Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller (26 page)

Jeff drives up
the old dirt track, stopping on the brow of the hill. He looks back. Without
the one he loves, the ranch feels soulless: desolate and empty. He understands
why Eve would live here, isolated, hidden away from the madness of humanity. As
a psychiatrist it was here that she found balance from the extremes of her life.
In this moment of contemplation he has a deep feeling of loss; he’s sure he's
seeing this view for the last time. He drives onto the highway. The atmospheric
refraction makes the ranch appear wavy before fading away.

The morning is spent driving
through the dusty plains. High noon, and a familiar white timber gas station
approaches. He turns into the station forecourt. The red stripe stretches
around the lower quarter of the building, matching the red sign above the apex.
He fills the truck with fuel. The temperature drops as the wind picks up. He
can see distant dark clouds. Inside the assistant who served Eve smiles as he
walks in. Opening the refrigerator Jeff reaches inside for a sandwich. The
smell of coffee from the vending machine entices him. He places a sandwich and
a coffee on the service counter.

“That will be ninety eight
dollars including gas.” Jeff hands his card over. “You got far to travel?”

“Kansas.” His answer’s
short. He doesn’t have time for idle chit chat.

“There we are, sir.” The assistant
hands the card back. “Have a safe journey.”

“Thanks.”

Walking out of the shop and
onto the forecourt, he thinks back to the day they were both here. Sadly, and
with anger in his heart, he parks away from the pumps. He sits, eats his
sandwich, drinks his coffee.

Later in the day, spots of
rain turn into torrential showers. The wipers struggle to keep the windshield
clear. Through this diminished visibility, he approaches the grey outlined city
of Kansas. Traffic congestion taunts him. An hour later he brings the vehicle
to a halt on cool wet cobblestones. Two lions, towering on pedestals, cast
their regal stone gaze down upon him. The surrounding tropical greenery bows
under the weight of water.

Jeff doesn’t know, as he
approaches the intercom if this house even belongs to Marcus, and if he’s not
here, he’s no idea where to find him. It all rests on the single press of the
button. The light dims, the intercom sounds; then he waits.

“The Pearson residence.” The
voice sounds aloof.

“Hi.” The name Pearson gives
Jeff hope. “Marcus?”

“Yes, and you are?”

“It’s Jefferson Davies.”
Thank God it’s Marcus! “From the Willow Estate.” He waits, there’s an awful
silence from the intercom. Jeff doesn’t know if anyone’s still there. “Marcus?”

“One moment, please.” Marcus
turns to his partner.

“You’re going to have to let
him in.” She raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the point?” He’d
rather not see Jeff.

“He’s travelled a long way
to speak with you.” She’s waiting for him to say okay.

“It can’t do us any good.”

“And it can’t do us any harm
either.” Her patience is wearing thin.

“You just want to see him
again.”

“Oh fuck off Marcus.” She
snaps. “See what he wants, we owe him that much.”

“Jeff.” Marcus tries to act
casual.

“Yes?” He holds his breath.

“I’ll open the gates, follow
the drive and I'll meet you.”

“Thank you.”

With relief, Jeff steps back
into the truck. Gates swing open, he drives through onto the landscaped
driveway, permitting himself a nervous smile. The surrounding trees, dripping
with rain, no longer cradle the drive but seem to fence it, casting it into
shadow. Although he knows Marcus is here, something is off key. The drive opens
out into the courtyard. This looks promising. The American Queen Anne style
house stands as it did before, its palette still browns, greys and white. The
tier fountain is still surrounded by prairie bloom and perennial flowers.
Everything appears the same. Parking next to a black SUV, he steps out. Jeff
spots the distinctive walk of his friend, under a black umbrella. The two men greet
with a handshake.

“Let’s get inside and we can
talk.” Marcus addresses Jeff, quite firmly.

