His eyes narrowed — adrenalin pumping. It would make sense for the monster to strike here — He knew this place. He was a creature of habit — Frank smiled wryly to himself. Yes, it lent an all new meaning to the phrase; “creature of habit”.
He began to scan for all his kids — make sure they were accounted for. A small pale boy trying to brace himself upside down in a section of concrete tunnel caught his eye. The boy was wedged against the curving walls so that he was turned to the side, his form mostly masked by the crescent shadow of the hollow. He swiveled and looked directly at Frank, his dark eyes shining as he beckoned to him with a small white hand. Frank’s pulse leapt. It was Billy Wasau — The boy who was listed in the recent newspaper as missing!
Frank felt the blood drain from his face and his mouth go limp. He stumbled towards the boy without thinking, then stopped short —
How could Billy be here? Wasn’t he the one who’s body was found mutilated and —
Billy turned and darted out of the back of the section of tunnel — amazingly fast — almost seeming to flit from place to place like a film missing. He reached the short retaining wall on the outskirts of the playground and disappeared behind it in an instant. Frank waded through the other playing children, none of them paying any attention to him as he passed.
How could it be? Could the papers be wrong?
Frank arrived at the spot where he had last seen the child and looked around. There was no sign of Billy. Then — a blur of movement to his right — He spun — There was Billy again, ducking down behind a distant bush in the middle of a grassy knoll.
How did he get there without Frank seeing? The knoll was twenty feet off and there was no hidden route between it and the wall..?
Frank stumbled after him.
Something was definitely wrong here — Something was wrong but…
It became an obvious game of cat and mouse. Billy would vanish then reappear — and Frank would follow relentlessly — He had to. He had to know what was going on with Billy...
Billy’s face poked out from behind a tall Douglas fir — and Frank continued to follow, now entering the woods that bordered the school. A distant voice called out to him from behind:
“Frank?”
Frank paused, momentarily disoriented. Where did that voice come from? Then it came again, louder this time, insistent.
“Frank!”
He turned.
Keith was standing in the middle of the sandlot waving him back. Frank glanced again in the direction of the tree where Billy had last been seen. He wasn’t there. There was nothing but the soft rustle of the wind through the high branches.
Keith yelled to him again — even more insistently this time.
Frank looked around one last time —
But he had seen him — He knew he had.
There were just trees and wind, nothing more. He had no choice but to return.
Keith waited, seething, his arms crossed. The corners of his mouth were pulled down even lower than usual, the jowls drooping in dismay. His chastising words burst out the moment Frank came within range.
“Frank, you can’t leave the children unattended — What’s going on? What are you doing?”
Frank searched for a reply and could only stammer back:
“I… thought I saw one of the children run into the woods…. I… was trying to make sure he didn’t… get… lost…”
Keith didn’t buy any of this weak explanation. Not for one second.
“I did a head count, Frank. They’re all here and accounted for.”
Frank hung his head, eyes downcast.
More things he couldn’t explain. More things he couldn’t talk about.
“Then I must’ve been mistaken…” He said meekly, still staring at his shoes.
Keith glared at him, waiting for the eye contact that Frank had no intention of making.
“Yes, Frank.” he said finally, still smoldering before turning away. “You most certainly were.”
***
Frank made the drive back home, again without remembering the journey by the time he reached his destination. He was beyond exhausted — His thoughts now had no continuity — He started to think about the ghostly form of Billy he’d seen and that if a dog could go through a mirror, anything was possible. Then he couldn’t remember the thread of reasoning and ended up thinking of the roses outside the front door — They looked ill — maybe they had some disease and he should do something about it… By the time he flopped down on the couch, he couldn’t remember that thread either… How many days had he been barely sleeping? Five… Six..? Eight..? He was still trying to work it out when a warm dark blanket seemed to enshroud him and he fell into its folds willingly… He was so tired… so… incomplete… he dissolved into the enveloping space until it seemed his cohesiveness departed entirely… He was no longer anything… It was as if he had ceased to be…
***
When he awoke, he had no idea how long he’d slept or even if he were indeed awake. Everything around him was black — there were no details to guide him and it took several minutes for his consciousness to flow back into what seemed moments before an empty vessel — until he was gradually able to recall where he was and how he had gotten there.
Night had fallen outside and that accounted for the disorienting blackness. He clicked on the lamp on the side table and tried to blink the remainders of sleep away. He’d always heard the expression “slept like a rock” but could never remember it applying to him until now. He’d been out — totally gone. No dreams that he could remember or nightmares or… anything at all — just like the inanimate object in the expression.
He glanced at his watch — 8:15 PM — Where was Jackie? She was normally home by 7:00 PM… With all the recent events in his life, his first reaction was concern. She was nothing if not responsible and reliable — not the type to forget to call if she got pulled into a meeting or —
He felt a slight sense of relief — The light on the answering machine on the kitchen counter was blinking red — There were messages — She’d probably gotten tied up and had left word for him. Somehow he’d slept through the phone ringing, the message being left… Incredible for such a typically light sleeper like himself…
He stepped over to it, pausing to shake out his arms and legs from the stiffness of a prolonged awkward position on the couch. He pressed the “Play” button and calmed immediately — it was Jackie’s voice.
