Incident At Elder Creek

by Anna Furtado

  THE MEETING WENT well. The crowd participated enthusiastically, but since their numbers were smaller than the previous meeting, Leah only gave out half of the character study sheets she compiled. The people who took them articulated their enthusiasm about playing their parts and it pleased Tucker.

  When she asked if anyone heard any information about the mine access key, people stared at one another or shook their heads. A couple of people said they spread the word, but no one knew who might be in possession of the key. The consensus expressed was maybe no one did. Of course, Tucker knew better from Leah’s conversation with those students from her school. They wouldn’t get anywhere regarding the key tonight. Tucker knew it, so she adjourned the meeting.

  “I hesitated to bring up the key again,” Tucker said. “I thought someone might ask when the engineering company would be here for the inspection. I don’t want the information out there. Better they should come for the initial look first. Then we’ll announce what’s happening when we have a better idea of the timeline involved. They said it might take a few weeks after the first visit before starting the actual inspection, especially if they need to bring equipment in.”

  “Well, it looks like you’re going to have to get a very large bolt cutter to get into the place,” Jackie said.

  “What about a locksmith?” Leah asked. “Maybe someone can pick the lock for you.”

  “I guess it’s a possibility,” Tucker said. “I’ll look into it. Although I’m not sure I want the locksmith from Portero to come over here and get into our business. I might have to look for someone farther out. Going out of town is going to cost more. And I have a feeling it can’t be any old locksmith. It probably needs to be someone who specializes in antique locks.”

  “Well, in that case, you might have to cross that bridge—or should I say, open the door, unlock the lock, when you come to it.”

  Jackie and Leah laughed at the pun. Tucker didn’t. The door to Leah’s bedroom loomed in her mind. The numbers appeared. Then she heard the faint whisperings of the word again.

  Forget.

  “Speaking of doors,” Tucker said, “I’ve got something to share with you two.”

  “Something about doors?” Leah said.

  “That’s right,” Tucker said.

  “Come back to the bar,” Jackie said. “I need to get back on duty.”

  Tucker didn’t want to talk about her experience and discuss what it might mean in public. “Come back to Leah’s for a few minutes. It won’t take long.”

  Jackie considered the request. “Okay, but I can only stay a few minutes.”

  Leah said, “Let’s take my car. It’s parked beside The Charlie.”

  They walked to Leah’s car, piled in, and drove to Leah’s. Once they were settled in the living room, now with Tucker’s bags and belongings stacked in a corner, Tucker told the story of the door and the numbers and her theory it might be an address. She left out the part of Leah in a négligée and her form changing into Nigel Dunbar, convinced it wouldn’t add any information, and it struck her as a little too personal to share with either of them right now. Personal—and still kind of creepy—thinking about it again. Maybe she’d never share it.

  When she told them she searched for any Elder Creek street with an 1873 address and turned up nothing, Leah suggested they try Portero. They said good night to Jackie before they retired to Leah’s office to do the search online.

  THE LIGHT OF the laptop screen illuminated their faces as they sat in the darkened office at the front of the house.

  “How did you look up the address information for Elder Creek?” Leah asked.

  “I found this site called Melissa Data.” You can put in an address number without a street, and as long as you include a zip code, it returns a list of street addresses for the zip. I tried it with the address of this house and it worked fine. It also gave me the same address number as this house for a place on Gold Street. I drove by it to check it out later in the day and found it. The address on Gold Street is a storage place. It’s a row of cinder block garages with roll-up doors.”

  “Okay, let’s try it for Portero, but let’s try Google, too. It will help make sure we get a complete list.”

  To familiarize herself with the Melissa Data Web site, Leah entered 1873 into the address field with the one zip code for Elder Creek. The search returned no addresses. Then, Leah put in her address on Yankee Hill Road. As Tucker reported, it gave the Yankee Hill address and one on Gold Street.

  “Let’s try Google.” She entered the Yankee Hill address number and “Elder Creek, CA” and hit enter. It returned the same two addresses. Then she entered 1873 with the Elder Creek information. The response read: your search did not match any documents.

  Leah entered the number again, this time adding “Portero, CA.” She hit enter. Three addresses appeared.

  Tucker stood up, excited. “Can you print those?”

  Leah gave her a confused look, “Sure,” she said as Tucker strode away down the hall.

  Leah plucked the sheet from the printer tray as Tucker appeared back in the doorway with her jacket and her cowboy hat on.

  “Let’s go.”

  Leah’s coat and scarf dangled from her fingers.

  “Where?”

  “To check out those addresses.”

  Tucker bounded down the hall, then slowed to let Leah catch up. When she saw Leah struggling into her coat as she hurried behind her, Tucker walked back to her and helped her put it on. Then she resumed her sprint to the front door. When they reached it, and Tucker turned toward her. Leah slammed into her.

  Tucker said, “Better make sure the back door’s locked.”

  Tucker watched Leah retrace her route and head for the kitchen, coming back to report the door secure. Tucker bounded down the front stairs as Leah locked the front door. She sat in the driver’s seat, waiting, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as Leah negotiated her way down the porch steps.

