Strange Tales for Cozy Nights 1

by Brian Bakos

  ***

  Richard didn’t want to get up from before his TV when the doorbell rang.

  Is it the cops? he wondered.

  The bell rang again. He waited for whoever it was to give up. But then knocks came, and the bell rang once more.

  He quaffed a final drop from the bottle of cheap wine and got out of his chair. He expected somebody unpleasant at the door, the apartment manager demanding over-due rent, perhaps.

  But it was only a young woman standing in the early spring sunshine. She drew back when he opened the door.

  “Hi,” she said.

  She held a rolled newspaper in her hands and was wringing it like a dish rag. Richard stared at her, the bright sunshine making him squint. The girl stared back into the darkened apartment. Confusion and awe attended her eyes.

  “Well?” Richard said.

  “Well, I ... uh ...”

  “Whoever you want to see, you’ve got the wrong address,” Richard snapped.

  A profound silence enveloped the porch. Spring sunshine and apartment gloom contended for dominance.

  “You’re Richard Knox?” the girl finally asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then I came to see you.”

  She held up the newspaper.

  “This was on your porch,” she said.

  Richard snatched the Free Press from her hand; the paper was damp with perspiration.

  “I lied,” the girl said. “I bought it myself ... sort of a calling card.”

  Richard wanted to order her away, but she was too vulnerable and pretty for that. Some remote male yearning he’d almost forgotten was rising within him, keeping angry words from exiting his mouth.

  Besides, she looked vaguely familiar, and this made him curious.

  The best he could muster was an irritated frown. This made the young woman shrink back another step before she spoke again.

  “May I come in ... just for a few minutes?” she asked. “I thought we could talk.”

  Richard found himself stepping aside and allowing her to enter.

  I know her, somehow.

  She stood in the middle of the living room, gazing around the shabby apartment with something approaching awe, as if she’d entered a holy temple. She was trembling slightly and biting her lip. Richard recognized her at last.

  “Okay.” He plopped wearily into his upholstered chair. “How did you find me?”

  Sharon looked back towards him, her eyes wide with reverence.

  “It wasn’t hard; I got a good look at you that day,” she said. “I wanted to come sooner, but something held me back ... ”

  She reached out warm and comforting hands. Before Richard could flinch away, she took his face into them.

  “You’re the Healer,” she said. “You’re a true man of God.”

  Richard twisted his head out of her hands.

  “No I’m not!”

  “Yes you are,” Sharon said. “Bless you!”

  She began to weep.

  “Hey, don’t cry,” Richard said. “I don’t like that.”

  He rose and stalked into the kitchen, as far away as he could get. Then he turned back and shouted through the doorway.

  “It just happens! I have no control. It’s ... hereditary.”

  She rushed to him and embraced him tightly. Richard nearly lost his footing on the tile floor.

  “You gave me my life,” she said. “I love you so much.”

  Richard felt leaden, stunned. Things were on a track he couldn’t begin to understand.

  “Look, I’ve got things to do,” he protested. “I have to leave.”

  But she wouldn’t let go. Her auburn hair was soft and sweet smelling. He found himself stroking it.

  “Please don’t turn me away,” she murmured.

  Richard never made it to wherever he claimed to be going.

  At first, he refused to talk to Sharon, so she busied herself with tidying the apartment and doing the laundry. He remained planted in his chair, ignoring her presence as best he could.

  But eventually she goaded him out of his taciturn shell, or at least got him to listen to her. She put aside the cleaning implements and sat down on a footstool beside Richard’s chair. She told him about her drab and melancholy life, until the events of last month had revived her spirit.

  “For some reason, I didn’t want anyone to know,” she told him. “I quit school and moved away; I cut off all my old friends. I’m taking online classes now, so nobody recognizes me.”

  Richard nodded.

  “That’s how it is,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to know, either.”

  Sharon’s ears perked up. She waited eagerly to hear more about his miraculous powers, but Richard changed the subject.

  “What about the rest of the family?” he asked.

  “Oh ... Mom’s gone and Dad’s off drunk someplace,” Sharon said. “He never got over her death.”

  She paused and looked down at her hands. Again, Richard was taken by her beautiful hair, the hair that had beckoned to him on that fateful day.

  “That’s not true,” she said. “Dad never really cared about her or anybody else. It’s always been just me and my brother, ever since we were little.”

  “We’ve got a lot in common,” Richard said, “except for the brother part ... I wish I had one.”

  “Yes, he’s wonderful,” she said. “He’s always looked out for me, but I’ve decided not to pay attention any longer.”

  “How so?”

  Sharon again studied the hands folded in her lap; she addressed her reply to them.

  “My brother warned me not to look for you ... he said it would be very unwise. ‘Things are going on here we can’t understand,’ he told me.”

  “Maybe he’s right,” Richard said.

  Sharon’s face turned up toward him. Richard recoiled from its suddenly fierce expression.

  “I don’t care if he’s right or not!” she snapped.

  Then she, too, appeared astonished at her outburst. She smiled; beautiful dimples appeared in her cheeks.

  “I told my brother not to worry about me. ‘Get a life,’ I said, ‘find a girlfriend.’”

  “Did he?” Richard asked.

  “I hope so. Anyway, I’m giving him some breathing room – just send an occasional e-mail to say I’m okay.”

  Things settled down then, and the conversation continued along more placid lines punctuated by long, though not awkward, silences. Mostly it was Sharon talking with Richard limiting himself to brief, cryptic remarks about himself, his past life, and his strange “gift.”

  Lunch time arrived, and Sharon went out to pick up some food. Richard took advantage of her absence to shower, groom his beard, and dress himself in clean clothing. When he gazed into the bathroom mirror, he saw a genuine smile looking back at him for the first time in years.

  “Well .... hello again!” Sharon said approvingly when she returned.

  She carried enough Chinese take-out for lunch as well as dinner. She also hefted a grocery bag containing eggs and other breakfast items.

  “That’s quite a load,” Richard said.

  He relieved her of the Chinese take-out. Sharon placed the grocery bag on the side table and pulled out two bottles of wine.

  “I didn’t know what kind you prefer,” she said, “so I got a white and a red.”

  To his amazement, Richard found himself wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her close.

  “As long as you come with it,” he said, “I don’t care what color the wine is.”