by Peter Ponzo
It wasn't until later that morning that Bryan remembered about the boxes in the basement - the moving boxes. He was sure they had moved. He had been so shocked to find her back in the apartment that he had completely forgotten about the boxes. He was very forgetful after all, but had he really left the apartment without looking in the bathroom? Even if he did why wasn't she concerned to find him missing when she went back to bed? After all, he had been frantic. Yet she was so relaxed. Why was he so frightened?
The boxes, they moved, they were filled with wicker stuff from the old Jacobs furniture place. She would surely be concerned about that.
"Liz? When I was in the basement I saw a room full of boxes."
Liz looked up from her cereal. She was dressed now and had combed her hair back from her forehead, tied it with a ribbon and it looked quite nice that way; different but nice. She would be leaving for the college soon. Her students were writing their final exams this morning and she would have to sit for three hours wandering the exam room, peering over their shoulders, boring. She had complained about that aspect of her job and now appeared just as bored, sipping her coffee and chewing on the cereal. Unconcerned.
"Yes Bryan ... boxes in the basement?"
"Oh, yes ... cardboard boxes. Uh ... they were filled with baskets, made in New Bamberg - they were all black, the wicker I mean - and hairy."
Liz finished her cereal and ran the tap water over the bowl.
"Liz? Are you listening? Those boxes were filled with wicker baskets; I guess they were wicker. Anyway, they were made in that place, what was it called? That furniture place that made all the wicker stuff?"
"Don't know," she said, wiping the bowl and placing it in a cupboard. "Now, if you'll excuse me I ... have to go to work today. Not like some people." She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. He followed her into the hall where she pulled on her coat and opened the door. "Bryan? Take out the garbage? Today's garbage day, remember?"
The door closed and he stood there, staring at the door. He shook his head and walked to the window as he usually did to watch her get into the car. This was a standard ritual: he would wave and she would wave back, then drive away, flashing the headlights. If he left first, he would do the same. Their teaching schedule and their proximity to the college made it easy to survive on one car. Insurance and maintenance was so expensive that they could save enough for holidays just by keeping only one car. Besides, he preferred to work at home. It was quieter, no students banging on his door, no faculty dropping by to chew the fat. He usually spent at least five hours each day working at the small desk in the corner of the living room. It was a small room but he and Liz each had a desk in the same corner. Hers was neat, his was a mess. He kept explaining that mathematical research didn't lend itself to a clean desk. He needed to scribble constantly on pieces of paper and each scrap was important. His desk probably contained many deep and important mathematical results - buried in those scraps of paper. When the time came he would sift through what she called junk and write another mathematical paper, based entirely upon those scraps.
Where was Liz? She should have left the building by now. He started to turn away from the window when he saw her getting into the car. He waved but she closed the door and drove away. She didn't even flash the headlights. That was very strange; it was an important ritual and she had neglected it. Strange.
***
By late afternoon Liz hadn't come home and Bryan began to pace the room. He had to get to the college before the library closed; during exams it closed early. He walked to the window and looked out. The parking lot was empty and the spot by the front door where they parked their car still had the rectangle of black asphalt where the car had stood during the light overnight snowfall. Where was she? The college was only - how many blocks away? Maybe less than twenty. He could walk; he would walk. Bryan pulled on his coat, stepped into the hall and locked the door behind him.
When he reached the first floor he paused and looked at the door to the basement. It was slightly open, as he had left it. Maybe he should carry one of those boxes up to his apartment, to show Liz when she came home. She would see immediately that these were the baskets made from the old willow tree. Someone had bought a huge supply of them. Why?
He pulled the door open and peered down into the darkness. Maybe he should wait until Liz could join him. They could investigate together. Was he afraid? Of course not - it was just that it was easier to have Liz walk to the basement than to carry a box up five flights of stairs. Six flights, if you count the basement stairs. He closed the door and started toward the front exit. Stupid. They were small boxes. They were small baskets. Five, even six flights of stairs was nothing. He could do it two-stairs-at-a-time, even carrying a box.
