CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEIGHBOR
Mac woke the following morning with a terrible backache and wretched crick in her neck. Her body responded like a woman’s body that had aged fifty years overnight.
“Wow, I hope I don’t do that again. It was so much more comfortable when I was nine.”
She went to the bathroom, splashed some water in her face and ran a brush through her hair. Then she went to her closet and said, “What to wear, hmmm.” Mac was about to remove an outfit from a hanger when she remembered the cameras. “Where did I put the ‘magic clicker’?”
She eventually found it, disabled the camera and got dressed. She reactivated the camera and made her way slowly to the kitchen for her morning coffee. “Damn, my back is killing me. Did you guys get me sleeping on the couch? I’ll need proof for the insurance claim,” she said jokingly as she looked up at the kitchen camera.
Mac looked out her kitchen window while the coffee was brewing and was delighted to see that it appeared to be a beautiful day. I wonder if Marcia’s still here? she thought as she made her way to the living room bay window.
She didn’t see any vehicles parked out front, so she assumed Marcia had left. Mac looked over her shoulder and noticed that the clock on the mantle indicated it was well past dawn. In fact, it was nearly ten o’clock. Mac was sleeping later and later. I could get used to the extra sleep, she thought.
When she gazed back out the window, she saw a little girl standing on the beach, just inches from her fence. She was staring at Mac and smiling. The little girl looked to be about eight or nine years old and had long blond hair that was dancing wildly in the wind.
Mac could feel cold air creeping through the glass, so she knew it was chilly outside. It surprised her that the girl was wearing a short sleeve, yellow t-shirt and matching yellow shorts. Crazy kid is probably barefoot too, she thought.
It puzzled Mac to see the little girl, but then again, if she was staying next door at the Ferguson’s it would explain the child’s voice she heard the night she arrived. Children should be in school though, unless they’re just here for the weekend and are staying with the computer guy next door. Oh well, maybe she’ll be quiet. Maybe she’ll be as wonderful as I was when I was her age! thought Mac as she returned to the kitchen to make toast.
Wait a minute, I wasn’t wonderful, I was perfect! she thought as she chuckled and poured a cup of coffee.
When she tossed the butter knife from the toast into the sink, she saw the little girl through her kitchen window. She was still standing in the same spot and still staring at Mac with a very warm and sincere smile. Curiosity yanked so hard that she couldn’t resist. Mac donned a windbreaker and went outside to investigate.
Mac walked nonchalantly to the end of the path, noting that the little girl stared at her the entire distance. It was doubtful that she even blinked.
Mac stopped about four feet from the little girl and said, “Hello there. How are you doing today?”
The girl continued to smile, but remained silent.
Mac looked out over the ocean and then back at the girl. “My name is Mac. I live in the cottage behind me. What’s your name?”
The girl turned at the waist and reached into a small patch of sea holly, still maintaining silence.
“Careful,” cautioned Mac, “those leaves can really tear up your skin.”
The girl produced a black book bag with yellow daisies and handed it to Mac.
Mac examined the girl’s hands and arms and didn’t see a single scratch. When Mac was ten, she unwittingly ran barefoot through some sea holly that her mother had planted and it tore the hell out of her feet and ankles.
Mac took the book bag and said, “You’re one lucky girl. When I was your age I wasn’t so lucky. Those plants tore me up.” She opened the bag and saw a set of oil paints. “Are these yours? Do you like to paint? I love to paint whenever I have the time.”
Mac was puzzled. All the little girl would do was smile and stare. “Would you like me to show you how to use these?” Mac looked at the girl and, “Okay. You can talk can’t you?”
The little girl maintained her warm smile and unwavering eye contact, but still didn’t speak. The wind was still slapping her bangs into her eyes, but the girl didn’t blink.
Suddenly, the girl broke eye contact by looking sharply to her right. Then she turned and walked inland until she disappeared into a five foot high clump of pampas grass.
Mac glanced in the same direction as the girl and saw nothing, so she watched the girl until she was gone. “There was a day when I would think that what just happened was bizarre. I’m getting to the point now, where I talk to myself more and view the bizarre as normal. Yes, indeed, Mac. You are losing it!”
Mac turned to go back inside and saw a man approaching. “I wonder what surprises he’ll bring. I don’t see any book bags.”
The man walked with a duck-like gait and waved as he approached. She wasn’t sure if he was having trouble walking in the sand or if he just walked like a duck. It made her smile thinking about it.
He stopped a couple of feet in front of Mac, extended his hand and said, “Hi, neighbor. My name is Brian. I’m staying at the cottage next to you for awhile.”
“I’m, Mackenzie,” she said as she shook his hand.
“I saw you standing alone out here, so I thought I’d take advantage of the situation and try to get to know you better.”
“Why?” asked Mac.
“Why do I want to get to know you better? Well, you’re vacationing alone and I’m vacationing alone, so I thought I’d throw in some of my wit and wisdom to break up some of the aloneness. It’s your lucky day!” said Brian trying to use his humor to break the ice.
