The Crying Rose: The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 1)

by B. A. Beers

  ***

  SIX

  Mark checked Jan’s printed address again. Yes, the number on the mailbox matched. He was in front of an off-white, light-blue trimmed, single story, family home in a quiet neighborhood. A single-car carport housed a 1993, or maybe, ’94, slate gray Oldsmobile 98. The barren tree in the front yard made him shudder; reminding him that winter’s life was so dormant. How he hated this time of year, as he was the outdoor type preferring other seasons to this one. He shook off this feeling and took stock of the rest of the house. If you excluded the barren tree, the house presented a cheerful picture. Noticing the still-green foliage of the rose bushes near the door, he marveled at the lack of winter’s presence to these sturdy bushes. Living in Arizona did have its perks, he surmised.

  Turning off the engine, he placed the tape recorder in the pocket of his jacket that was beside him on the front seat. He grabbed the jacket and exited the truck. Putting on the jacket, he began to walk toward the house. As he approached the door, he noticed a bright yellow note stuck in the middle. He recognized it as a delivery message. He regularly received packages and knew what it was even before he was close enough to read it.

  Mark also spotted a package at the base of the door. Well, he knew at least, he would find out if he had the right house by the name on the package. Once he reached the door, he eyed the package. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Carter. Good, I have the right place, he thought. He made a mental note to thank Mrs. Mills for her work. He then glanced at the door and the sticker. He was right! The delivery note was from ‘Jordan's Delivery’. He noticed that the box next to ‘left on premise’ was checked and the time noted was 8:15 A.M. He was puzzled; he had spoken to her a little over one half hour ago, but the delivery was over three hours old. What the hell, he thought.

  When Mark raised his hand to knock on the door, he noticed that the door was not fully closed. He knocked softly, trying not to open the door any further. It didn’t matter. The door, as if it had a mind of its own, opened still further under his gentle knocking. Debating whether to close the door or open it wider, he decided to do neither.

  Receiving no answer to his knocking, he called out, “Mrs. Carter.” Still no response. He tried again, “Mrs. Carter, this is Dr. Stevens.”

  While Mark spoke, he tried to peer into the house through the crack in the door, but he wasn’t able see much of the room. Thinking he should contact the authorities before entering, but realizing from her call the state of her mind and fearing for her immediate welfare, he decided that he would go for broke. He had not driven here just to return without seeing if he could help. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and exhaled it slowly to calm his nerves. Reaching for the package, he opened the door and carried the package into the house, calling out as he stepped through the door, “Mrs. Carter?”

  The sunlight streaming in behind him filled the room with light. Mark was ready to call out again when the words died in his throat; he saw a figure curled up in the chair across the room, almost completely covered by a multicolored afghan. He surmised that this figure was Mrs. Carter, noticing the phone was still clutched in her right hand. In fact, the only thing he could see was her right hand and the top of her head.

  “Mrs. Carter?” he asked tentatively. No response. Quickly moving to the chair, he absently placed the package in his hand next to the chair. He felt her right exposed wrist for a pulse. She was alive! His heart leaped for joy. “Mrs. Carter?” Mark tried again.

  Using the index finger of his right hand to raise her chin, he was rewarded with a view – a face of an angel. With no artificial face paint that women called makeup obstructing his view, he marveled at her beauty. Her face was pale, and the lines around her closed eyes showed signs of past and present stress, but it did not deter from what Mark knew was an inner beauty. This woman immediately captivated his heart, mind and soul. He reached up with his left hand and cradled her head in his hands. He had to break through this barrier, and he prayed for divine guidance.

  He knew what he was supposed to do, but he just couldn’t stomach seeing her thrown into a hospital and pumped full of drugs. Not following standard procedures was unethical, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to this angel. As he pondered these thoughts, his eyes were glued to her face, and his thumbs gently caressed her cheeks.

  “Mrs. Carter,” Mark heard himself utter under his breath, “wherever are you, I will find you. You know it and so do I,” he vowed to the face he held in his hands.

  Mark released her head gently, and it fell back to the position in which he had first found her. He glanced down and saw the phone. It took him several moments in order to release it from her grip. Securing the phone, he immediately called Mrs. Mills.

  Jan answered on the first ring. “Sami?” she asked.

  Mark was caught off guard. How in the world did Mrs. Mills know that he was calling? Suddenly he recalled the Caller ID on her desk, and answered his own question. “No,” he responded, “but I am here and I appreciate the nice bit of detective work, Mrs. Mills. The address was correct. I confirmed it by a package that had been left on the front steps.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Jan replied sounding greatly relieved. “Dr. Stevens, how is she?”

  “Physically, she is here, but mentally, I haven’t the slightest idea.” While he spoke to Jan, Mark walked to the open front door. Removing the delivery sticker, and closing the door, he walked over to the closest lamp and turned it on.

  “Do you want me to send an ambulance?”

