Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller (24 page)

“Yes, it is.” She puts her
hand up. “Everything’s fine, Jeff’s just leaving.”

And on that sour note, Jeff
turns and walks away from any further confrontation. The last words he hears
from Chloe is that he should seek help.

“What’s up, Jeff?”

“Nothing. Just take me,
Joe.”

During the journey, he
catches words here and there from Joe. The city lights pass through his window.
He’s in a dream. What’s got into Chloe? She lived with him for years. What game
is she playing? It’s obvious; she’s played the sympathy card with Steve.

“Here we are.”

“Thanks Joe, I’ll be in
touch.”

“Sure thing, take it easy.”

Jeff steps out onto the
harsh reality of the sidewalk. What a day! He steps inside the house. Even the
checkered floor tiles have seen better days than this. Back in his apartment he
sits on the couch and tries to phone Eve without success. He dials a new
number.

“Operator.”

“Good evening, how may I be
of service?”

“Can you give me the number
for Al’s Diner. It’s located on Highway Sixty Seven, Colorado.”

“I’m sorry, sir, there isn’t
a number listed for Al’s Diner. Are you sure you have the correct name and
address?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” He’s
puzzled? “Okay, would you locate the number for the maximum security prison in
Colorado?”

“I’m sorry, but our records
do not show any maximum security prison in Colorado.”

“But there must be.” Is this
woman an imbecile?

“I’m sorry sir. Is there
anything else I can help you with?”

“No, that’s not possible”
His voice wavers. “There has to be a telephone number.”

“I’m sorry sir, if there’s
nothing else I can help you with, I will have to terminate this call.”

“No, wait.” He panics.

“Yes sir?”

“Please check again.”

The line goes dead and Jeff
slams the phone down. He holds Eve’s Saint Christopher in his hand, thinking.
He gets up. It’s time to stretch his legs and clear his head.

There’s nothing like the
streets to bring life back into perspective. Shadows and specters lurk around
each street corner. He finds that whenever a crowd of people pass and glance at
him, he fears what words are about to be thrown; fearing not the lone
individual but the masses. The park looks inviting and safe: plenty of dog
walkers and joggers. The twisting path is flanked either side by colorful
flower beds. He passes lovers and others, always with Eve on his mind. He
approaches a bench. A familiar looking figure stares back at him. The old man
smiles a greeting, long matted hair still sprouting from beneath the brown
hoodie.

“It’s you!” He can’t believe
his eyes. “The hobo from Kansas City.”

“We travelers do like to get
around.”

“It’s not possible.” Jeff
arrived by plane only yesterday.

“I don’t believe in
coincidences either.” He smiles. “Would you like to take a seat?”

“Yes I would.” He needs to
sit down, before his legs give way.

“How’s your faith today?”

“You know what’s happening
to me don’t you?”

“Your destiny presents
itself to you.”

 
“This isn’t what I would choose.”

“I warned you in the
beginning, there are
no U-turns at the end of this
road.” He shakes his head. “What’s been started cannot be undone.”

“I seek only the truth.”

“The truth is coming. As
with all truths there are forces that will try to suppress and confuse you.
Reality is feeding you disinformation, Dr. Davies. Focus only on what you
remember.”

“Reality is feeding me
disinformation?”

“How’s your car? Your
neighbor, wife and lover? What do you have to show for all those years of study
and lecture? Where are all your tokens, memories, friends now?”

A couple walk towards the
bench and give each other that knowing look, ensuring as they pass that they’re
not too close to the poor unfortunate mentally ill soul, who sits there talking
to himself.

The following
morning Jeff embraces, as he’s done for many years, his brisk stroll to the
university. He's going to pick up personal belongings that John Martin kindly
stored away for him. He relishes in the eclectic architectural styles of the
campus; Georgian and Romanesque to a touch of
modern.
The students are equally diverse. Jeff loves teaching; molding fresh
inquisitive minds with new thoughts and ideas. Shaping not only the individuals
future, but, in his mind, the future of America.

Nostalgia is a powerful
force. Jeff doubts he will have the opportunity to visit his lecture theatre in
the future, and decides on a quick detour. In this building; he knows every
crack, every door squeak, every corner. The acoustics are so impressive that
from the moment he steps in he appreciates a lecture is in progress. Taking the
route late students have used for years, he takes a seat. The stout, bearded
lecturer is unaware of his presence.

“A convincing case may be
the referral of an individual to, say, a memory clinic. The individual states
that the appointment is pointless; they’ve been there countless times before.
They may even give the doctor’s name and appointment times of past visits. Life
for the patient is nothing more than a series of repeats, a recurring dream. A
simple explanation for
déjà vu
is fatigue. Information is recorded by
the brain using our senses. If it’s faster than the consciousness can retrieve
it, it makes sense that when we have caught up with ourselves, we have the
feeling of experiencing the event already.”

“What about premonitions,
sir?” The blonde female student interrupts at the pause in his sentence. The
lecturer smiles; he’s friendly, and openly invites questions and discussions
throughout his lectures.

