran a finger down the spines.

  “Isn’t that like seeing the future?” Pepper said.

  “There’s a belief that dates back centuries.” Leesa paused, and selected a leather-bound volume. “It’s of Celtic origin, I believe.” She flipped hastily through yellowed leaves of an index, and then started turning pages. “That’s what the seer is doing. The popular expression is ‘gazing into a crystal ball,’ but the technical term for seeing the future is ‘scrying.’ ”

  Harold shifted forward from a deep spot in the sofa. “And how is that relevant?” He picked up the gem, heavy for its size.

  “I’m not sure exactly. There are a couple of ancient prophecies that for generations academics and believers have studied, trying to predict how they will play out. I suppose you could say their crystal balls failed them.” She handed the still opened book to Harold. “Until now perhaps?”

  Harold sneezed from the book’s dust, and they all blessed him. “Until now what?”

  Leesa had drawn out another tome. Her finger hovered over a passage. She had their undivided attention. “Listen to this. ‘Toward the moon, halfway to the sun and back again, the earth will give up its secrets, the joining of the two will unleash answers yet unknown, days yet unlived, secrets yet untold. Together, the intelligence of the unloving, married to the bowels of the crust, will measure up, giving birth to a new creation.’ ”