“Oh, you’re so perceptive and timely too. I was just about to waste my money on a classified advertisement in search of a buddy to break up my aloneness,” said Mac
Mac looked everywhere for the little girl and saw no sign of her. Oddly enough, there were no footprints leading to or leaving the spot where the girl was just standing. Nor was there any impression in the sand where the girl was standing when Mac was talking to her. Although the girl’s coming and going was indeed baffling, Mac still had the book bag and paint set. That was important. They were tangible, physical and unmistakable proof that the latest episode wasn’t a hallucination.
Mac removed the paint set from the bag and looked it over. Meanwhile, Brian continued with his vain attempts at witty conversation. She ignored him and opened the lid carefully. None of the paint tubes had been opened yet. She also noticed that there were three unused brushes, a new looking palette knife and an unused paint palette. She smiled widely when she removed a box of artist’s charcoal because it brought to mind an “artistic moment” from her childhood.
When Mac was eight years old, she read a book about the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo’s years of work painting scenes on the interior walls. There was a particular illustration of the great artist that depicted him painting angelic figures on the ceiling. She was amazed by his abilities and thought that it was a wonderful way to bring the walls to life. She was so impressed that she attempted to mimic his efforts.
She went into her bedroom and piled several orange crates, (free for the taking from the Cuda Shack), on her bed. Then she laid a board across the top of them and climbed up. She laid on her back and started sketching. It wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. Her back ached against the board and the blood rushed out of her arms, causing them to throb. She decided to add pillows atop the board to prop her up and solve the back problem. When she shifted to get a better angle, the crates came crashing down, crushing a lamp and several knickknacks in the immediate vicinity.
When her father heard the commotion, he came running in and stared in disbelief. Mac was okay physically, but feared the worst from her father.
“What in the world are you doing?” said her father in a stern voice.
Mac explained everything and was pleasantly surprise
d when her father built a small scaffold over her bed so she could finish the job safely. He reminded her that she had a responsibility to the family to make sure she did things in a safe manner and to get permission before attempting something so extreme. He also told her she had to do two weeks of extra household chores to work off the broken lamp debt.
The ceiling art remained for a number of years, but was removed the year that they thought they would have to sell the cottage. Luckily, they were able to work out their financial situation and keep the cottage.
Brian realized Mac wasn’t paying much attention so he decided to shift his strategy before retreating in defeat. He saw her interest in the paint set and said, “I actually know quite a bit about art, (in reality, he knew very little and figured what he didn’t know could be found quickly enough on the internet). I tried painting several years ago and just never got the hang of it. Nice set you have there. Were you about to paint something?”
“Not right now. Maybe later,” replied Mac as she returned the contents of the box to their original positions and closed the lid. “Do you know of any children in the area?”
“No, I sure don’t,” he replied. Brian cleared his throat and said, “By the way, Mac, I’m throwing some steaks on the grill tonight. I’d love it if you’d join me for a very informal dinner.”
“My name is Mackenzie. Only my friends call me Mac.”
“Okay, Mackenzie. Would you like to come over for some charbroiled steak around seven o’clock?”
Mac sighed and said, “You said you know a lot about art. How much is a lot?”
“Ask me anything about the works of Monet, Picasso, or any of the greats,” said Brian proudly.
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’m going to ask you an art related question. If you can answer my question correctly, I’ll come to your barbeque. If you can’t, then you leave me alone.”
“That’s not a fair deal. You could ask something stupid like Renoir’s shoe size,” complained Brian.
“I won’t make it that complicated. It will be very general in nature,” stated Mac.
Brian looked at Mac and cocked his head to one side. “You sound pretty confident and I’ll probably regret it, but I have to take the shot. All right, it’s a deal.”
“Good. What is Rembrandt’s full name?” asked Mac with a smile.
Brian felt like a cartoon character that had been handed a red bomb with a short fuse and Mac just lit it. He was stumped and had no clue what the answer was.
“Looks like you got me on that one! I’ll take a stab anyway. How about Wolfgang?…Klaus?”
Mac made a thumb down gesture and said, “Wrong answers, Bucko! And a deal is deal. Goodbye.”
Mac tucked the paint set under her arm and turned to go back in her front door. She was turning the doorknob when she heard Brian say, “Would you at least tell me the answer?”
Mac opened the door and said, “No.” She went inside and closed the door. She walked to the dining room table to set the paint set down and saw a huge pile of something hidden under a thin black cloth. “Hello! I didn’t see you before I went outside.”
She carefully lifted the cloth, like a man handling a dirty baby diaper and crouched down to peek in. She saw several red and green lights and what looked like the bottom of a television screen. Her discovery had to be investigated further, so she pulled the black cloth all the way up. It revealed a black and white monitor and no less than six video cassette recorders. The screen switched scenes every five seconds or so, like the one she had seen over the tellers at her bank.
Mac smiled as the image switched to the front yard and showed Brian still standing there. It occurred to her that one of the cameras probably picked up at least some of the little girl she encountered by her fence. Mac looked at the array and considered messing around with it to see if she could find the girl, but wisely changed her mind. She was paying her investigators a tidy sum to do that for her. An additional expense, such as video repair, or some other exotic problem she couldn’t even fathom, was certainly not a welcome thought. She could wait.
Outside a frustrated Brian was trying to figure out his next move. Whatever he decided, he already knew he wasn’t going to keep the deal. She’s playing hard to get. The greater the challenge, the greater the victory, he thought.