“Hi Sweetie, it’s me. Sorry but I’ll be home a little late. A client from the detergent company wanted to talk over some more concepts. I’ll be at the Pasadena Casa Maria if you need to reach me. Otherwise — I should be home around eleven… Miss you… Bye.”
Slight relief was replaced by a surge of full relief, and then, as it subsided, it was replaced by pangs of hunger. His stomach growled noisily and he went to the kitchen. How long since he’d last eaten? Had he forgotten to have breakfast? Lunch? He couldn’t remember. He opened the refrigerator and began searching for food. The machine beeped and the messages continued, now playing a man’s voice:
“Mr. Davis, my name is Harold Wavers, of the Children’s Abuse Foundation. Mr. Davis, we don’t like to disturb people at home but this is such a terrible time for so many children that —”
In two giant steps Frank reached the answering machine and hit the “Delete” button with a vengeance.
Solicitors, fucking solicitors. There was no getting any peace any more.
There was a beep and the next message played as he scooped up the TV remote and clicked on the living room TV before returning to the refrigerator.
“Hi, Mr. Davis — This is John Belman at Hamilton advertising… There seems to have been some mix-up with your wife…”
Frank turned back to the answering machine, immediately on edge once again. The voice continued.
“There was a client meeting at six and she didn’t show… If you can have her call me when she turns up, I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”
Frank’s internal alarms were sounding again. It was totally unlike her to miss a meeting.
Something was wrong — Something was wrong!
The answering machine beeped, played the next message — A familiar child’s voice filled the room:
“We gonna go in there? Looks kinda creepy.”
There was a brief pause and the child’s voice continued, now agreeable, answering something said by someone unheard.
“Okay.”
Frank froze. He knew that voice and those words. It was Ricky from Burt’s story. He was hearing exactly what he’d already experienced when he was under Burt’s dominion. It was unmistakable. A cold sweat instantly covered his body. He wiped his brow and his hand came away dripping wet.
A dead child’s voice was speaking on his answering machine..! A dead child from more than fifty years ago!
Ricky’s voice continued, now completely terrified, rising in a piercing shrieking:
“I WANNA GO HOME, I WANNA GO HOME, I WANNA GO —“
The voice was abruptly severed — just as in the Burt’s story.
Frank leapt to the machine, tried to play it again. The messages started over. First his wife’s. Then John Belman’s. And then — beep! Nothing. The voice he had just heard was no longer there.
It was a precursor — A taunt — A warning — He could feel it! It was just the kind of thing the monster would start with…
He snatched up the telephone and quickly dialed Jackie’s cell. A brief moment for the connection to pass through and he heard a tinny version of her favorite Hall and Oates song playing in the bedroom down the hall:
“Baby come back, baby come back to meeeee… I was wrong and I just can’t live without youuuuuuu…”
Goddamnit! — She’d left her cell behind again. He kept telling her; What’s the point of having one if she didn’t bring it with her?
He hung up and dialed 411. He tried to be patient as he asked the operator for the number for the Pasadena Casa Maria’s and waited. He agreed to be connected as his nerves were beginning to jangle again.
Please be okay. Please let Jackie be okay.
The Hostess’s voice at Casa Maria’s was warm and calm and friendly as she came on the line and stated the restaurant motto before asking what she could do for him. Almost too calm, too friendly, he thought.
“I’d like to page Jacqueline Davis, please.” He replied, voice aquiver.
The hostess said, still in that smooth, pleasant voice, that she would be happy to help him and asked him to hold the line. Then there was Muzak — a horrible rendition of a top twenties hit that further set his teeth on edge. He couldn’t stop his fingers from nervously twitching against the sofa as he waited. The seconds seemed to stretch, his anxiety building. He found himself repeating a mantra to himself —
Please be there, Please be okay…
The friendly Hostess came back on the line:
“I’m sorry, sir, but no one’s answering the page.” She said sweetly.
Goddamn it! Frank thought. Does she have to say it with this tone — Like she’s joyful at delivering this news. This is serious! Jackie could be in danger!
“Please.” He asked the friendly Hostess, fear beginning to creep in around the edges, beginning to claw at him. “Can you please try again — Please.”
There was a soft click and a long moment of silence and Frank was about to ask again — Perhaps she hadn’t heard him, perhaps she’d been distracted by someone else in the restaurant and had set the phone down... It clearly sounded as if he’d been transferred… but why..? He had just opened his mouth to speak when there was a second click and a young man’s voice interrupted him:
“By the way, she has lovely hands, Frank.”
Frank coughed.
What the —?!? Who was this? And why had he said that?
“Excuse me?” Frank barely got out.