  Tucker sped off down the street before Leah finished securing her seatbelt.

  As they drove out of town, Tucker leaned across Leah and retrieved her GPS from the glove compartment. She handed it to Leah. “Can you put in those addresses while I drive? I’ll head toward the one on Broadway first. I think it’s probably downtown somewhere. Once you get them programmed, let’s head there.”

  It took Leah a couple of tries to get the information entered into Tucker’s GPS. The computerized voice picked up the directions as they entered town.

  After several blocks along Portero’s main street, the voice instructed them to make a right onto Broadway. Another two blocks and the GPS told them they arrived at 1873. They saw a glass fronted shop, a gift boutique housed in one of the historic buildings of Portero’s downtown.

  Tucker stared, her mind quiet. After a few minutes, she pronounced, “This isn’t it.”

  “It?” Leah said. “Tucker what are we looking for?”

  “I don’t know right now. But I’m pretty sure I will know it when I see it. Next address, please.”

  “Do you want Elm Street or Dover? I think they’re both going to be residential. They’re both in the neighborhood near my school, although Elm has a lot of Victorians converted into businesses. There’s a whole section of the New Age folks there. Massage therapists, crystals and bookstores.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The street names aren’t speaking to me. I think the number is key. I’ll leave it to you to pick one.”

  When they arrived at the address on Dover Street, Tucker parked in front of the structure and stared. The little craftsman house sported a well maintained façade and neat, tiny front yard. A dim light shone in the living room as if someone left it on for their return from a night out. A bright porch light also lit the entrance. Nothing—this place meant nothing to her. Time to go on. Leah selected the last address on the list: 1873 Elm Street.

  THEY SAT PARKED ACROSS from the house on Elm Street.

  “Can you read the sign?” Leah asked. />
  Tucker didn’t look at the sign. She focused on the front door. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

  Forget.

  The now familiar word echoed in her ear, no more than a whisper, its pull on her psyche almost non-existent.

  Tucker sat, staring at the house across the street. The small pewter-gray Victorian huddled against the dark night as if trying to remain unseen in the shadows of the two larger homes on either side of it. Black shutters trimmed white framed windows. The small front porch sat engulfed in darkness, but the front door reflected what little light it grabbed from its nighttime surroundings with its white painted surface. Darkness from the porch overhang rendered the bold, black numbers high up on the door almost invisible.

  The small sign Leah referred to hung from a wrought iron bracket at the edge of the tiny front yard. It suspended the sign perpendicular to the street, making it visible to anyone approaching on the sidewalk. The angle made it impossible for Tucker to read from her vantage point.

  “No, I can’t see it. And the cars in front of us and behind us don’t give me much room to go forward or back. I’ll have to get out.”

  “Why? Don’t get out, Tucker. We can look it up online and see what the business is.”

  “I know we can, but I need to get a better look at the door. I can check out the sign while I’m at it.”

  “Tucker—”

  Too late. Tucker jumped out of the truck and dashed across the street.

  TUCKER TRIED TO look casual as she stepped quickly across the street. She took a diagonal path, away from the house. As she walked, she formulated her plan. Once she walked some distance down the street, she planned to stop and backtrack toward the house. Then she’d approach at a slower pace as if she were out for an evening stroll. This would allow her a good look at the front door and address numbers. Finally, she’d take a quick look at the sign before crossing back to the truck.

  After walking for a few minutes, she took a deep breath and started back. She slowed to a leisurely pace, hands in her jacket pockets. All the while, her heart raced, and her neck still tingled. The prickling increased in intensity the closer she got.

  With the house in full view again, she stared at the front door. Her steps slowed even more. She experienced the sensation of being dragged up the steps and thrown down like a sack of disjointed bones onto the porch. She heard the thud, felt the pain. She thought she would get up and run, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Her body refused to do her bidding at all. As she lay there unable to gain any muscle control, her body slid down the porch support railing where she came to rest.

  At first, her eyes wouldn’t work properly. She blinked a few times and the scene began to clear. The white front door on the dark house came into focus. She opened her eyes wide, trying to keep them from blurring again. She saw thick black numbers—1873. The white of the door almost glowed around them.

  She shook off the image. She almost reached the front of the house now. She’d have to cross to the truck in another few steps, but she needed to get a good look at the sign. She found it difficult to look away from the door, but at the last minute, she glanced down and read the sign.

  She felt faint.

  Tucker stumbled toward the truck, staggering like a drunk. When she found her footing again, she continued, her face masked by the shadow of her hat brim.

  When Tucker reached for the door handle, her ashen face glowed in the light of the street lamp.

  Tucker wrenched open the truck door and hurled her body into the driver’s seat. She slammed the door after her so forcefully she made Leah cringe. As she reached for the ignition key, her hand trembled.

  Leah said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Tucker didn’t argue. Somewhere in the part of her brain that monitored such things, she knew she drove recklessly, but she couldn’t stop. She expected Leah to rebuke her for breaking the law, but she said nothing and Tucker felt relief.