Brian looked toward Mac’s picture window, waved and said, “It’s just a matter of clicking restart. See ya’ on the reload.”
When Brian returned to the Ferguson place, he saw a policeman waiting by the front door. He felt the blood rushing to his face and his mouth started getting dry.
Brian walked up the new steps to the porch, avoiding eye contact with the policeman.
“Good morning, sir. My name is Deputy Collins. I’m with the sheriff’s department and I need a couple of minutes of your time.”
“Okay,” replied Brian nervously.
“Are you the current occupant of this dwelling?”
“Yes, sir.”
Deputy Collins unbuttoned his shirt pocket and removed a small black notepad. He scribbled something in it and returned it to his pocket.
“Your name please,” asked the deputy.
“My name is Brian Caufield,” he said as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets.
“Do you own this residence?” asked the deputy, knowing full well that he didn’t.
“No, I’m renting it for a couple of weeks from Robert and Mildred Ferguson.”
“Do you have a rental agreement to support your statement, Mr. Caufield?”
“Yes, sir. It’s inside. I’ll be more than happy to get it for you.” Brian fumbled in his pockets anxiously and finally produced several keys. Brian could feel the deputy’s eyes following his every move. He took a deep breath, composed himself and unlocked the door.
As Brian opened the door, Deputy Collins said, “Mind if I come in with you and look around?”
“No problem. Come on in.” Brian conquered his initial fear and felt a surge of confidence.
Deputy Collins rested his right palm on the grip of his service revolver and entered. He was delighted that Brian voluntarily invited him in. If he found any wrongdoing, then evidence collected would be admissible in a court of law even though no search warrant had been issued.
“I put my copy of the rental contract in a desk drawer over there,” said Brian as he pointed to an old hickory desk in the living room.
“Go ahead,” said the deputy.
Brian tried to ease the tension and gain some of the deputy’s confidence with small talk. “How long have you lived in the area?”
Brian’s focus had shifted just long enough for him to catch a telescope tripod with his foot. The tripod tipped over, sending the telescope into some Venetian blinds. The blinds came crashing down and slammed into the windowsill.
The startled deputy whipped his revolver out of its holster as fast as lightning. He scanned the area in search of a target.
Brian closed his eyes and stood perfectly still. “Please don’t shoot,” he said weakly.
The deputy realized that the emergency had subsided, so he holstered the revolver. He took his notepad out again and made a notation of the incident and the time it occurred.
“The contract please, Mr. Caufield. I would also like to see your driver’s license,” he said in a forceful voice.
“Yes, sir,” responded Brian as he went to the desk and removed several pieces of paper.
“Here you go, sir.”
The deputy looked at each document carefully and set them down occasionally to make entries in his notepad.
After examining everything, the deputy handed the papers back to Brian. “Everything appears to be in order. I noticed an unusual amendment releasing you from any liability for damages. I guess you lucked out on the broken telescope.”
“Do you mind if I look in the other rooms?” asked the deputy.
“No, sir. I don’t mind at all.”
The deputy looked in all of t
he rooms and saw nothing out of order. He was surprised to see a computer and various pieces of sophisticated support hardware in a side bedroom.
“Mr. Caufield, would you come over here for a minute?”
Brian met up with the deputy in the hallway and said “Yes, sir?”
“It’s interesting that you would bring all of this equipment with you while you’re vacationing.”
“Interesting? It’s more like a ball and chain. I’m a computer programmer and I thought I’d take this chance to catch up on some projects I’m involved with.”
“I understand you’ll be working at the Cuda Shack while you’re on vacation as well. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Caufield, why would a man take a vacation and carry forward the very things a vacation is supposed to provide refuge from?”
Brian smiled and said, “From the outside, I guess it does appear strange. While I’m at my job, I’m always working on projects for other people…always turning their ideas into reality. I’ve had some ideas of my own that I really wanted to pursue and never had enough uninterrupted time to follow through. Now I do. I have no phones to answer and deadlines to meet. I can do what I want to do when I want to do it. As far as working at the Cuda Shack goes, it will give me food money while I’m here. I spent most of my extra money just renting this place.”
“How did you select this particular cottage?” asked the deputy.
“I did a search on the internet and this place offered everything I was looking for and was within my budget.”
Deputy Collins was a quick study with a keen eye for detail and uncanny sixth sense about people. He could look into most people’s eyes and know when they were lying or trying to hide something. He served the police department for many years with a distinction that earned him the nickname “Sherlock”. When he looked into Brian’s eyes, he was relatively certain there was more to the story, he just didn’t know what.
Deputy Collins moved toward the door and said, “Thanks for your cooperation. I’ll be in touch.”
“No problem,” responded Brian as he ushered the deputy outside. When he closed the door, his shoulders dropped and he let out a deep sigh of relief.
Deputy Collins walked the short distance from the Fergusons to Mac’s place. Mac came to the door and said, “Hello, what can I do for you?”
“My name is Deputy Collins. I’m with the sheriff’s department. May I come in?”
“Sure, come on in. I’ve seen you several times before at the Cuda Shack but we’ve never been formally introduced. My name is Mac.”
“I know who you are and I knew your parents very well. I’ve fished off the pier many times when you and your dad were there. My wife and oldest daughter even took sewing lessons from your mother. They were good people. Very caring, very sincere. I’m sorry about your loss.”
