My Temporary Life

by Martin Crosbie

  I laugh and without thinking, pull the small ball from my jacket. “It’s a ball, just a little ball. That’s all.” It isn’t until I say it that I realize the stupidity of my remark, and see the police cruiser pulling up beside us.

  “Oh, that’s much better. That makes much more sense,” The woman speaks now, sarcastically, then walks over to the policeman as he gets out of his car.

  I stand silently, not wanting to look away from the man, while the woman speaks to the policeman. Finally, after listening to her and nodding in a tired way, he motions for me to walk towards him. The man shadows me, watching my every step. “Do you have some identification on you sir?” The officer speaks with an official tone.

  I pull out my wallet and hand it to him, thinking that it’s better not to speak.

  “Our school monitors here, tell me that you were asking elementary school kids for directions. Is that correct Mr Malcolm Wilson? Is that what you were doing?” He pronounces every syllable in my name, as he reads it from my driver’s licence.

  “Yes, I’m lost. I said that. I did have a map, but it must have blown away. I just wanted some help. I’m sorry if I caused any confusion.” I try to appear exasperated, as though I’m being inconvenienced, but he can see that I’m worried, all of them can.

  “You’re on foot, Mr Wilson.” I can’t tell if he’s asking me, or telling me, as he keeps holding onto my licence, staring at it.

  I look up and down the empty road, seeing no sign of the rental car, or Heather, and feeling very alone. I nod quietly back to the three of them, as they stand watching me, acknowledging that yes, I am on foot.

  The burly officer stares at me for a moment, trying to measure the situation. Then, he holds the back door of his car open and says something that I’ve only ever heard on television, “Get in. Let’s take a ride.”

  I reluctantly climb into the back seat and let him close the door behind me. He shakes his head in silent dismay and nods his thanks to the man and woman. They just stand there and watch us as he gets into the front seat to take me to the police station.

  CHAPTER 22

  I feel nauseous as I sit in the small interview room. I’m frustrated and tired but I know that I’ve done nothing. It’s a small town and I’m sure they aren’t used to strange men walking around school grounds, but I know that I haven’t broken any laws. I had a small ball in my pocket, that’s not against the law anywhere. I tried to speak to some of the little girls. That’s not against the law either. They’re being careful. They’re just being careful and I haven’t done anything wrong.

  After taking my belongings and identification to have it checked out the officer comes back only once. I suppose to make sure that I’m still there. The station, from what I see when I’m led in through the back door, is small, but seems to have all the modern equipment that any other big city office might have.

  I try to remember the name of Terry’s lawyer, just in case they find some way to lay a charge against me. I met him at one of Terry’s summer parties, the same summer parties that now seem so far away. I wonder if it’s appropriate to ask to call him now, or wait until they decide whether or not to charge me. I think of calling Terry, telling him everything, or George, telling him to get on a plane and get out here. Get out here and help me straighten everything out. I wonder about Heather, where she is, why she didn’t stay. I know that she must have had a reason. Something must have happened to make her leave me there. I don’t know much about the police and I don’t know anything about small-town police but instinctively I think that my best plan is to not talk, and to give them as little information as possible. I’m just about to stand up, when the door opens, and the first officer comes in with an older man, who looks official, senior.

  “Malcolm, you don’t mind if I call you Malcolm do you? I’m Staff Sergeant Macklin. I’ll get right to the point. What are you doing here? What are you doing in Woodbine? And, more importantly, what were you doing in the schoolyard?” He wastes no time, leaning forward on the desk that separates us, asking his questions in a friendly, almost familiar, tone.

  I’d made a deal with myself as I sat waiting for the officer to come back. I decided that I’d keep Heather’s secret, our secret, for as long as I could. I decided that I wouldn’t say her name, or Emily’s, but if I heard the sound of a cell door closing behind me, I’d tell them everything. If that did happen, I thought the worst case scenario would be that they might be understanding, and perhaps even help us find the little girl, or at least tell us if she still lived there.

  “I’m travelling, just passing through. I told the officer this already. I’m staying at the motel out by the highway. It’s the Blue something.” I speak in my genuinely frustrated and tired voice.

  “The Bluebird, yes, you’re registered there, Malcolm. Go on,” Macklin says it in a quiet way, as though he’s a great detective solving an important crime.

  “I took a walk, tried to find my bearings, and got lost. I was going to ask someone for directions, anyone. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that I was in a schoolyard. I was just lost. That’s all.” I’d had hours, sitting in the interview room, trying to think of what I was going to say, and it sounded plausible in my head when I thought it out. It sounded like it made sense, right up until I said it.

  The first officer stays quiet, seeming to measure my reactions, while Macklin keeps asking his questions. “The ball Malcolm, why were you carrying the little ball? Were you going to play with the children?”