  She sent a silent prayer out to the Universe for their safety as they bumped along the road well above the speed limit while Leah gripped her seat. Tucker’s heart continued racing. They rode on in silence, the truck cab crackling with unspoken fear.

  Tucker pulled up in front of the house, dirt flying as she slammed on the breaks. They both leaped out of the truck and sped toward the front door. Once inside, Leah checked the locks on both doors, while Tucker walked quickly through the house to make sure they were the only ones in it. Satisfied, Tucker plopped down on the living room couch.

  Leah charged back into the kitchen. Tucker heard a cupboard door open and glasses clink as Leah sat them on the counter. She heard more scraping. Then, Leah returned to the living room with a highball glass in each hand and the Bushmills 16 in the crook of her arm. She slammed the glasses on the coffee table and put the whiskey in front of Tucker.

  “There is a god,” Tucker murmured, as she reached for the bottle and poured.

  THEY SLUGGED DOWN their drinks, then sat in silence for a few minutes before Leah said, “Okay, spill. Something spooked you back there and I want to know what it is. Was it the sign?”

  Tucker poured another two fingers in each glass and swallowed the mellow liquid, letting it spill down her throat more slowly this time. The alcohol sent a shiver through her body finally chasing away the last of the electricity that coursed through her.

  “It was more than the sign, but the sign was bad enough. I—I experienced something back there. I’ve been on that porch before. I think I may have been drugged or something. My legs wouldn’t respond. I tried so hard and they would not do my bidding. When I tried to pull myself up, I realized running wasn’t an option. And my eyes wouldn’t focus. It took a lot of effort to keep them open. When I finally could concentrate long enough, I got a glimpse of a white door edged in a little bit of the dark colored house and made out the numbers there. Eighteen-seventy-three, in black metal numbers. I’ve seen that door before—and not only in an apparition.”

  Tucker took a long sip of the Bushmills again before continuing.

  “Something bad happened there. I can feel it. My body felt trapped, unable to do what I told it to, and it scared the crap out of me. I must have blacked out after that, though, because I don’t remember anything else. I don’t remember if I went inside, and I don’t remember what happened to me other than the one brief moment on the porch. But I know I’ve been there before, and now all my experiences back in the Old West 1873 might be starting to make some sense. Puzzle pieces, you know?”

  Leah gave her an intense look as she absorbed what Tucker told her.

  “Somehow, my brain retained the number and tried to tell me what happened, but put it into the wrong context. In place of a house number, my brain interpreted the information as the year in a newspaper. Maybe it put the date into the paper but reported the stories all out of sync to get my attention and to identify the number as something especially important, I don’t know. All I know is, my brain probably tried to give me a message—that address. There’s no doubt now.”

  “Okay, but what about the sign? Are you going to make me look up what business is located at the address or are you going to make it easy on me and tell me what the sign said?”

  Tucker stared at her. A debate raged within her and caused her stomach to cramp. The implications were devastating. After all they’d been through, Leah deserved to know the truth—all of it. Tucker drew in a deep breath.

  “The sign,” Tucker started. She pushed against her fear, her revulsion, in order to get the words out. “The sign read ‘Professor Demetrius Notch, Spiritualist, Hypnotist’ and for all I know, it might have said ’and teacher of the Dark Arts.’”

  Leah’s jaw dropped open. “Notch?”

  “The very same.”

  “You mean the guy whose girlfriend has been all over the news?”

  Tucker concurred again and added, “The guy who also works as the bartender back in my 1873.”

  Leah’s eyes widened. “Why would he want you,
Tucker? Do you think he—Tucker, when you thought you staggered from The Charlie the night you were hurt, do you think you were dumped there, instead?”

  “I’ve wondered about it myself. Now, it’s a real possibility. But why? Why would this guy do such a thing to me? Why me?”

  Leah took Tucker’s hand and looked her in the eye. “Tucker, I think it’s time we called the sheriff again.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  SHERIFF BAKER SYMPATHIZED with Tucker and her story. He didn’t discount her story, but without any specific evidence, his hands were tied.

  “If you would have reported it right after it happened, Ms. Stevens, we would have tested you to see if you’d been drugged. It might have given me something to substantiate what you’re telling me.”

  He held up his hand before she responded. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you because I do. There have been too many strange things happening around here lately, and I won’t discount anything anyone tells me right now. All I’m saying is your statement will be kept on file until we have some hard evidence to tie it all together. The police in Portero are already keeping a watchful eye on this guy Notch. Eventually, we might even figure out if what happened to you has any impact on the Hammersmith case. Believe me, Ms. Stevens, you have my support and my sympathy in this.”

  Tucker didn’t doubt his compassion and she knew he believed her, but he needed facts and, without evidence, he might never be able to substantiate anything in her report.

  At least she’d told her story, gotten it off her chest, gotten it on file. Not much else to do, at least not now, not tonight. When she walked the sheriff to the front door, she spied the usual suspects milling around on the path outside the house, drawn there by the presence of the sheriff’s vehicle parked outside again.