“Premonitions only exist in
the delusional minds of conjurers, mediums, scoundrels and sociopaths.”

“I disagree.” Jeff speaks
out. In part in anger; this is his course, the one he was told was no longer
running!

“I’m sorry.” The lecturer is
shocked to discover a stranger in the shadows. “Who are you?”

“Forgive the intrusion. My
name is Dr. Jefferson Davies, and until recently I was the lecturer of this
course.”

There’s a hushed silence in
the room. All eyes fall on Jeff. The lecturer gives his aid a nod for security.

“If that’s the case, Dr.
Davies, why would you disagree? After all, if you were my predecessor, then you
will be well versed in delusions and premonitions.”

“Premonitions appear
fragmentary and vague.” Jeff looks up as he speaks, to the man behind his
lectern. “Like yourself I once believed they were delusions. However, having
experienced
déjà vu
, premonitions and the paranormal first-hand, I
disagree.” His eyebrows raise as he continues. “How else do we explain the
foreboding for some passengers, the day they boarded the
Titanic
? How do
you explain that only sixty four seats were occupied out of two hundred and
eighty nine available on the Boeing 757 that hit the Pentagon? How do you
explain that the planes that hit the World Trade Centre were eighty one and
seventy four percent empty? We have hundreds of thousands of documented
premonitions throughout history. It’s our history that’s being academically
ridiculed and suppressed.”

Jeff’s addressing the
students as much as he does the lecturer; unaware that security has just stepped
round the corner. The student’s faces express delight as the guards approach,
locking his arms together.

“What do you think you’re
doing?” Jeff has no idea he’s trespassing.

“This way sir.”

“No, you have it all wrong.”
Realizing their mistake, he tries to legitimize himself. “I’ve worked here for
thirty years.” Words fall on deaf ears; his blood boils as he barks. “Take me
to the Dean this instant!” The students burst into applause and laughter.

“Settle down.” The lecturer
holds his hands up, as the class settles, he reiterates his point. “Now that’s
a delusional mind.”

Jeff waits in the security
room for the Dean, who’s been notified that an intruder has been discovered on
campus. The door swings open and Jeff stands to his feet.

“Charles, thank goodness
you’ve arrived.” He’s relieved to see a friendly face.

“Is this the gentleman?” The
Dean looks straight at Jeff.

“Yes.”

“Explain what you’re doing
on my campus?” His tone is anger and concern.

“Charles?” There’s not a
flicker of recognition in his eyes. “It's Jeff.” Still no reaction? “We’ve been
friends for years.”

“How dare you come onto my
campus, invade a lecture, and tell me I’m your friend!” Jeff sits back down, he
holds his right hand, which is profusely shaking, to his now spinning head. The
Dean addresses the guard. “Make the call.”

“Yes sir.”

Jeff faces the shame of
walking out of the building and onto the sidewalk in cuffs. Students stop,
whisper and point; others have pity in their eyes. He steps into the police
car; hands bound behind his back. He sits quietly watching the streets.
People’s stares glance off the side of his face. This isn’t the world he left
behind. At the police station he’s booked into a holding cell. An old black
gentleman sits beside him, smiling with a very noticeable gold front tooth.

“What they got you in for,
kid?”

“I’m not sure.” He’s in a
daze. The only friendly face is the one in front of him.

“What the fuck you on about?
You know what you did!”

“I didn’t do anything.”
Stroking his forehead, he tries to comfort himself.

“Join the club.” He smiles,
a knowing smile.

“I came back here; nothing’s
the same. The people at work don’t know me, my photographs are missing.” He
shakes his head. “My identity’s been stolen.”

“I can fix you up with a new
one, for a price.”

“No thanks. I have one.” He
looks at the man. “Why would you try to send someone mad, to make others
believe that he is?”

“Lock them up and throw away
the key. Then they can’t trouble you no more.”

“Of course.” It all clicks
into place. “Something doesn’t want me to go back!” The old man shakes his
head.

“You ain't making any sense,
kid.”

A cop walks to the cage and
opens the pen.

“Jefferson Davies.”

“Yes sir.”

Instantly he’s on his feet.
He doesn’t look back. Cold rolled steel clamps around his wrists.

“We’re going to take you to
the psychiatrist, and get you checked over.”

“Yes sir.” He’s relieved.
This is his opportunity to talk his way out of here.

Although Jeff’s misdemeanor
in the eyes of the law is minor, he realizes that his future hangs in the
balance. He’s about to be evaluated by a mental health professional; one wrong
answer could spell disaster. He must speak anything but the truth and lie
convincingly. Jeff understands that they have the legal means to commit him for
an indefinite period: weeks, months or even years. The officer stops outside
the door and knocks.

“Come in.” A blasé voice.

“Davies to see you.”

“Thank you.” From behind a
desk, the grey haired man unfolds his arms and stretches one hand towards the
opposing chair. “Take a seat, Mr. Davies. I’m going to ask you a few questions.
Honesty and integrity, if indeed it exists anymore, is all I ask of you.”