  He asks his question in a way that makes me want to leap out of my chair, and grab him and push him against the wall. The quiet insinuations from the other officer, the way the man and woman in the park looked at me, patronized me, and now Macklin’s blatant attempt to bait me into admitting to something that isn’t true. I hold the arms of the chair very tightly, and watch as the two of them confidently sit there, judging me.

  “I found it. It was lying in the park. I picked it up, and then forgot about it. I didn’t even realize it was in my pocket.” I lie, all the while staring at Macklin’s face, daring him to doubt me. It’s as though my anger is propelling me forward. “Now gentlemen, I’ve been very patient with you. I realize that you have a job to do, but by now you must have checked me out, and found that I’ve never been in any kind of trouble. So, I would ask that if you don’t have any more questions, I’d like to go home.”

  They don’t budge. It probably only takes seconds, but feels much longer, and I can feel a small drop of sweat, dripping slowly, from my forehead. They just keep looking at me, and then Macklin smiles. “This is a small town, Malcolm, and as you saw from our concerned monitors earlier, we look out for each other here. So, I suggest that you do go home, all the way back home to Vancouver. And, if I see you near that school again, I will charge you. And, I can guarantee you that charge will not be one that a good businessman like yourself will want following you around. Is that clear, Malcolm?”

  The first officer stands up and opens the door, and as I nod, I hold my anger back and walk towards them. When I make my way to walk to the left, back the way we had come in, to the back door of the police station, Macklin speaks again. “Out the front door please, Malcolm, out to the entrance on the main street. You have nothing to hide, do you?”

  I turn and walk past the closed office doors, as a couple of other officers, who’re sitting at their desks, look up at me, probably trying to memorize my face. I hold my head high, staring straight ahead, and make my way out to the lobby. The officer at the front pushes my wallet towards me on the counter. As I turn and walk to the front door, I notice the officers’ pictures, all lined up on the wall with their names on small placques below them. I don’t let them see my reaction when I quickly glance at the picture that’s at the top, above the rest of them. The resemblance to Heather is uncanny. I let the heavy door close behind me and I wait until I’m outside, before fully realizing that the plaque below the picture, with the distinguished looking senior officer looking sternly
into the camera says, ‘Inspector John Postman, Commanding Officer.’

  My usually perfect navigation system is off from being too tired, too hungry, and I take two wrong turns before I realize that I’m walking in the wrong direction. Eventually, I find my way back to the main street of the town, to where we’d driven the night before. I have to get to Heather, find out what happened, but my hunger gets the better of me, so when I pass a small corner store, I stop and pick up an apple and a sandwich.

  I walk fast, back down the road towards the highway, and our motel, trying to stay warm in the cold night air, trying not to think about where I spent the past few hours. As I get closer to the motel, I picture the rental car, sitting in front of our door. I visualize it, hoping that it’s there. I’m close enough to see that the lights in our room are off, and that there is no car, before I realize that Heather has the key to our room.

  Claude is sitting on an old chair in the office, sipping on a drink, when I come in. His thick, grey hair is again ruffled and unruly, and the smell of alcohol and tobacco fills the whole room. “You’re a popular man today, Mr Malcolm. Had two different cops here looking for you.”

  “It’s been a long, long day. I’m sorry, but I don’t seem to have my key. Can you let me in my room please, Claude?” I ask him, plead with him. I just need somewhere that I can go and think.

  He slowly takes another sip of his drink, and pauses, as though wondering what he’s going to say next. “I need to tell you that the last thing the old lady and me need is somebody staying here who’s going to cause us trouble. We’re respected here, upstanding citizens.”

  He pronounces the words as though it’s funny to him that he’s respected anywhere. I’m too tired and frustrated to follow where he’s going. I stand in the doorway, glancing over to our door, wondering where Heather is. “What did the cops want, Claude?”

  He looks at me as though I’ve asked him something that’s really funny. “That’s what I’m trying to explain to you, Mr. Malcolm. I know cops. I’ve always known cops, and I don’t want to know them anymore.”

  He pauses, looking at me directly for the first time, and then sighs. “I don’t tell cops nothing that they don’t need to know. I don’t know what they wanted with you, but whatever it is they’re not getting it from me.”

  I start to thank him, and then see the calculating look in his eye. I let him have his moment and wait for him to try and close the deal. “All of a sudden you’ve become a high risk occupant, Mr. Malcolm. I believe that this particular situation entails what is commonly referred to as a small surcharge.” He says it smugly, confidently.

  I pull some bills from my wallet, and quietly hand them to him. “Can you open my door now please, Claude?”

  “It’s open. I didn’t lock it after the last cop left, the one that was on his own. He wanted to look around in there.” He quickly pockets my money as he says it.

  For a split second, I think of punching Claude, in his drunk, conniving, head, and taking back my money. I think about aiming for the wall behind his head and driving my fist through him. I know that my anger isn’t really with him though. He’s just an old time hustler, trying to take advantage of a situation. And, it’s a long way to the next town, and the next motel, especially with no car. So, I turn and walk away, leaving him with his little victory.