By the look of concern in
Marcus’s eyes, and with the way he just spoke to him, Jeff’s worst fears have
been realized. Marcus isn't the same man he left behind. This is confirmed the
moment he walks past the oak front door and into the entrance hall. The ethnic
tapestries, wall hangings and Sarah’s paintings have all been replaced.
Contemporary paintings adorn pure white walls; below stand abstract white stone
sculptures on black plinths. High heels tap on the wood floor, and a voice
speaks.

“Welcome to our home.”

Softly spoken, calm and
eloquent, but creating turmoil as he turns and looks into her face.

“Jane?” He squints. A
heartbeat. It can’t be, here?

 
Jane is the girl Marcus betrayed him for all
those years ago at university. She possesses the same beautiful smile, the same
eyes so blue that left that bitter sweet stain on his heart. Jeff looks to
Marcus.

“Where’s Sarah?” He asks
without thinking.

“Have you been fucking that
whore again?” Jane’s furious, he promised, he wouldn’t, not again!

“No.” Marcus is incensed,
and looks angrily at Jeff. “Did she send you here?”

“No, no wait.” Hands raise
in panic. They both stare at him. “It’s a long story, and it will sound crazy.
Please, give me five minutes.” Marcus and Jane look to each other. Jeff pleads.
“I need your help.”

 
“Okay.” Marcus sighs. “I’ll hear you out.”
With a feigned smile he asks: “Would you like a coffee?”

“Yes, please, if it’s no
trouble?” For a second, he thought he’d blown it.

“Jane, would you bring
coffee through, please.” She gives Marcus the look that’s intended to kill.

Marcus leads the way through
to the living room. It retains the Greek gold border pattern on the wood floor,
but that’s all that resembles the living room Jeff remembers.

“Please sit down.”

Jeff sits on the black
leather sofa. The television on the wall promises a cinematic experience.

“Before Jane gets here.” The
coffee for Marcus was a diversion. “How do you know Sarah?”

“It’s complicated.” How does
he explain to someone who clearly has no understanding, of Jeff’s experiences?
“Do you still believe in the paranormal?”

“No.” Marcus laughs. “I gave
that shit up years ago.” He looks quickly to the door. “Jane will be here in a
minute. Did Sarah give you a message?”

“No.” His body sags in
despair. Marcus was his last hope. “And you can’t help me.”

“Who says I can’t?” If
Jeff’s not here to give him a message, then what’s he doing here? “Try me.”

“I know Sarah because last
time I was here.” He pauses, knowing Marcus will not, cannot believe him. “You
were living here with her.”

“What?” He laughs. “Sarah’s
nothing more than an on-off mistress.”

“That figures.” He’s fucked.
Game over.

“Why did you ask about the
paranormal?” He looks accusingly at Jeff. “You were always so against it.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He
shakes his head and sighs. “Not anymore.”

“You’re not making any
sense, Jeff.”

“What if I told you that
through there -” his finger points to a white six paneled door, “Is another room
that contains Palladian windows that look out across the garden. The marble
fireplace features a dried rose relief carving, and the opposite door leads to
a small room where cherubs are ceiling decorations.”

“But anyone can find that
information easily.” Does Jeff think him a fool? “This property is on the
market.” He has to be more direct. “What do you really want, Jeff?”

“Answers.” It’s pointless
opening up. “I’m sorry; coming here was a mistake. I’ll have my coffee and I’ll
be on my way.”

Jane walks into the room
carrying a tray with three cups of coffee, and places it on the marble table.
She’s managed to calm down, but the question regarding Sarah is still on the
tip of her tongue.

“Here we are, help yourself
to sugar.”

“Thank you.” Reaching for
coffee, Jeff feels awkward. He knows Jane will want answers.

“So how are you, Jeff?”

“Fine.” It seems appropriate
to lie. “And yourself?”

“As you can see we’re doing
well.” In case Jeff is Sarah’s messenger, she sending one back. “We’re both
very happy, aren’t we darling?”

“Yes.” Marcus nods
appropriately. “We are.”

“We didn’t expect to see you
again.” She weighs him up and down. “I hope you’re not in any trouble?”

