“Just wait for Julie,” Nancy said.
A Volkswagen Beetle drove by and pulled into a vacant parking spot part way down the block.
“That looks like Robert’s Beetle,” Paul said, as a woman stepped out and headed toward them. “But, that can’t be their daughter,” Paul whispered. “She looks older than Alice.”
The woman walked up to Nancy and extended her hand. “You must be Nancy. I’m Julie, Alice’s daughter.”
Nancy introduced Paul.
“Would you like to go in and see Mom?”
Nancy and Paul nodded.
“Mom will be surprised. You said you met them at Anza-Borrego Desert State Park so I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you She doesn’t get many visitors from there these days.”
“How is your mom holding up? Paul said.
“Well, as I told Nancy, it’s been a long time and time heals. Mom’s ninety-one now, and it’s nineteen years since dad died on February 26, 1984.”
“Nineteen years. No. We saw them just…” Paul said, “It can’t—”
“Here’s mom’s room,” Julie said and motioned for them to go in.
“Mom, I have some guests to see you.”
A grey-haired lady sat in a chair facing the window. She struggled to her feet and with stooped shoulders turned to reveal an age-spotted wrinkled face.
Nancy covered her mouth and let out a little gasp.
The wrinkled face lit up with a broad smile. “Paul, Nancy, I’m so glad you’ve come. Robert said you would.”
Trails
San Francisco
June 7, 2019 – 9:00 pm
Alexia ran the knife across her wrist producing a thin cut, not quite deep enough to produce blood. She flicked her little finger back and forth, pulling on the skin, tempting it to bleed.
I can’t go on like this. It has to end. She looked down at her naked body and touched the knife once again to her wrist. This just can’t go on.
“What are you doing?” a voice called from the bedroom.
She put the knife into the kitchen sink and walked to the bedroom doorway.
A man lay on the bed, naked and blindfolded. “I hear someone. Are you going to have your way with me?”
Alexia said nothing.
He chuckled. “Come on, Ali, get with the game.”
She shook her head and turned back to the kitchen.
Three hours earlier
Alexia Starkey glanced into Mr. Frank Burnet’s office as she walked by. He was still at his desk, and it was almost six, an hour past quitting time. She walked back and took another look. He was packing up. This was a perfect time. Undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse and pulling it slightly open, she turned and walked into Mr. Burnet’s office.
“Mr. Burnet, you finished for the day?”
“Pretty well, but if you need help with something…”
Alexia leaned forward and put her hands on his desk. Her blouse flared. “I thought you might be interested in a drink. There’s a bar, The Sword and Raven, just down the road. No one from the office goes there, so we won’t be bothered.”
She knew that was true. She’d checked it out again last night. It was empty except for Preston, the guy with the weird haircut and the limp, sitting in the corner, smiling like he knew she’d come to him. She’d fought off the urge to go and join him last night, but if Mr. Burnet didn’t come with her tonight, she’d join Preston once again.
She leaned closer to Mr. Burnet. “Well, Frank, how about it?”
“Ah, no. Can’t. Things…got things…I can’t.” He closed his briefcase and scurried out of the office.
What the hell is going on? I don’t understand. I’m good looking—no, great looking. Never lacked dates in high school or college. Are the men in this office…shit, not just this office, but all the offices here in Airport Industrial Park—are they all celibate? And me, two weeks vacation back at the farm, and I didn’t even think of men. But back here in the city, at the office for a few days, and I’m ready to drag every one of them into the storeroom and have my way with them. What the hell’s happening to me?
One week earlier
Preston Brittlethorn looked out from the penthouse office of his eighteen story office tower toward the San Francisco Airport. He could just make out the gold storage tanks with the green Brittlethorn Chemical crest emblazoned on them. He stood and limped over to the ceiling to floor windows for a better view. Although he couldn’t read the words at this distance, he knew that the white lettering under the crest stating “Brittlethorn Chemicals – helping to keep the world green” would be easily seen by anyone driving to the airport.
“Green,” Preston said to the window. “Jumping on that bandwagon made me rich.” His office door opened, and his executive assistant came in with a steaming pot of coffee and a couple of newspapers, and set them on his desk. “More than rich. If they—”
“Sorry, what was that, Mr. Brittlethorn?”
“Oh, nothing Janie. Just commenting to myself on the beautiful view.”
“Yes, it is certainly beautiful.”
“You can see my tanks over there at the airport.”
“Yes, sir, I see them. Will there be anything else?”
He could see her staring at his reflection in the window. Starring at his comb-over. Was she laughing at him like the other women? Laughing at the bald spot that had haunted him since he was a child.
Some disease or gene stunted the growth of the right side of his body, including his face, and rendered the right side of his head bald. The doctors never did figure out why it happened.