“Thank you,” said Mac softly. “Can I get you anything?”
“Not right now. I just wanted to check in with you and let you know the department will be adding your cottage to our patrol next week. I spoke with Marcia Labonte at great length this morning and she has briefed me on your situation. One of their investigators made numerous attempts to contact Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson in Tempe, but apparently their telephone line has been disconnected. They also spoke with Floyd and he has no knowledge of any rental arrangements. Floyd was able to provide them with their son’s name and telephone number, but he is overseas spearheading a big construction project somewhere.”
“Have you spoken with the guy next door yet? It is so unusual for Bob and Millie to rent their place out. There has to be some mistake,” said Mac.
“I just came from there. Everything looks legitimate. We’ll be keeping an eye on him though. Let me know if he or anyone else gives you any trouble. The surveillance Ms. Labonte has established appears to be well laid out. So that should help”
“I’ll be sure to keep you posted of any events. Thanks.”
“Well, Mac, I just wanted to touch bases with you and bring you into the loop.” The deputy removed a card from his pocket and said, “Here’s my direct line and cell number. Of course, you can always reach me or someone from the department by dialing 911.”
The deputy turned and left. Mac watched him walk off toward the pier and then sat on her couch. A lot had been going on in her short time there. If the events that had already transpired were a harbinger of the remainder of her vacation, she was certainly going to have a full plate. If she only knew! The worst was yet to come.
Mac toyed with the idea of attempting to read the novel again, but got no further than the cover. She turned her attention to the television and said, “I need to get you fixed. I wonder if Dean still works at that repair shop on Apple Valley Drive.”
She flipped through her mom’s address book, found the number to the repair shop and was delighted when she called and heard Dean’s voice on the other end. They discussed general events that had transpired and then set up a Monday afternoon repair appointment.
Dean owed Mac’s dad some favors so he agreed to come out and look at the television set as a special favor to Mac. He trusted Mac not to say anything about his impending visit to her cottage because house calls were strictly prohibited. Even though the owner treated Dean like a son, he had no desire to be disowned.
“Well, I guess that just leaves you,” she said as she looked at the jigsaw puzzle.
Mac went to the kitchen and got a fresh cup of coffee. She came back to the puzzle, put her cup on the table and then sat on the floor in front of the jigsaw puzzle.
When she first opened the puzzle, she assumed by the box’s worn appearance that it had been around for some time. The pieces however, were very stiff and hard to snap together. She was sure it was the first time anyone had tried to work it.
Assembling the puzzle proved to be surprisingly relaxing. A gentle, pleasant feeling ran from her fingertips all the way up and over her entire body. It was soothing, comforting and created a sense of security. It reminded her of how she felt when she laid in her dad’s lap as a child. She’d crawl into his lap after a hard day of play and smile as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. He’d start telling her a story he made up as he went but she was never awake to hear the ending.
The puzzle had the same effect. She soon began to feel as if she had taken a tranquilizer. She was riding on the horizon of relaxation without the benefit of any medication.
It proved to be too great a struggle to keep her eyes open, so she made the effortless transition from floor to couch and wrapped herself in her mother’s comforter. As she dozed off, thoughts of work crept into her conscious mind. I feel like I’ve forgotten something or forgotten to call someone. It had been a long while since she went this long without a work related thought. Thoughts of work, dreams of work. Always the job. Always one more thing. Always the work, the work, the work.
Mac slept for several hours and woke with a ravenous appetite. She lay on the couch thinking about what she wanted to eat. She didn’t feel like cooking and had even less desire to go out and get something.
Sitting up was a matter of mind over matter. She really wanted to keep sleeping or at least lying down, but she knew she’d never get to sleep at night. She got up, folded the comforter and draped it across the worn back rail and spindles of her mother’s rocking chair.
When she went into the kitchen, she really didn’t know what she wanted. She was more in a snacking mood than eating mood. She saw a can of mixed nuts, so she opened it and threw a handful into her mouth. She looked out the kitchen window again. Now the neighbor had a name. Shingo said he was a computer programmer. That would explain the strange glow she saw again. He was probably working.
Mac clutched her head. A nagging throb was blossoming into another full blown headache. It wouldn’t hurt to call the doctor. It had been years since she’d been to one.
“What the hell. I’ll call him,” she said as she searched out her mother’s address book.<
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It was still open to the page with the repair shop number. She turned a few pages, found the number and called Doctor Belcher.
“Hello, Mrs. Belcher?” asked Mac when a female voice answered.
“Yes it is. Who’s calling please?” she asked.
“It’s Mackenzie Mason, Mrs. Belcher. How have you been?”
“Oh, hi Mac. I’ve been just fine. It’s good to hear your voice again. Are you calling from Atlanta or are you back in town?” asked Mrs. Belcher in her usual soft, comforting voice.
“I’m vacationing at the cottage for a couple of weeks. It’s my first extended time off from work in years. I know it’s Sunday and he’s probably already had a full and hectic week, but is Doc Belcher around?”
There was a momentary silence, and then Mrs. Belcher replied in a more serious tone. “Well, Mac, he has had a very rough week. Do you have an emergency?”