“No.” He quickly diverts the
conversation. “I was just saying to Marcus I’ll have my coffee and be on my
way.”

Jane looks puzzled and turns
to Marcus.

“What’s going on?” They’re
both, in her eyes, acting strange.

“Nothing.” Knowing he’s in
trouble, Marcus tries to explain. “Jeff believes he’s been here before in some
form of parallel universe. He remembers us as different people.”

“I see.” She’s heard many
stories from Marcus, but this one beats them all. “And who was I?”

“You weren’t here.” Jeff
looks into her eyes, how does she not know? “You and Marcus split up at
university.”

“But you know we didn’t.”
Her face distorts. “We even sent you an invitation to the wedding.”

“Did I go?” He doesn’t even
know why he asked.

“No. You refused.”

“I’m sorry, this isn’t
right.” Jeff stands to his feet. “I have to leave. I’m sorry to put you both
out.”

“At least finish your coffee
with us.” Jeff starts walking across the room. Jane turns to Marcus. “You’d
better see him out.”

Marcus quickly gets up. Jane
decides to follow. They catch up with Jeff, but he’s already out the front
door.

“Jeff.” Jane shouts, standing
on the door step. She doesn’t want to see him walk away like this.

“Leave him.” Marcus is glad
to see the back of him.

“What do you think’s wrong?”

“He must be having a
breakdown.”

“Poor thing.” Her look is
thoughtful, and sad.

Jeff walks away. The rain’s
heavy, disguising the tears on his cheeks. Marcus and Jane wave as he drives
away; he becomes their last memory of an old friend.

The wiper blades rock back
and forth as Jeff drives through stripped back plains, passing dead towns, old
tracks, abandoned red oxide freight cars. In his mind, if Marcus hasn’t founded
the Pearson Institute, then Black Top City is waiting unexplored. Belle will be
entombed and bound in darkness. Jeff heads off road at an approximation of
where the old track is, thankful he’s in the right vehicle for the terrain. He
travels between mountains, over rock and a river bed. His first sight is the
old tired wagon, then dark timber built buildings. He’s not going mad!

Driving past the hanging
tree, he can see no tire tracks along the strip, just smooth soil, unmolested
by man. Passing old signage, open doors and windows; no one looks or steps out.
A Black-tailed Prairie Dog scurries away from the hotel as the truck
approaches. Jeff takes a deep breath, steps out and retrieves his lamp. The
hotel looms over him, a dark malevolent shadow. The old prospector's pick lies
where it was left in the dirt; the wood shank is as he remembers, strong.
Timber steps strain underfoot. The hinges on the door are corroded together.
Through force on debased steel, the door finally submits.

 
Disturbed dust swirls in the light of his
lamp; plaster walls crumble from warped wood slats. Shoes crunch the matter
beneath his feet. The air is musty, heavy, but breathable. He needs to be
careful walking down these timber steps; loose plaster crumbles beneath his
feet. Reaching the hard packed dirt floor, he walks just a few steps. His
fingers trace the brick outline of Belle’s tomb. Anger erupts as he takes the
pick and swings, hammering and clawing through the brick. Choking on airborne
dust, he spits out the taste. Entering the room, with its stagnant, decayed
air, he can see Belle bound where Malloy left her, all those years ago.

“Bastard!” He’s beyond
angry, imagining her life, torment and dying moments, here! Rope braided with
feathers hangs. The woven basket sits empty on the table, ancient chicken bones
hinting at its true purpose. Jeff walks over to kneel beside her.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

He sighs. He can still see
her beauty through cloth and bone. The once colorful headwrap has faded, yet
flows with nobility down the back of her head. The leather beaded bangles sit
around bones. Her white blouse and blue shawl are dusty decaying cloth.
Respectfully bundling her up into his arms, Jeff carries Belle out of her
imprisonment and up the stairs. A strange moment of triumph, freedom, and
despair, as light falls upon the remains of her face.