“So when would you like to go?” He asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She looked around. “I suppose I would need to sell my house. I would hate to just walk away and leave loose ends.”
“Why do you want to go to Beijing with me?” He asked. “Do you... love me?”
“I suppose I do,” she said. “I know I don’t love Sam. But I don’t love you like I used to love Sam. I think it’s more like... adoration. Yes. I do adore you. I can’t explain it. I just want to be with you. It has nothing to do with love. You make me feel so... alive? No... that’s not the word. You make me laugh. You make me think! I feel like I could fly when I’m with you. You don’t have underlying motives when it comes to your feelings. You just live to live. I mean, I know you have a purpose here. I would not interfere with that. Your philosophies and your stories and your experiences are enough for me. I would simply like to be a part of your life. If I could be a big part, it would be nice, but if I had to just settle for enjoying your company occasionally, then it would be better than staying here in Magnolia Springs for the rest of my life with Sam Morris or someone like him. But I guess I’m not making too much sense, am I?”
“I think you are,” he said and frowned at her. “You are not like the others.”
“I would like to think that’s true,” she said and actually blushed.
“Now tell me about this memory you would like to make,” he said looking into her eyes. “You would like to make a memory with me?”
“Yes. You owe me one, remember?” She blushed even deeper. “I think I owe you one too. That is, since you didn’t remember the first time.”
“I believe you are correct,” he said and stood up. “Maybe we can get it right this time.”
He took her hand and pulled her toward the hall.
The door from the garage opened and Sam Morris stormed into the living room.
Maureen groaned and slapped her hand against her forehead. “Not again!”
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked as they stopped to look at him.
“Samuel Morris Junior!” Maureen shouted and put her hands on her hips. “Get out of my house!”
“I won’t until he gives back what he took from me!” Sam told her. “Stay out of this, Maureen!”
“This is my house, Sam,” she said stepping in front of him.
“I don’t give a damn!” Sam shouted and shoved her out of the way. “Give me the box!”
“I don’t have anything that belongs to you, Sam,” the blonde man told him blandly.
Sam charged him and the taller man caught him easily by the throat and held him with one hand. Sam choked and struggled to get away while Maureen shouted at them to stop. He placed one hand over Sam’s eyes and the banker went limp.
He dropped Sam on the floor.
“There,” he said. “That should take care of that.”
“Is he dead?” Maureen asked in a small voice.
“Would you like him to be?” he asked melodically.
“No!”
“Then come on.” He held out his hand. “I think we were about to do something... special?”
Maureen stepped over Sam to take his hand and allowed him pull her toward the bedroom.
Angelica closed the store and climbed the stairs to look for Perry. She found him sitting in the chair overlooking Main Street sound asleep. An empty wine bottle was clutched in his hand and an overturned tumbler lay on the floor beside the chair. She took the bottle from him and picked up the tumbler. He was so frustrating. He needed to get rid of the alcohol addiction before it permanently damaged him. She would take it up with him as soon as he woke up.
She went to the kitchen to make dinner. She missed his company. Occasionally, she would walk to the door and look at him. She made two salads and got out the leftover mousse-filled chocolate hearts and set it on the cabinet. It reminded her of the night before and she smiled. He had been right about everything all along. She could now understand almost everything he had been saying to her since they had come to Magnolia Springs. To understand these people truly, one had to experience what they experienced. So many things had become so crystal clear to her. And yet, other things that had once been clear to her were now muddled. For example, her unquestioning acceptance of her father’s authority had wavered for the very first time in her life. She had also lost a great deal of the awe and some of the respect she had once afforded the First Order of Citizens such as Falco Atrox and Peregrin Caelum. She had learned that they were just as fallible as she was. They were not all-powerful, nor were they so very superior to her. In fact, she felt that she was quite possibly equal to them, at least from an intellectual viewpoint even though they most likely possessed a number of skills she had yet to develop. She would not want to put them to the test and she well remembered how Peregrin had stopped her in her tracks when Falco had first arrived, but those things were simply a matter of physics. She could probably do the same thing if she tried and, if she gave it the proper thought, she could probably keep them from using such controls on her. She had made up her mind to tell her father that she would decide when and if and who she would marry. She doubted that he would do anything harsh to her. She was, after all, his only daughter. He had always indulged her shamelessly in the past, she reasoned.
She went back to bend over Perry’s sleeping form. He was actually smiling in his sleep. She wondered if she smiled in her sleep.
“Peregrin?” She said softly. “I made you some salad.”
“Hmmm,” he said and opened his eyes. “That’s nice.”
“Yes it is,” she agreed. “Please come and sit with me at least.”
Perry got up to follow her slowly into the kitchen.
“How are your injuries?” She asked as he took a seat stiffly on one of the barstools.
“Almost completely gone,” he told her and looked at the salad doubtfully.
“I wanted to discuss the alcohol addiction with you,” she said forking a tomato wedge. “You should go ahead and get rid of that... affliction.”
“Yes. I will do it in the bath,” he told her. “It makes me perspire to concentrate so hard.”