“It’s not really an emergency, Mrs. Belcher, but it is something of an urgent nature.”
Silence, then a response, “I’ll see if he can come to the phone. Hold on a minute.”
While Mac was waiting, she looked around the living room and saw some cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. She started to feel stupid for calling the doctor and bothering him. Problems are just like those cobwebs. You either ignore them or you do something about them. Maybe she shouldn’t have called. Maybe she should just move on and ignore the issues disrupting her life. Maybe they’ll go away on their own. What if they don’t?
“Hello, Mac. Emily tells me that you’re back in town for a vacation. How long will you be here?” asked Doctor Belcher.
“A couple of weeks,” she replied.
“You haven’t spent that much time here in years. What brings you back?“
“I’ve encountered some personal problems at work and I think someone is intending to do me physical harm.“
“That sounds serious. How can I help?”
“I think the combined stress is getting to me and wearing me down. I was reluctant to call because I know it’s Sunday, but I keep seeing things no one else does and I periodically hear voices when there’s no one around. I’ve started getting headaches like I’ve never had before.”
“Tell me a little more about the voices and threat to your well-being.”
Mac paced back and forth across the room as she explained the entire story to the doctor. She also explained how she was smitten with instant attacks of drowsiness. She looked out the bay window and saw a vehicle parked in front. At first she felt apprehensive. She was relieved considerably when she saw Marcia get out.
“Excuse me, Doc, one of the private investigators I was telling you about just got here.”
“I’ll hold, Mac.”
Mac opened the door and let Marcia in. “Hi, Marcia. I’ll just be a few more minutes. Make yourself at home.”
Marcia nodded and Mac went into her bedroom to finish the call.
“Well, that’s the story. What’s the diagnosis, Doctor?”
“I don’t believe you’re experiencing a nervous breakdown, Mac. There are many things your body may be recommending to you, however, I don’t think a straightjacket is one of them. Consider a major reduction in your caffeine intake. That much coffee only benefits coffee bean growers. You might also consider some informal socializing with friends to occupy your mind. You’re a professional woman who’s used to going full throttle and you’ve just slammed on the brakes. Even though it’s only been a short period, withdrawal from any addictive behavior can be traumatic. In any case, I want you to stop by for a complete workup. Call my office on Monday and we’ll get you taken care of.”
Everything’s happening on Monday. Why not? I have to meet with Shingo, Donna’s coming to help with surveillance, I have to go grocery shopping, Dean is coming to fix the television and now the doctor. Good to have deadlines and stress again! Bring back the stress - a song title perhaps?
“Thanks for everything, Doctor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Mac. Don’t hesitate to call if things get worse.”
“Good night,” she replied.
Mac tracked down Marcia and said, “Did everything go all right with the installation?”
“Everything went as expected,” replied Marcia as she went to the dining room table. “I ran a check of all surveillance apparatus and it looks good. I’ve had all cameras running and recording every minute. When Donna arrives tomorrow, I’ll run a cable from here, (Marcia pointed to an open jack), out to the surveillance van. We’ll maintain an internal and external coverage. How did everything go while I was gone?”
“Uneventful from a threat standpoint. I did have three visitors though. Would the cameras have picked up a person standing in front of my fence?” asked Mac.
“Yes. Would you like to run a replay?”
Marcia punched some buttons here and there. Mac watched as the images ran in reverse. She saw the cop and Brian walking backwards. Then she saw the book bag with big, beautiful daisies, yet there was no little girl. It appeared that Mac had simply produced the bag from the sea holly by herself.
“Stop it right there!” exclaimed Mac, nearly shouting.
Marcia complied immediately and stared intently at the monitor. “What is it, Mac?” she asked in a concerned voice.
Small tears formed in the corners of Mac’s eyes. “Damn it! Why isn’t the little girl on the screen? I guarantee you I saw a little girl with blond hair standing right by the sea holly. Yet there isn’t anything on the tape. How can that be?”
Marcia moved closer to the monitor and nearly had her face pressed against the glass.
“I’m losing it, Marcia. I was hoping the monitor would add credence to my claims. The cameras were running and I have a new paint set. But it looks like I simply pulled it out of my ass. I swear to you that I got the paints as a gift from a little girl. How is that possible if no one is on the tape?”
Marcia continued to stare at the monitor. She stopped the tape, rewound it and played it again. This time, she pressed another button and it played the scene back frame by frame. She saw a faint shimmer, like a mirage you might see on the highway when the heat is rising and you think you see a lake. It was ever so slight.
Marcia played it again and again. Each time she saw the shimmer. It was only there for five or six frames. Nonetheless, it was still there.
“I wish I’d had the infrared running. We normally don’t run infrared during the day.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Mac as she wiped away the runaway tears.
“There are certain wavelengths of color not visible to the human eye. Just like certain frequencies of sound. I’m sure you realize that animals can perceive the higher pitches of sound that we can’t. The same is true of color, but no one is sure if animals can see them. We’re not sure how high or low these wavelengths travel. We do know that infrared can pick up some of them. Unfortunately, we don’t run infrared during the day.”
Marcia stopped the video where she saw the shimmer and pointed to it. “There is a little bit of a wavering image, perhaps a reflection, right here,” said Marcia as she pointed with her index finger.