  The room looks just as we left it that morning, with both our suitcases lined up beside each other. I look in the bathroom, the drawers, the cupboards, trying to find a note or some trace of Heather, trying to see if she’s been back. If the cops did look through our things, then they put everything back the way it was before. They were very careful, very tidy. It looks as though nothing has been disturbed. I walk back into the parking lot, thinking I’ll see something, some sign of her. There are no other cars, no other people. The highway is quiet with just the occasional vehicle speeding by. The office light is off now and all I can see is the glow of a lamp, coming from the back of the house, where Claude is probably holding my money in one hand, and his drink in the other, laughing alongside his girlfriend.

  I pick up the phone that’s on the table beside the bed. It rings several times before he picks it up. “Mr. Malcolm, did you think that surcharge included room service?” He cackles so loudly at his own joke that I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

  “Claude, the woman that was with me, when was she here today? Did she come back? Did you see her leave?”

  There’s a long pause. He must be taking a pull from his drink, or thinking of a way to extort a further surcharge from me. “There was no woman. There was you, and then two cops earlier, then one by himself, later. That’s all I saw.”

  “The woman that checked in with me; we talked about her; you asked me about her, remember? Did she come back to the room? She would have been driving our rental car, Claude. You would have seen her.”

  He answers right away. “I told you already, Malcolm. I didn’t see a woman.”

  I give up. I hang up the phone, realizing that he probably didn’t see Heather at all. I was so careful hiding her and helping her come into the room undetected. I walk around the room once more, lifting up her suitcase, checking everywhere, looking again for a note, or some trace of her. I check the garbage can in the bathroom. I lift up the television set. I open and close the drawers again but there’s nothing. Nothing.

  I open my suitcase and search around for a minute before I finally find the cellular phone that Terry gave me. I try turning the power on. I push every button on the front, waiting for the little light to activate. I push the volume control on the sides, trying to power the little phone to life. Finally, I pull off the back and see that the battery is missing. I try to remember if I put the battery in the phone before leaving Vancouver. I can’t remember. I throw the phone back into the suitcase and collapse on the bed.

  I’ve been asleep for some time when, suddenly, I’m awake, wide awake. There’s a small gap between the curtains on the front window. The light from the street is streaming through it and shines on enough of her face for me to know that it’s her. She’s sitting on the chair, facing the bed, quiet, as though she’s been sitting there for a while watching me. I don’t panic. I sit up and try to wipe the sleep from my eyes, try to focus.

  “You grind your teeth when you sleep. Did you know that?”

  I remain silent, watching her.

  “You grind your teeth, and sometimes make a little sound. Then, you make another sound that sounds like you’re making an apology for the first sound. I could have heard that sleep on a tape recorder, and known that it was you.” She laughs softly, in a nice way. It’s the same warm laugh that I loved when she first mistook me for a banker, back at the party.

  I wait, still. There’s no point in asking the questions. She knows what they are already. I just pause, knowing that she’s come back, so there has to be answers.

  She laughs again, nervously this time. “I feel like we’re back at the lake, when I first told you about Emily. There are no stars this time though that I can make you look up at. No stars.”

  I get out of bed and stand up and stretch. I pass her on my way to the bathroom and I’m not sure if I want to hold her, or hold onto her until she tells me everything that she knows. She tenses up as I make my way past.

  The water from the bathroom sink is cold in my hands and feels good as I splash it onto my face and drink it. She hasn’t moved when I sit back down on the other side of the bed. The clock radio on the side table says one thirty a.m. “Where have you been, Heather?”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that at the police station, Malcolm. It wasn’t fair. When I saw those people coming towards you, I knew that I couldn’t stay. I’m sorry. I just left. I had to.”

  I watch her, believe her. She slouches over. I still can’t see all of her face in the half darkness, but I keep listening.

  “I went to the library. I didn’t want to come back here alone. I took a chance that I wouldn’t be noticed, and
it worked. It was good. I saw something there. I remembered something.” She sits up straight now, looking right at me and that’s when I notice it. There’s a mark on the side of her face. I see it in the light as she meets my eyes, looks at me.

  I lean forward, trying to touch her face, trying to touch the mark. “What is that? What happened to you?”

  She touches it quickly, and pulls away, as though just remembering it. “It’s nothing. I saw someone I thought I knew, and left the library quickly, and walked into a door. It was stupid, no big deal.” She turns her head to hide it, dismissing it, wanting to continue her story. “Listen to me, Malcolm. I know how to get closer to her. The schools have a library day, every Thursday and Friday. That’s tomorrow. Tomorrow is Thursday. I saw the sign on the wall when I was there. I remember now. I went there as a kid too, every week, one day a week was library day.”

  I keep looking at her, trying to see the lump on the side of her face, trying to understand.