Besides, Liz was pregnant and shouldn't climb stairs unnecessarily.
He walked back to the basement stairs and pushed the switch just inside the door. The light came on, but it seemed even dimmer down there than before. He walked down the stairs, slowly. The room in the far corner, the room which had the boxes, the light wasn't on any more. Had he turned it off this morning? Couldn't be ... he didn't even know where the switch was located for that room. He walked to the room and reached inside the door, feeling the wall for a switch.
Something wrapped itself about his wrist and he drew in his breath and pulled his hand up and suddenly the light came on. His hand was tangled in a piece of yellow cord which hung from the ceiling, down the wall, by the light switch. The floor was covered in yellow cords, the same cords that had tied the boxes, but the boxes were gone.
Bryan stood for several minutes, staring at the empty room. Had he dreamed all this? Of course not. Somebody had removed the boxes. Who? The building was empty, except for him and Liz. Was that club moving in? Were members of the club storing boxes filled with wicker baskets? What kind of club was it anyway?
***
It took less than thirty minutes to get to the college and he felt invigorated. The air was nippy, his nose was cold and his ears were red but he felt good. He really should walk more often. When he reached Stanton Hall he stepped over the cigarette butts, walked through the door and punched the elevator button. When the door opened J. D. Kalbisch stepped out looking very cheerful.
"Morning, Jim," Bryan said.
The head of the mathematics department looked at his watch and smiled. "Afternoon, Bryan," he said, then headed for the exit, pulling a box of cigarettes from his pocket. The no-smoking policy recently in effect sent many of the faculty to that exit. If you wanted to talk to the department head that was a good place to go, even if you didn't smoke.
Bryan went directly to the fourth floor where the library was located, signed out the book then headed up to his office. He phoned Liz at the apartment, but again there was no answer. He phoned the secretary of the English Department. Had she seen Liz today? No. Her mail hadn't been touched either. Bryan turned on the microcomputer and absentmindedly ran his finger across the screen. It was dusty. He turned it off again, staring at the bright dot slowly fading.
Where was Liz? He left his office and headed home. It wasn't until he turned onto King Street that he remembered that he had forgotten the library book; it was still in his office. It could wait. Finding Liz was more important. Besides, he couldn't concentrate on things mathematical, not now.
When he walked up the driveway he noticed the sign above the entrance. It still said simply WILLOW. He and Liz had joked about it; not WILLOW TOWERS, just WILLOW. The new owners were still thinking about the second word. Why would they call it TOWERS anyway? The ten story building certainly couldn't be described as TOWERS. Certainly not in the plural anyway. Michael Colby sure had some imagination and maybe some ego. Bryan opened the front door and stepped in. As usual the lock wasn't working and he didn't need a key to the front door. He looked back; Liz's car still wasn't there. He walked slowly up the stairs, pausing at the door to Mrs. Perkins apartment, shuddered, then continued. Whe
n he reached his apartment it was quiet. He missed Porgy. The little dog had always greeted him, even before he opened the door. When he died, shortly after Liz moved in, Bryan was heartbroken. Now he was alone. The apartment seemed so quiet. He felt sorry for the bachelors in the faculty. All alone, every night.
Where was Liz?
He jumped as the phone rang. Liz! Finally! She was probably stuck somewhere, out of gas. Maybe she went shopping in Baden City. But she had an exam today, didn't she?
"Hello? Mr. Bryan Brubacher?" came the soft voice on the phone.
"Brubacher? No, I'm afraid you have the wrong ... wait. Brubacher did you say? This is Bryan Laker. Did you ask for Bryan Brubacher?"
"Oh, sorry Mr. Laker. I just thought - well, you left a note with us - about Mr. Brubacher. Oh, sorry - I guess I should say this is the Moss Hill Nursing Home. You left a note asking to be called if Mr. Brubacher started to talk. You signed it Bryan . I just assumed - well -"
"You mean Mr. Brubacher is talking?"