“I spoke with Robert about the shadows you saw. He suggested a rather bizarre explanation that’s in line with what we’re discussing now. Given that all people have different fingerprints, it is also possible to assume that no two human brains or bodies are exactly the same. It is therefore conceivable that some people are able to perceive more colors than others. Let’s assume that when someone dies, there is a specific period of time that their body’s electrical energy retains its physical, worldly form. Most of the population today wouldn’t even notice because they can’t perceive that wavelength of color. But what if you were different? What if you could pick up some of the colors no one else could? What if you never really died, but simply transformed your means of existence from air to electricity? What if these energy fields maintained some or all of the intelligence stored
as electrical energy in the brain when the individual lived on oxygen and not pure energy? What if they were selective as to how and why they appeared? If all that were possible, it would certainly explain why a select few are able to witness apparitions, while others can’t. Maybe they have to build up enough energy to appear to you and then can’t sustain it for any length of time. It could be like a lightning bug on a dark night. Maybe they’re always there, but we can’t see them until they turn on the light. Consider the likelihood of the unlikely. Accept it as just that and move on.”
Mac listened to Marcia’s every word. Even if she was talking bullshit, at least she was being sincere and sympathetic to Mac’s concerns. Who knows, maybe some it of was true. In any case, Mac no longer felt alone and isolated. The investigators were on her team all the way.
“Thanks for the pep talk. It’s reassuring to know I’m not alone in all of this.”
“I’ll put a new tape in and send this one to Robert. Maybe he can make something out it,” said Marcia as she removed the tape. She pulled a cardboard box from under the table and removed a padded envelope. She addressed it and said, “I’m going to run and mail this to Robert and I’ll be right back. I’ll set up my surveillance as soon as I return and won’t meet with you again, unless you need me for something.”
“Okay, Marcia. Drive carefully.”
Mac watched Marcia drive away through her kitchen window and started snacking on the mixed nuts again. She turned her back to the window and tried to digest everything Marcia had just thrown her way. Marcia said apparitions. Apparition is a more formal way to say ghost. Do they really believe in ghosts or are they protecting their income and saying what they think I need to hear?
Mac was deep in thought when she heard someone knocking. She went into the living room and looked through the peephole of her front door. She saw Brian standing there, wearing a blue baseball hat with a scruffy team insignia. He was holding a white plate covered with aluminum foil.
She opened the front door to the extent the door chain would allow. Mac had hoped she’d seen the last of Brian.
“What in the world do you want?” she asked angrily.
“I know we made a deal and I lost. I had every intention of keeping my end of the bargain. I was practicing for my cooking debut tomorrow and made a few too many burgers and dogs,” said Brian as he lifted the plate and waved it under Mac’s nose.
“I don’t like wasting food. You could really help me out if you’d take a couple off my hands.”
Mac gave it some thought. She was hungry and didn’t feel like cooking or going out. Maybe if she treated Brian like a trip to the dentist and got it out of the way, it wouldn’t be so bad.
She smiled and said, “Up for another deal?”
“Another deal? Are you a lawyer or something? Please don’t make it another art question. Trivia is not my strong suit.” asked Brian jokingly.
“By the way, did you ever bother to find the answer to my question?”
“Actually, I didn’t even try to. I figured the deal was over. No point in looking.”
“Too bad! You could have earned a bonus point there, stud!”
“Oh well. What’s your new deal?” he asked.
“I’ll accept the meal and give you thirty minutes of my life. After which, you walk out my front door forever.”
Thirty minutes…score!! thought Brian. “That’s barely enough time to set the table and chew my food. How about sixty minutes?” asked Brian with a sheepish grin.
“This is a one time, hard as diamond offer. Thirty minutes and that’s it. If the clock says thirty-one and you’re still here, I dial 911,” stated Mac firmly.
Brian looked at Mac and said reluctantly, “Man, that’s a tough deal, but I accept.”
Mac stepped aside to let him in. She looked around the beach for a little girl and saw no one. Then she led Brian to the kitchen and pointed to the LED clock on her microwave. “Your time starts now!”
Brian wanted to reply with a snappy comeback about feeling like he was on a game show after Mac said, “Your time starts now”, but bit his lower lip and stopped himself.
He set the plate on the table, removed the foil quickly and sped to the refrigerator. As he opened the door, he smiled at Mac and said, “Can’t afford to waste time asking where stuff is!”
Mac rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen door frame.
“What do you like on your burgers?” asked Brian.
“Everything, but all I have is mayonnaise and tomatoes.”
“What about the dogs?”
Mac grimaced and said, “I don’t do hot dogs. Not even in an emergency.”
Brian grabbed what he could and rushed it to the table, ever mindful of the clock. He nearly dropped the plates in his haste.
Mac put her hand over a plate and said, “I’ll take care of my own.”
Brian quickly opened the bread wrapper and removed a single slice. He slapped some mayo on it, dropped a hot dog in the middle and folded it in half. One bite later and half of the dog was gone.
“Is the burger warm enough?” he asked as bread crumbs tumbled out of his mouth.
“It’s fine. Sit down and slow down. You have plenty of time.”
He gulped down the last of the hot dog and brought a quart bottle of cola from the refrigerator.