  “No!” Mark replied quickly, “I don’t want drugs introduced at this time. Besides, you are fully aware of the treatment this type of patient would receive.” His voice was edged with fresh anger. He hated City Central Hospital, the only hospital that was slated for emergency ‘mental’ cases. They were not adequately staffed to handle these cases. Budget cuts always hit the mental health department before all others. The unfairness of this thinking really infuriated him. The hospital’s policy regarding their responsibility was to handle emergencies and to maintain ‘mental’ patients by drugging them until they could be transported to a sanitarium or clinics that are better staffed.

  “Mrs. Mills, get out your little book and work your magic. Call around to our regular retreats. See if you can locate a room for her. In the meantime, she is comfortable here.” Recalling that the mailing label on the package at the door read Mr. and Mrs. Carter, Mark continued, “I will stay with her and try to see if I can locate her family.”

  “Okay. I will do my best to find her a place. I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Good luck on the hunt for her family,” Jan replied as she picked up her referral book.

  “Mrs. Mills, don’t call here,” Mark quickly added. “I would feel strange picking up her phone. Just page me and I will call you back.”

  “Will do. Talk to you soon,” she said as the phone went dead in his hand.

  Mark turned off the phone, and before replacing it, checked to see if it had a memory function of frequent numbers dialed, hoping it would provide a contact that could give him information regarding Mrs. Carter. To his disappointment, this phone did not have that feature. Shaking his head, he gently replaced it in the cradle, and noticed the blinking answering machine indicating that a message was waiting for her. He checked the number, and saw the number ‘1’ displayed, showing his call to her earlier. Well, he sighed, no leads there. He considered contacting her neighbors, but banished the idea not wanting them to get involved.

  Mark’s gaze returned to Sami’s body slumped in the chair. Knowing that she was unaware that he was standing there, he glanced around the neat-as-a-pin, nicely furnished room. Wanting a place to lay her down, for her comfort, his eyes spotted the couch across the room. He walked over, picked up one of the decorative pillows and placed it at one end next to the arm of the couch.

  Returning to Sami, Mark gently tried to pick her up into his arms. This task proved tricky because her legs were under her body. He
would have to remove the afghan to rearrange her legs, but as he tried, he realized that she had hooked the fingers of her left hand in the yarn and wouldn’t let go. He did, however, finally manage to wrestle the afghan from her lap, and was startled to find a large bath towel wrapped around her. Odd apparel, he thought, but made no comment. Now able to stretch out her legs without any more complications, he placed the afghan back over her legs. Well, if you want to keep this afghan over you, so be it, he quietly reflected.

  Mark picked her up, realizing that he could easily handle her weight. He was thankful that he had taken the time to work out three times a week. Sami’s body automatically molded to him. Her head rolled to his shoulder with her face was just inches from his. He found himself studying her face again. Mark felt the same attraction to her that he had experienced moments before. The strong sensation tugged at his heart. He tried to fend off this feeling, but he knew that it would be a difficult task.

  “Where are you?” Mark asked the pretty upturned face. He inhaled deeply enjoying the fresh, clean scent that was coming from her. Maintaining the same soft voice, he murmured, “I am not going anywhere. I’m here with you.” He wanted her to feel his presence.

  He turned toward the couch, careful that he did not cause too much movement to the bundle in his arms. When he reached the couch with his precious bundle, he swore softly, “Damn.” He had arranged the pillow on the wrong end of the couch, and there was no way to move it at this point. His mind quickly ran through his options. He could try to use his foot, but that would be out of the question. He could grab the pillow with his fingers, but that also would cause too much movement. He sighed heavily debating with these choices in his mind. His bundle moved slightly within his arms. Sami’s head turned further into his chest.

  “So you are there,” he whispered to the top of her head. Thrilled that there was some reaction from her, he looked around for another place to unload his bundle. Not seeing an easy answer, he journeyed further into her house seeking for other options.

  Going down the hallway, Mark had his choice of four open doorways. He stopped at the first one to his right. Viewing a sparkling clean bathroom, he got the impression that it was not used much. The towels on the racks were folded neatly with the matching wash cloths tri-angled on top of each towel. The clutter-free countertop revealed only a liquid soap pump and a basket of silk flowers. The absence of a clothes hamper did not go unnoticed by Mark. That usually indicated this was a guest bathroom, not for family use. His detective mode was kicking into high gear.

  Mark moved down the hall. The first open door on the left revealed another clue. A craft room was the first word that came to mind. It was tiled instead of carpeted, and in one corner stood a painter’s easel. Shelves, mounted on the wall, held all the painting supplies. Leaning against a wall was a stack of canvasses. In the far corner, he also spied a cabinet sewing machine above which was built-in cabinets that he was sure held her sewing supplies. Between the easel and the sewing machine were two, large, matching cedar chests. Poking his head into the room to look in the corners hidden from his view, he spotted an ironing board, folded-up and hanging on the side of a 6 X 4 foot, double-door, storage cabinet. His eyes returned to a painting on the easel. The work-in-progress appeared to be a rather rustic, barn-shaped house in a stand of woods. Not bad, he thought as he pulled his head back out of the room.

  Shifting Sami’s body slightly in his arms, he stepped on down the hall to the two doorways that were at the end. On the left, he found what appeared to be an office or library, on the right, her bedroom. He was caught off guard by its appearance.