“I said she has lovely hands, Frank.”
Frank didn’t recognize this voice —
What was going on?
The man’s voice resumed: “That’s what he told me to say to whoever called for Jacqueline Davis. Hold on a minute — I have a note here for you…”
There was the sound of rustling paper, the young man obviously juggling the phone and flattening out the “note”… He cleared his throat and read:
“Dear Franklin. Jackie and I are gonna take in some nightlife so maybe you can meet us later. I’ll leave you directions. Oh, and the hands thing was cute, don’t you think? You must always keep your sense of humor. It makes even the darkest of days pass easier.”
The young man paused and made a “Humpf” sound and then continued:
“There’s no signature… That’s strange…”
Frank dropped the phone, reeling.
He had her! — He’d taken her! — Oh, God, NO!!!
He could hear the young man’s voice still coming from the phone on the counter — saying something like “Is something wrong, sir..? Sir..? He said it was a practical joke… That’ you’d get a real kick out of it… Sir..?”
The thought blared in his head:
His Jackie had been taken! — WHAT COULD HE DO?
He began to pace, head clutched in his hands.
He couldn’t believe it had come to this — What had he caused? What if he hurt her? — Oh God!
And then he saw the wet muddy shoe prints that lead across the carpet to the front door.
“I’ll leave you directions”, the note had said. It had said that he would leave Frank directions!
And so he had!
CHAPTER 25 – Devine Guidance
The brown, muddy shoe prints lead clearly out the front door, across the driveway, and to Frank’s dew covered VW. They continued all the way up onto the hood of the car where the monster had obviously stood, the prints now side-by-side and facing the windshield. Frank could hear his own rapidly beating heart thumping loudly in his ears. Before he could ask himself why — it became clear. On the wet windshield was a distinct handprint — and as he watched, the moisture collected at the index finger and ran downwards as though extending and pointing towards the dashboard inside.
Frank was flummoxed — What was he being directed to? He dug in his pocket for his car keys and quickly opened the door.
The “finger” now bled directly down at the cheap plastic compass on his dash — the almost useless joke gift from Jackie. Just as he glanced at it, the needle spun to the North and remained there, quivering yet fixed.
Frank could feel his rage building, the blood rushing to his face.
The bastard wants me to drive North — The bastard is controlling Jackie’s own silly gift to direct me to —
He yelled in frustration at the top of his lungs:
“ELI!!!”
He leapt in the car and started the engine. He slammed his fists against the steering wheel.
The sonofabitch has Jackie, What can I do?, What can I do!?! And his mind answered almost immediately. Nothing — Do as he wants. You can do nothing else.
Rain began to splash against the car as he punched the gas and blazed out into the street. Of course, it did, he thought. Rain isn’t normal for L.A. but of course it’s pouring!
He shot through traffic like a mad man, skidding noisily around corners, constantly switching lanes…
His windshield had fogged badly and his defroster wasn’t doing a thing. He didn’t care —
The monster wouldn’t let him die, would he? — That wouldn’t be any fun, would it?
The compass needle spun West and Frank spun the wheel accordingly, screeching around a barely visible corner heading West. The needle stayed steady then swung quickly South — and Frank cranked the wheel South without looking or worrying.
Where is he taking me? What does he want? What has he done with her?
He was going fast and barely had time to stomp the brake pedal as he realized he had come to the parking lot of a small rundown church in the poor part of town.
JESUS IS YOUR SALVATION. COME IN AND BE SAVED.
***
The church was worn and old. A few Hispanic women sat in the scratched pews, two more women lighting candles near the dark wooded communion table that sat before an exquisitely crafted life-sized figure of Jesus hanging on the wall.
Frank moved quickly down the center aisle, searching.
Okay, he was here — Now where was she?
He felt ragged and tired and was doing his best to keep tears of frustration from blurring his vision.
He had done this — He was responsible for the monster taking her…
“Jackie..?” He called out. “Jackie...?”
His voice echoed in the wide hollow expanse. A Mexican woman nearby turned to him with a disproving look and raised her finger to her dark red lips.
“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
He continued to roam —
Where was she? He had come here like he was supposed to — Now where was she?!?
He strode quickly around the entire church perimeter drawing the stares of the few other believers. It was just a church — old, worn — ordinary.
Where was she? Where was his Jackie?
He was at the end of his ability to hold his emotions back. He had tried for so long to be reasonable — to believe that what he had been experiencing couldn’t possibly be real — It had eroded his will, drained his energy. His one true beacon of joy in his life had been taken from him and he was so psychologically exhausted — Lost…
Jackie… His beloved Jackie…
He stared around the room, glassy-eyed. The stained glass windows looked diffused through his tears and the room swam with color.
Jackie… His dearest Jackie…
He wiped his eyes and blinked them clear. The ceramic figure of Christ looked down at him from its gleaming place high on the cross. The figure was so beautifully done, the expression so merciful and kind…
After Death Page 20