She nodded.
“Would you care to join me?” He asked suddenly.
“In the bath?” She asked remembering the last time she had done that.
“Yes. Why not?” He asked. “You know my affinity for water.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I suppose it could be... interesting for both of us.”
“Yes. Quite,” he assured her and went to draw a bath for them. He resisted the urge to look for a bottle of wine to take with him.
Chapter Thirty-Three:.
Chief Lovell grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen counter as he passed and kissed his wife on the nose as he usually did on his way out to work. His mind was on a million and one small things he needed to do before the noon deadlines, but he took time to scratch his dog and give him a biscuit before opening the front door. He walked down the sidewalk toward his truck and then slowed as he realized that something was not quite right across the street. Red Mercedes. His mind flew back to the day before. Louis Parks. Red Mercedes. His brain clicked as memories flashed in bits and pieces of data like an old, outdated PC. It was too early. Red Mercedes. Louis Parks. Maureen Fitzgerald. He looked up and down the street. White Lincoln. Out of place at the curb. Lincoln. He walked slowly toward his truck. The Lincoln was alright, he’d seen it there before. That would be Sam Morris Junior who’d finally gotten himself arrested yesterday evening at Perry Ali..ger’s house. He missed a beat and a step... ‘Where is your car?’... ‘My car?’... ‘Yes, the red Mercedes.’
He turned to look at the blood red Mercedes sitting in Maureen’s drive behind her car and then again at the Lincoln at the curb in front of her house. It was seven-thirty in the morning. “Oh, no,” he muttered as he got in his truck and put his coffee down in the holder. He sat for a few minutes watching the house across th
e street in his rear-view mirror. Should he? Should he not? Was his feeling of dread reasonable cause? Should he go on to the station and send someone back? He started his truck. He didn’t want to deal with this type of problem alone at seven-thirty in the morning. They had been lucky yesterday not to have killed anyone or each other inside that house. He certainly didn’t want to go back over there so soon. If nothing was up and he barged in again, Maureen Fitzgerald would be well-founded in filing a harassment lawsuit or a civil rights action or a civil suit for damages from yesterday’s fiasco, if she hadn’t already filed one. The city was at fault and obligated to reimburse her for the damages that he and his people had caused to her house. He put the truck in gear and backed slowly into the street eyeing the cars and the house. No lights, but the sun was already up. He put the truck in drive. He would consider sending someone back. If no one had called in a complaint, technically it was none of his official business what was going on over there, but he had a duty... To hell with it! He goosed the gas pedal and drove away. What you don’t know, can’t hurt you. Yeah, right!
Maureen sat up in the bed and looked at the alarm clock she had forgotten to set. Seven-thirty! Oh, no! She would have to hurry or she would be late to work! Then she realized she was on the wrong side of the bed and she was not alone. How could she have been sleeping that hard? She certainly had some memories to keep now! She slipped from the bed and took her house robe with her from the floor and tip-toed carefully to the bathroom across the hall. She put her hand on the door knob and then another, different type of memory assailed her mind. She turned and ran down the hall to the living room.
Sam Morris still lay in the crumpled heap where they had left him the night before in front of her sofa. Maureen stared, blinking in the dim light. He hadn’t moved at all. Her heart lurched. Her stomach fell to her knees and she almost screamed at the thought that he might be dead after all.
Her feet felt like they were stuck in melted lead as she approached the still form. Bending carefully over him, she placed two fingers against the side of his throat and then let out a sigh of relief as she felt a strong pulse beating there. She tilted her head to look at him curiously. This had to be the strangest thing to have ever happened to her. How could she have done what she had done last night with Sam lying in the living room unconscious? A terrible sense of guilt swept over her and then she giggled. But what if Sam was in a coma?
She hurried back to the bedroom and climbed on the bed beside the still-sleeping form under her comforter.
“Perry!” She shook his shoulder. “Wake up! It’s seven-thirty!”
He rolled on his back and looked up at her. “Seven-thirty.”
“Yes, silly, in the morning,” she told him and got off the bed to go rummaging through her closet for something to wear to work. “I have to hurry. I’m going to be late. And you need to get out of here. Sam is still in the living room and I don’t know what I’m going to do if he wakes before you leave or before I leave...” She looked back at him as he sat up on the side of the bed and pressed one hand to the back of his head. “He will wake up won’t he? Or do you have to wake him up?”
“It is no problem,” he told her. “I’ll do it from the car. Then he can do what he likes after we are gone.”
It sounded good to her. She didn’t have any desire to face Sam. Let him think what he would. Last night had been the most wonderful experience she could never have imagined. And the best part had been that she truly felt free from any sort of strings. Perry would never ask her for anything or demand anything or promise anything that he didn’t mean. She could do whatever she liked. Be whatever she liked and she would never have to look at Mildred Morris again, if she didn’t want to. She felt like singing and dancing and calling work and telling them that she quit, but her common sense kicked in and she went into the bathroom to take her morning shower. She would have to take care of everything properly. No need to hurry he had told her. No need to rush. No need at all for anything. But for the moment, she was rushing or she would be late.