"Yes sir. He's talking a blue streak. Can't keep the old ... uh, the gentleman quiet. Just talks a blue streak and -"
"What's he saying? Does it make any sense?"
"Well, we've had this problem before ... I mean, talking about a willow tree. He has a bad case of ... uh, well, he keeps talking about his willow tree."
"You mean he has the willow woggles?"
"Why yes, Mr. Brubacher - how did you know?" The nurse giggled once. "Anyway, I found your note in his file. You asked to be called, so there you are," she said curtly. "Visiting hours are from 9 to 3 every day except Sunday. On Sunday the hours are -"
Bryan put the phone back on the hook. Liz should be here now. Old man Brubacher was talking. That was just great ... or was it? Why did he care? They were moving out of this crazy building in a couple of weeks. The willow thing was over and done with. The roots under Willow Walk, the death of Mrs. Perkins, the diary on the tenth floor, the willow tree on Dune Road, the disappearance of Sam Jaffre, the strange apparition at Sam's house that night, the boxes in the basement, the noises in the night, the mysterious note asking them, warning them to leave.
It was all over and done with. Soon they would move out and forget.
Where was Liz?
CHAPTER 21
Willow Circle
It was late; past 11 o'clock in the evening. Liz still hadn't come home. He called the police at 9:30 and they said they would keep a lookout for her car. He had the feeling that they weren't concerned. How many calls did they get about missing wives? Bryan chewed on the piece of summer sausage and stared at the kitchen floor. Sam was missing, now Liz was missing. They should have moved out of Willow Towers sooner - much sooner. It was his fault. He should have insisted. What should he do now? What could he do now?
His life had changed drastically since meeting Liz - for the better. He could still recall his days in High School, with few friends, hearing about the parties the day after, but never being invited. He must be a boring individual. Why did Liz marry him? Did she see something in him that others didn't? Now his life revolved about his wife. He couldn't imagine doing anything, going anywhere, making any decision without her. Just deciding on the colour of the carpet or what to pack for a picnic lunch was exciting. They did everything together.
Yet she had been gone for hours and had not told him where she was going. That wasn't like Liz.
He finished the last slice of Noah’s sausage. It was really great sausage, smoky, tasty, made nearby in the Mennonite community of Hawksville. He and Liz drove there several times each year to buy it right from Noah himself. Noah was now, what? Over eighty perhaps. Great sausage.
After putting the plate in the sink along with the breakfast dishes - he had skipped lunch - he left the apartment and walked slowly down the stairs. Who could he talk to? What should he do? Liz always knew what to do. Where was she?
He walked out into the dark night, down the driveway, turned the corner onto King Street, then stopped. He was freezing. He hadn't taken a coat and it was cold. He rubbed his hands, turned back to the apartment building then saw the lights in the window; a first floor window, at the front left of the building.
Bryan walked to the window. It was just above his line of sight so he looked around for something to stand on and saw several concrete blocks by the side of the building. He pulled them beneath the window, piled them one on top of the other and rubbed his hands, now red from the cold.
Why was he looking in through somebody's window? Whose window? There was no one living in the building except he and Liz.
Then he heard a humming from inside the building and saw the lights shimmer.
Had someone moved in? Was he just being nosy? What if he were looking into a bathroom window and somebody was in the tub. He paused, rubbed his hands and looked around. No. This must be the living room window, just like his apartment. Besides, if someone had moved in surely he would have noticed it, noticed the moving truck, the commotion.
The humming got louder and the glow from the window created crazy shadows on the trellis of what remained of Willow Walk.