Well, if the women didn’t like how he looked, they deserve what they get.
“Yes, Janie, could you call the operations superintendent at the airport and tell him to start using tank six for deliveries again.”
“Yes, right away. Anything else?”
“No, that’s it for now.”
He watched her as she left. She was in her late thirties, quite attractive but unattached. Preston smiled. No interest in me at all. That’s good. Proves that we are far enough away from the flight path of the departing airplanes.
Preston limped back to his desk, poured a cup of coffee and paged through the newspapers. He checked the letters to the editor section. “Hah,” he said. The first letter was about global warming and the end of humankind, and the second was about the government’s use of chem-trails.
Well, if it weren’t for the greenies and the tinfoil hat crowd, I’d never have become rich or had a woman.
From his office, he could see a steady stream of aircraft taking off. Each one using his secret chemical additive to increase power and reduce pollution. That had made him rich, so he accredited his wealth to the greenies. But when the chemical was sourced from tank six which contained an additional additive, anyone in the first few miles under the flight path would be affected by what he nicknamed the Fire-n-Ice Trail. It would fire up the women and ice down the men. He had discovered that special additive many years before but could never figure out a delivery method. That was until he started reading the tinfoil hats theory that the government was spreading mind-control chemicals in the visible condensate trails. What nonsense, the trails were simply water vapor that condensed into clouds when aircraft flew in certain upper atmospheric conditions. Even if there were chemicals in the contrails, they would be so diffuse by the time they reached the ground that they would be useless. But, directly under the flight path at an airport where plane after plane took off, well that was different. That’s where he delivered his Fire-n-Ice Trail.
It would take a couple of days to take effect. Later in the week, he would go down to The Sword and the Raven, the bar situated directly under the flight path, to see if it was working.
He limped back to his desk and took a small pill case out of the center drawer. I mustn’t forget the antidote,or I’ll be like those other guys—useless. He chuckled and popped a couple of small pills.
San Francisco – The Sword and
the Raven
June 7, 2019 – 7:00 pm
Two women entered the bar and let the door swing shut as Alexia approached. She reached for the handle and shuddered at the sight of a newly painted picture on the inside of the glass door. It depicted people laughing and drinking, but the colors had run together, yielding figures with misshapen faces and bodies. Maybe that's why Preston comes here she thought as she pulled on the handle and peekedin. Other than Preston sitting by himself in a dimly lit corner of the bar, only one other table was occupied by a few men. The two women sat down at the men's table. One began running her hands up one of the men's legs. Alexia watched the animated conversation—the women talking to each man in turn, and each man shaking his head—no. The two persisted until the men got up as a group and walked toward the door. Alexia stepped back from the door as the men left.
The women followed at a distance.
“What the hell is wrong with you guys? Not interested in a little fun?” one of the girls shouted.
The other girl nodded. “Let’s head to that bar down south, Jose’s. The men there have a little more fun in them.”
They both laughed, climbed into a small car parked in front of the bar and sped off.
Alexia shrugged. Maybe if I could afford a car, I could do that.
As she pulled the door open, Preston, alone at his usual table in the back, waved her over.
She hesitated, then walked toward him.
“Hi, Ali,” he said, as she approached. “Drink?”
She plopped down. “Sure, then what?” Alexia said. “The usual?”
“Why not. It's fun. We could use the blindfold and you could—”
“What about my drink? I'll have a double Frozen Margarita.”
Preston waved a couple of twenty dollar bills at the bartender who came out from behind the bar and hustled over to their table. “Sir.”
“Double Frozen Margarita for the lady and my usual virgin.” Preston winked, and the bartender's lips curled up a little as he looked at Alexia.
“Virgin Margarita,” the bartender said, as he turned and returned to the bar, weaving his way between empty tables.
Too bad the bartender turned out to be gay, Alexia thought. He’s good looking and muscular.
Preston smiled at her. “Drinks on the way and then the fun begins, right?”
Alexia stared at Preston and said nothing.
The bartender brought the drinks, and they drank in silence. When they finished their drinks, Preston said, “Bad day?”
She shrugged. “Not really, let's get going.”
Preston’s Apartment
June 7, 2019 – 9:10 pm
Alexia held her arms over the sink. Blood dripped from her hands down into the sink. She reached across and switched on the garburator.
“Noooo,” Preston squealed from behind her.
She turned. Preston was leaning against the door jamb clutching his crotch. Blood ran down his legs. Alexia dropped what she was holding into the garburator.
“No, no, noooo…” he shouted. He lurched forward and fell in a crumpled heap. “No, no,” he sobbed.
Alexia rinsed her hands, slipped her dress on over her head and left.
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Not As It Seems Page 5