“Something to drink?” he asked as tiny chunks of meat and bread fell to the floor.
Mac winced at the sight and nodded.
After pouring two glasses of cola, Brian looked at the clock and saw that he had only used up seven minutes. “How am I doing with my time management so far?”
“Wonderful. Use your last twenty minutes wisely.”
“Twenty-three minutes to be precise,” said Brian as his eyes wandered to the newly mounted camera. “Do you have one of those in every room?” he said with a mischievous smile.
Mac followed his eyes and said, “Yes, but that is the only one in the house you’ll ever see.”
“I saw some outside as well. Are you afraid of something or someone?”
“Next question,” replied Mac.
Brian already knew the answer to his next question, but he wanted to test Mac’s sincerity and honesty. Her answer would tell him more than facts.
“Were you born and raised here in Florida?”
Mac swallowed a chunk of meat and replied. “I was born and raised in a one room log cabin in Lincoln, Nebraska. We had no electricity or running water. We were so poor we viewed cooked rat as a delicacy. Most of the time we had to eat them raw. Fire was a luxury because matches were expensive.”
Brian smiled and leaned closer toward Mac. “I can’t picture anyone as beautiful as you ever eating a rat. I picture you wearing an exquisite, strapless, black evening gown, dining at the most expensive restaurants there are. I see you drinking an expensive wine to wash it all down, followed by night of passionate lovemaking.”
Mac rolled her eyes and swallowed her last bite. She wiped her mouth with a paper towel that was a bit rough on her lips and said, “How many hours a week will you be working for Shingo?”
“He said fifteen to twenty. Enough to pay for my food anyway.”
“Shingo is a good man. He can be very sensitive and caring. He never went to college, but he is more intelligent and wise than most grads I know.”
“Great to hear. I’m going to have plenty of time to learn more about him. Right now I find you more interesting.” He was staring at Mac and his imagination started to wander.
He undressed her in his mind and pictured her waiting impatiently for him in bed. He would tease her a little and make her wait. Then he would use foreplay to bring her body to a full, drenching sweat.
His fantasy was shattered explosively, like window glass hit by a rock, when Mac cleared the table and said, “Eleven minutes left, Brian.”
“Please tell me more about you. What do you like to do for fun? What’s your favorite food?” pleaded Brian.
>
“There is no need for you to know anything about me. I’m being as civil to you as I possibly can, considering I have absolutely no desire to know you or have anything to do with you,” said Mac in a monotone voice.
“We are currently neighbors. Temporary ones at that. Nothing more.”
“To know me is to love me, Mackenzie. Besides, I know that when a woman says no, she doesn’t always mean it. Some women like to play hard to get. There’s no reason why our friendship can’t move forward after our vacations are over. If you give me a chance, I’ll show you that I’m an ardent lover, I’m relatively intelligent and I make a decent living.”
“Is my face red now, Brian? It ought to be because you’re starting to really piss me off! What does it take to get through to you?” said Mac forcefully
Brian rubbed his chin and wiggled uncomfortably in his chair. He was hurt. He didn’t expect that kind of reaction.
Mac marched to the front door, jerked it open and said, “Time’s up. Goodbye, Brian. And I most certainly mean goodbye in the strictest, unmistakably clearest and permanent sense! In other words, do not ever come back here again!”
Brian rose and for a minute he thought he was going to cry. “Sorry, Mackenzie. I misunderstood our relationship.”
“Brian, we never had and never will have a relationship of any kind. Understood?”
Brian held his head low, like a scolded puppy. “Understood,” he replied as he left. He walked back to the Ferguson place as if he were in a funeral procession.
Halfway between the two cottages he smiled wanly and said, “Bitch! I know what you need. You haven’t had it in so long it’s making you a cold and bitter bitch. You need a man to stir up your fires and melt the freakin’ ice around your heart. And I’m the man to do the job. Oh, you bitch! We will definitely meet again and I won’t be watching any freakin’ clock either. I’ll leave when I say it’s time.” He looked over his shoulder toward Mac’s place and said, “We’ll meet again, you bitch. When we do, we’ll play by my rules. What do you think of that shit, huh?”
Brian went back inside his cottage and slammed the door like an angry child.
Marcia was sitting out in her rental and made notations of Brian’s arrival and departure. She was able to hear the conversation inside the house and made general notes about it. Too bad she couldn’t hear anything Brian said as he walked home.
Marcia ran into a guy like that once before. When she was done, the guy had a broken nose and spoke two octaves higher!
Mac went into the living room again and decided to give the television another try. When she pushed the power button, she got the same black screen as before. She thought about her neglected novel but it held no appeal. She looked over at the paint set and said, “Sorry, I’m not interested in you either.” She moved closer to the jigsaw puzzle and said, “I guess that just leaves you.”
Mac listened to music and worked the scenic puzzle. She paused several times for coffee, bathroom and stretch breaks; always returning to the puzzle. It started as just something to do, because she always had to be doing something.
When she was a child and even as a teenager, she found it impossible to sit still. She always had to be doing something. Most learning came easy to her. If she encountered a difficult subject, she hammered away at until she mastered it. Once mastered, she grew bored and was ready for a new challenge. She viewed obstacles as a competition to be won. However, she only competed against herself. She always had to beat her old standards, and set a new personal best record.