He stepped onto the blocks and eased himself to the window, holding steady with his hands against the cold wall. He could barely see over the sill. There were dark shapes against the glowing light and they were moving, slowly. He put his chest against the wall and cupped his hands over his eyes, leaning forward, squinting into the window. There were several dark shapes, all standing, all swaying, people swaying and humming. Somebody was on a table, standing and moving back and forth. It was a woman and she was – naked, except … except she was covered in black streaks, her slim body painted in spirals of black starting at her feet and spinning in an uncertain line around her legs, her hips, her waist, spiralling about her breasts and neck. Her hair fell in a wild tangle about her shoulders and her face - her eyes, they were blood-red, flaming, piercing. The others, they were standing in a circle about the table, their hands raised, humming, their bodies swaying.
***
Cassandra moaned as Ahriman mounted her, rising in a dark shadow that encircled her naked body, rising as a tree with serpentine branch, to probe, to devour, to protect. She raised her arms and The Friends of Willow began the dance, swaying and humming, a nurse, a man of the cloth, a giver of life, a guardian of the law, a teacher of truth, a builder, a woman of council, they sang in low voice.
Ahriman, Prince of Darkness, hear this prayer.
Take from us these souls defiled.
Return to us our sister, Willow.
Renewal and life - soul of Willow.
Prince of the Night, we ask in thy name.
Then the dancing stopped ... and they looked to the dark figure at the window.
***
Bryan held his breath, clinging to the sill of the window. There were at least eight shadowy figures. One was closest - a man. The circle of bodies began to rotate about the woman on the table. He could barely make out their faces. Then they stopped, abruptly, and the man looked directly at the window.
My God! It's Sam Jaffre!
Bryan fell backward off the blocks and hit the ground, hard. He rolled over and moaned softly. Sam Jaffre? Was it possible? The blocks had tumbled in disarray and he stood up, uncertainly, stared at the blocks then at the window. The light was gone now and the window was dark. He looked to the front of the building, backing slowly away from the wall. Maybe he should go, leave. But was that Sam Jaffre?
He placed the blocks beneath the window again, carefully, slowly, silently. His hands were trembling as he pulled himself against the wall, lifting his hands to hold the sill then pulling himself vertical, his face rising above the sill, looking into the dark window.
Many faces stared at him, right through the window, and one came forward, a face with eyes that glowed, staring directly into his face.
He fell back, scrambled to his feet and began to run. First toward the apartment, then he turned and headed down the d
riveway.
That face! It was Liz!
***
He didn't stop running until he reached the college campus. He collapsed, exhausted, just inside the door to the math building. He sat there, on the floor, holding his head in his hands.
"Professor Laker? Is there anything wrong? Are you ill?"
Bryan looked up, his face white, eyes dancing wildly. The student backed away.
"Wrong? No ... I'm okay. I'm okay."
He got to his feet and wandered to the elevator. He needed to think. He would go to his office - and think. Was that really Liz? Was that really Sam Jaffre? What were they doing? Who was the woman on the table - the woman with the eyes, fiery and red?
He sat in his office for an hour, thinking. The phone rang so loudly that he jumped to his feet, ready to run.
"Bryan? Is that you? Where have you been? I've been worried sick. It's past midnight. What are you doing in the office?"
Liz sounded strange. Was it Liz on the phone? Was that Liz at the window?
"Bryan? What's wrong? Don't tell me you're there pasting together all those scraps of mathematical ingenuity. I'll be there in less than ten minutes. Wait for me at Stanton Hall. Bryan? Are you okay?"
He managed to squeak a response.
"Liz, where were you today? I mean, all day, you were gone all day."
"I had the most wonderful day! I'll tell you all about it when I pick you up. You won't believe what happened to me today. Ten minutes. Okay?"
Then she hung up. He stared at the phone in his hand. That sounded like Liz. What had he seen in the window? The phone began to buzz insistently in his hand and he placed it on the cradle.
He must have been sitting there for some time because the door to his office swung open and Liz walked in, briskly, smiling, her face pink and radiant, her honey-coloured hair falling in random curl to her shoulders.
"You silly man," she cried, putting her arms about his neck and kissing him hard on the lips. "You silly, silly man. I've been going crazy looking for you."