“Yes sir.” Jeff notes his
adversary. A mechanical smile, without happiness. The joy of life lost, and
etched into his decaying frown lines.

 
“I see you have no previous convictions.”

“No, none.” He’s mortified
to be asked such a demeaning question.

“Any mental illness,
delusions or hallucinations?”

“No.” He bluffs. If they
have access to his medical records; he’s just blown it.

“Then what brings you to my
door?”

“A wager.”

“And this gamble involved?”
His eyebrows raise in anticipation.

“Heckling a lecturer.” With
remorse and a look of sorrow Jeff adds: “In hindsight, it was foolish.”

 
“Don’t you think you’re a touch old for such
schoolboy antics?”

“Yes, I think it’s time I
grew up.”

“Indeed.” Jeff can see this
man’s not impressed. “I have one problem with your story.” Jeff’s heart skips a
beat. “Why do you believe you know the Dean?”

“I don’t.” Jeff calculated
this question, and his answer moments before he walked in. “I thought if I
protested enough the guards would let me go.”

“But you demanded to see
him?”

“It was a bluff.” He begs
for belief. “I didn’t expect for a moment they would get him, and then it was
all too late. It was easier to carry on with the lie.”

“So you have no delusions
that you were a lecturer at the university?”

“No, none.” He’s adamant
with his answer.

“What do you work as at
present?”

“I’m between jobs.”

“I see.” He looks
disapprovingly at Jeff. “Do you, or have you experienced any delusions,
hallucinations or voices of any kind?”

“No.”

“What is your use of drugs
or alcohol?”

“I don’t use drugs, nor have
I ever.” He smiles. “I enjoy the occasional beer, that’s all.”

“Thank you, Mr. Davies, I
have no further questions at this time.”

It’s unclear if his story is
believed or not. He’s taken back to the cage; no one stares him down whilst
he’s with the cop. Inside, the old man’s gone. Intimidated Jeff sits with his
back to the cage.

 
With little sign of mental illness other than
stupidity, the psychiatrist permits Jeff to walk free. The understanding is
that he’s never to be seen on the grounds of the university again.

Once home, he showers, then
phones Chloe.

“What do you want?” She’s as
cold as ice.

“I would like to take the
girls out tonight.” For a second he holds his breath.

“Not tonight, Jeff.”
Yesterday rattled Chloe. He was acting very strange.

“I fly out tomorrow. I’m not
sure when I’ll be back.”

“Oh.” She sighs and softens
her tone. “Okay, on the condition they're back for nine.”

“I promise.” He’s sincere.

“I’ll have them ready for
six.”

“I’ll be on time.” He’s
relieved. “Thanks, Chloe.”

Later in the day, and as
promised, Jeff arrives on time. He doesn’t reach the front door before the
girls are back in his arms. It doesn’t take much, just his presence, for his
daughters' love.

Outside the cinema complex,
Joe drives away. Now it’s time for burgers, fries and shakes, then popcorn from
the main foyer. Jeff feels a touch of sadness; they’re growing up fast. It
wasn’t that long ago they were viewing aquatic cartoon gangs wreaking havoc on
screen. Now they’re dressing more like young women, and are interested in
romantic comedies and boys. Jeff settles in for an hour of adolescent fun.
Hearing the girl’s laughter makes it all worthwhile. The girls love the film,
but as with all good times and touching moments, it passes too quickly. There’s
laughter in the cab on the way home, until they draw up outside the house. Joe
hands them a card and says farewell. Jeff has that gut wrenching feeling as he
walks them to the door.

“I won’t see you for a
while, but I promise I’ll be back soon.”

“We don’t want you to go,
Dad.” His daughters stand before him; how can he just walk away?

“I have to, I have work to
do.” It’s the only excuse he has.

“Please stay here.” They
both look sad. “Mom still loves you, we know she does.”

“It’s not that simple. It’s
grown up stuff.”

“We love you.” He sighs.

“I love you both too.”

“But you’re leaving us.”
Their faces plead.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

 
Jeff holds them tight. He is shaking as he
walks away from them. The girl’s wave as the white limousine pulls away.

“Did you see that?”
Jessica’s surprised.

“What?”

“Dad had tears in his eyes.”

Joe knows Jeff’s composing
himself in the back of the cab; he’s seen it all before. Respectfully, he gives
him a minute before asking.

“Home, Jeff?”

“No, just one more stop,
Joe.”

The cab stops outside the
Federal architecture styled house. There was an exclusive gathering of
lecturers here many years ago. Joe’s been asked to wait. Jeff’s here to collect
something, it’s a long shot, he knows, standing outside the black door. The
brass door knocker strikes three times. A moment passes and Izabella opens the
door; the cab outside had already caught her eye. Jeff recognizes her as John
Martin’s wife, although it’s been many years since they last met. She’s aged a
lot faster than he would have expected, but then again he’s unannounced and
there’s no occasion.