The puzzle surpassed something to do and was quickly becoming an obsession. She fitted, matched and snapped until there were only a handful of pieces remaining. She determined it was time to stop because all of the pieces were getting blurry. As she rubbed her eyes, a mental alarm went off. She looked at the clock and realized her stores had been closed for several hours and she hadn’t checked her voice mail.
Mac always had at least a score of messages. Most were from managers and other district managers that she referred to as “fence riders”. She called them that because they are the type of management that prefers to remain safely in the middle of the fence and let someone else get their hands dirty. She would tease them when she saw them by asking if their butts were sore from all the splinters. Then before they could respond, she’d answer for them by saying they couldn’t possibly get splinters, because they were too good at covering their butts.
She finished with her voice mail, chugged down the last cup of coffee and returned to the puzzle. She was surprised she wasn’t getting as drowsy working the puzzle as she was before.
She looked in her hand and there were only three pieces left. It was nearly midnight and she was surprisingly fresh. She put one piece in and heard a low frequency humming sound. After she put the second piece in, she thought she heard someone whispering her name somewhere behind her. She turned her head around and looked at the video monitor on the dining room table. The picture was rolling like someone turned the horizontal control out of whack, except there was no horizontal control.
The humming sound got louder, the screen went black and the red power button on the monitor turned off. Her mother’s rocker swayed back and forth and she thought she saw a faint image of a person sitting there. Mac’s freshness was beginning to spoil.
The room was getting warmer and warmer. The air was getting thicker and she found it increasingly harder to breath. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead and her fingertips felt like they were being pounded with microscopic pins.
There was a strange tingling in the palm of her left hand. She held it front of her face and saw the last piece of the puzzle. Her sweaty palm secured it in place. She brought the piece closer and noticed an ever so slight rhythmic up and down motion. Almost like a heart beating.
The closet door in the hallway opened halfway and she could hear someone whistling in the direction of her parent’s bedroom. It sounded like the same tune her father whistled when he was in a good mood.
Mac felt lightheaded as she peeled the last piece off of her palm and put it into place. The piece popped in and the humming got a little lower, like it was winding down. The image in the rocker became clearer and looked very much like her mother.
The image of her father emerged from the hallway. He walked into the living room and said, “Have you seen my fishing hat, Mary?”
The woman on the rocker was knitting something as she rocked. “It’s in the hall closet where you always keep it.”
“I looked there and I can’t find it.”
“Well, dear, if it’s not there, then ask Mac. I think she was wearing it earlier.”
Both images turned and stared at Mac in silence. That was the last thing she remembered before she passed out.
The next image Mac saw was Marcia’s face.
“Can you hear me, Mac?” said Marcia. “Come on, Mac. I need to get you off the floor.”
Marcia flipped the cold washcloth she had placed on Mac’s head and said, “It’s Marcia. Come back to me, Mac.”
Mac opened her eyes lethargically and licked her lips. “I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some ice water. I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks,” sighed Mac as she sat up.
Marcia returned with the ice water and said, “What happened?”
Mac swallowed some ice water and replied, “Hell, you tell me.”
“I was watching the remote monitor in my rental and everything looked normal. There was some interference and then nothing. My screen went black and I lost all power.”
“Maybe the mayo I ate with dinner tonight was bad. I had the sweats, started hallucinating and then passed out.”
“How do you feel now?” asked Marcia.
“Much better. Thanks for the assist.”
“You’re welcome,” said Marcia as she walked to the dining room table. She looked at the wall outlet and said, “There’s the problem. The cords to all of the power strips have bee
n pulled out. We’ll replace them with locking cords and outlets when Donna gets here tomorrow.”
“How could they just come unplugged?” asked Mac.
Marcia bent over, plugged everything back in and powered up all of the equipment. She looked at Mac and said, “You were the only one in the house and your last fixed position was in front of the couch. If you can’t move at the speed of light, then that means someone or something else removed the plugs. My official log entry will state that we powered down due to unknown causes. That’s good enough for me right now, unless you have an alternative suggestion.”
Mac took another drink of ice water, looked at the puzzle and said, “That works.”
“Are you going to be all right?” asked Marcia.
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Mac,” said Marcia. She gave all the equipment a final inspection and returned to her surveillance.
“Goodnight,” said Mac as Marcia went out the door. She looked down at the puzzle and then ran her hand over it softly. She felt no seams where the pieces had been joined together. “Remarkable! You sure don’t see manufacturing like that anymore.”
“What a night,” she said as she rose. She stretched and looked around the room. The rocker was still and the house was silent.
Mac straightened things up and walked to the hallway. She put her finger on the light switch to the living room and said, “Goodnight everyone.” She flipped the switch and went into the bathroom. She took a long, hot shower and crawled into bed.
Mac was dozing and suddenly had a feeling that she was being watched. Just before she rolled over, she decided to take one last peek at the doorway. Sure enough, the silhouette was there. This time it was a little more defined. There was a much sharper outline. She could see fingers instead of a dark object that could have been a hand.
“Did I forget to say goodnight to you? Sorry.” She adjusted her covers, rolled over and said, “Goodnight!”
“Goodnight, Mac,” replied a whispering voice.