  ***

  SEVEN

  It was not that this bedroom was messy. Like the rest of the house so far, it was neat-as-a-pin, very well decorated, but very much a room of a woman. Confused, Mark thought, What is this? There was no evidence of a male presence in this house. He thought back to the package left at the door, and remembered that it was addressed to a MR. and Mrs. Carter. Strange, very strange, he mused.

  Mark moved to the side of the queen-sized bed and gently laid Sami down. As he stood back, she didn’t move, but lay exactly like he placed her, like a corpse. He shuddered at the thought. She still clung to the knitted afghan, which had shifted during these movements, and he reached out to straighten it around her. His action was prematurely interrupted as Sami turned over on her side, facing away from him, drawing her feet up in the process. She’s going into a protective fetal position, he thought as he stood over her. When she had settled, he rearranged the afghan and stood to his full height.

  Mark stood there awhile gazing down at Sami pondering where to begin. He had previously dealt with patients that had opted to shut the world out while they healed themselves. He knew the mind had a tremendous healing power, and he respected this power. He leaned back over Sami to check her pulse and her breathing. He stood back, satisfied that physically she was not in any immediate danger, reassuring himself that he had been correct in not requesting an ambulance. She needed the time to heal without drugs clouding her mind. If the need arose to keep her physically comfortable, he could still summon help. But, in the meantime, he felt that these surroundings were what she needed most.

  Mark walked around to the far side of the bed so he could view her face. He knelt down next to the bed, and with his right hand, reached out and brushed the hair away that was covering her face.

  “Mrs. Carter,” he tried again. “Where are you?” He didn’t expect to receive an answer. Still looking at her face, he recalled the mostly one-sided conversation that had taken place approximately an hour earlier. “What is ‘IT’?” he asked, not realizing that he had spoken out loud until he heard his own voice.

  Tearing his eyes reluctantly from her face, he scanned the room searching for clues. Something didn’t feel right about this room. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something. He stood up and walked back to the doorway. He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. With his eyes still closed, he did a 180-degree turn so that he was facing back into the room. He trusted his instincts, and he needed to clear his thoughts to allow all his awareness to be heightened. Before opening his eyes, he took out his recorder and switched it on.

  He inhaled deeply, and released it slowly, before opening his eyes. He scanned the scene in a long continuous movement before speaking. “I am standing in the doorway of Mrs. Carter’s bedroom,” he began. “The room is immaculately clean. Not one item of clutter is observed. There is one queen-sized bed, one dresser, one lamp on a single nightstand and one cedar chest. There are no pictures on the walls, no photographs on the nightstand.” Mark inhaled sharply. “That’s it,” he proclaimed, “it’s like walking into a hotel room. The whole setting looks sterile, although she has cleverly tried to hide this appearance by the bright colors of the curtains and bedspread.”

  Mark looked down at Sami. “I believe I have discovered something very important about you, Mrs. Carter,” he remarked to the unconscious woman on the bed. Mark’s eye widened when he noticed something unique about the bed itself. “How could I have been so blind? How could I have missed this earlier?” he asked himself. “Add to the list, only one pillow on the bed.” He switched off the recorder.

  Mark checked his pager to verify that there had been no pages from Mrs. Mills. Changing the signal from the audio to vibrate mode, he wanted to avoid the shrill tones of the pager disturbing the quiet of the house. With the new insight into Mrs. Carter personal life, he felt a need to explore the rest of the house, seeking any information that would give him some answers. He visually checked Sami’s condition and satisfied that the situation had not changed, he walked out of the room.

  Back in the middle of the hallway, Mark took four steps to the room across the hall. Switching on the recorder still in his hand before entering, he wanted a permanent record of his first impression. Keeping his voice low, he began his narration. “I’m in, what I would call, her office. Directly across the room from me, under a
window, is a desk, which is reflecting the sunlight across the top. On the right hand corner of the desk is an old desk phone. Perhaps, the desk will provide the answers!” As he spoke, he moved toward the desk, hoping he could locate an address book or file that would give him some contacts.

  Mark switched off the recorder and placed it on top of the spotless desk. Pulling the chair out, he sat down and opened the top drawer. A couple of pencils and pens, a tape dispenser, a stapler and staples were all that resided in this drawer. He shut the drawer wondering if his luck was running dry. He opened the second drawer and immediately cheered as he spied a small, yellow, address book, one he hoped that would contain answers.

  Excitedly, Mark picked up the book, but frowned when he saw its condition. The book had the appearance of being brand new. His hopes faded as he opened the cover. The binding was tight and stiff. “This is not a good sign,” he uttered. He thumbed through the pages, but knew, even as he searched, that he would not find a single entry. Replacing the book, he closed the drawer. One more drawer, he thought, gripping the handle and silently praying here he would find his answers. Pulling it open, he found it empty, and he shut the drawer sharply in his frustration. “One small baby step at a time,” Mark said out loud to vent some of his frustration. He picked up the recorder, switched it on, and voiced. “ Nothing located in the desk is of any help.”