Mildred Morris sat at her desk, reading the obituary column in the local newspaper. The memorials and announcements were very nice. She liked to think that her advisement and help allowed people to express their grief with such good taste. Mr. Bostic’s memorial was exceptional. She had written part of it herself. Of course there was a small editing fee for such services, but the family so often needed help with these things in their time of need.
The phone rang on her desk and she pressed the button putting it on speaker.
“Yes? How may I help you?” She asked off-handedly. She rarely received direct outside calls in her office. They were almost always filtered through her receptionist.
“Mildred?” She recognized the voice of Mary McDaniels.
“Mary! How nice to hear from you.” She picked up the receiver and put it to her ear.
“Thank you,” Mary sounded as if she had something on her mind. “How are you doing this morning?”
“I’m just fine. How are you?”
“Never better. I wanted to invite you over for lunch if you’re not too busy...” Mary’s voice trailed off in a manner Mildred recognized from their old friendship. This was not really an invitation but a summons. Mildred frowned. Now she would have to pay up for the help Mary had given her, but whatever it was, it would be alright. She owed Mary McDaniels big time and the sooner she could pay off the debt, the better.
“Of course! I’d love to,” she said. “When? Where?”
“Here at my house. Eleven o’clock sound all right with you?” Mary asked.
“That’s perfect. I’ll be there with bells on,” Mildred told her.
“Good, I’ll see you then. Goodbye now.” Mary hung up the phone.
Mildred sat thinking. What would Mary want? It was too late to do anything about the property next door to the yellow house. The old house was gone and all the flowers and shrubs were gone. They were through building the forms, already laying in the rebar and getting ready to start pouring the concrete. What would Mary want? Maybe Sam would know. She looked at her watch. Eight-thirty. Too early for Sam. He rarely got to the bank before nine or nine-thirty.
Angelica turned on the ‘open’ sign and went to get a large book from under the counter. It was not a real book. It just looked like a leather bound journal. Like something from the earlier part of the century before computers and electronic mail. She opened it up to expose a very sleek, complex-looking machine with very few controls and a large, gray blank spot on one side. She ran her hand over the face of the machine and it made a soft twinkling noise reminding her of the glass wind chimes by the door. Her study was almost over. All her findings thus far were recorded in this ‘book’. All she had to do was the summation and recommendations. She didn’t want to finish it. Not just yet. She closed the ‘book’ and put it back under the counter as her first customer arrived. Perry had convinced her that she would enjoy taking a trip with him, but she had not given him a final answer. She didn’t know what was going to happen when Falco Atrox came back. If he did indeed come back at all. She was quite sure that if her father told him that he had changed his mind, Falco would simply accept it and she would probably never see him again in this form. She realized that this was exactly what she hoped would happen.
Perry hurried down the inside stairs carrying a cup of coffee.
He looked up to smile at her and brought the cup to her.
“Have you worked on your summation?” He asked her. He was ready to get everything finished here and get back to Beijing. That Maureen would go with him, he had no doubt. He wanted Angelica to get back to her father as soon as possible. Her trip would at least delay their marriage for a while and he would not have to endure the loneliness if Maureen would be leaving with him. Everything was working out quite well. It would be an interesting new experience to live with one of the people he had studied for so long. He looked forward to it with great relish. Maureen had an extremely good mind. With just
a little help... no, he would not change her. He would let her develop on her own. He didn’t want anything from her or for her unless she wanted it herself. He had promised himself he would not interfere with her in any way. It would be perfect. But these people lived for such a short time, maybe he could fix just that one thing. He would have to wait and see.
“Yes,” Angelica answered him. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She had looked at it.
“Is it done then?” He leaned on the counter and toyed with a small toothpick holder in one of the display boxes.
“No. I haven’t finished my recommendations,” she told another half-truth.
“It shouldn’t take long then.” He raised both eyebrows. He was no longer depressed and he no longer craved alcohol. He was feeling exceptionally well.
“Are you going to make any recommendations based on your research?” She looked up at him. She had an unfamiliar expression on her face. He tried to fathom its meaning.
“I have learned nothing new here.” He waved one hand. “My recommendations will stand as they are.”
“I was not referring to your little boxes, Peregrin,” she said as she folded a lace handkerchief distractedly. “I was referring to our study.”
“Oh.” He looked down at her. “I believe that it would also bear out the same recommendations.” He realized that she was curious about his own recommendations. She wanted to know what he had recommended to the Optimus concerning the disposition of this world. She should have already discerned what the general makeup of his report would have been. Perhaps she only wanted confirmation. He would not discuss it with her. He would not ask about hers and she should not ask about his. It wouldn’t be right... somehow. His study was on a different level than hers. It had been commissioned by the same source, but it was not wise to compare notes. The final outcome of their work would be decided elsewhere. Perry did possess a measure of the propriety and objectivity that she claimed he did not, but he had always known where to draw the line.
The Pandora Effect Page 60
