The Kaleidoscope (7 page)

Shifting his leather belt, heavy with a walkie-talkie, flashlight and a small firearm Harold had never seen out of its holster, Keith continued, “It’s not about work or anything.”

Harold shrugged. “Shoot.”

Keith didn’t flinch at the feeble joke. “I’ve noticed your Kaleidoscope in the X-ray bin.” Keith’s demeanor morphed from professional to almost childlike as he gestured at Harold’s breast pocket. “Mind if I take a look?”

Historically, Harold had nothing that set off the alarm, being careful not to carry too many coins in his pocket. But the metal in the ’scope had set off the buzzer once, and since then, he placed it in the plastic tray with his keys. The clip made a clicking noise when he slid it from his pocket. “Sure.”

“It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?” Keith lifted the cylinder. He rolled the dial and aimed at the backlit glass block walls across the lobby. “Oh…” Just as quickly, he lowered it, and then paused to examine it from end to end, his brows knit tightly. He gave it back to Harold, his friendly manner morphed from casual back to his usual serious tone. “I’ll get the card upstairs to you soon.” He slid the old ID across the linoleum counter and sat down, spinning the chair to face the monitors. His precision haircut formed a perfectly straight line above his crisp uniform collar; his skin tone had gone even paler than usual.

First Rhashan’s experience, and now Keith’s reaction, were beginning to perplex Harold. He returned the device to his pocket.

“I can’t believe it,” Keith muttered. “I just can’t.”

Harold knew he was going to hate himself, but he couldn’t help asking. “Believe what?” He braced himself for the answer.

“You can go now.”

The lobby was almost empty. He had to get upstairs or he’d be late. But he had to know. “You wanted to see, I didn’t force you.”

Silent for a moment, when he spoke again, Keith’s voice had dropped an octave. “I thought I was just going to see floating shapes and colors.” He lowered his forehead into his hands. “You should have warned me.”

“Why? What did you see? Warned you about what?”

The chair squeaked as Keith gazed out the window to the street. “My parents. I saw my parents.”

Harold breathed out, relieved. “That’s not so bad. Is it?”

Keith had gone to a faraway place. “I haven’t spoken to them in years. Not ever since…”

The longer Harold had the ’scope, the more he realized it was more than a toy given him by a random bum in the park. There was definitely something peculiar going on. His engineer’s mind began to categorize the clues he already had. Whatever Rhashan saw might have some commonality to Keith’s image. “Ever since what?”

“They seemed to have accepted my choices at first, and my mom came around, but my dad, he…”

“Choices?”

“When I tried to introduce them to my partner…they would have nothing to do with him, or me.” Keith’s anguish stunned Harold. They both regarded the object in Harold’s hand. “I had just about worked them out of my mind until…”

Harold swiveled to the clock. He didn’t want to seem insensitive, but if he didn’t move, he’d never have time for the restroom. “Well.” He slipped the ’scope, cool now, into his pocket.

Assuming Keith was finished with him and had become absorbed by his own thoughts, Harold backed out and hurried upstairs. He’d planned to check his email for anyone claiming ownership of the pesky ’scope, but after Keith took so much of his time, he had to hurry and log in to begin working. Harold was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on spreadsheets with the Kaleidoscope affecting everyone around him. He slid it into a drawer, hoping to get the thing off his mind.

In the cubicles around him keyboards clicked in their morning rhythms. Millie smacked her gum. He pulled out the Kaleidoscope and rolled it around on his palm, glad no one could see him. The walls, covered in gray, separated them from all visual contact with each other when there were seated.

He sighted down the shaft. Colors and shapes fell into geometric prisms of blues, greens, and gold. He shook it and tried again. Nothing unusual. He laid it down next to his stapler. Why did other people see pictures that meant something to them? Was it predicting the future?

Rhashan’s whistle floated in from the doorway two rows over at about eleven o’clock.

In a few minutes he heard, “Good morning, Harold!” Rhashan beamed down on him. “Guess what? I believe I will be accepted into the scholarship program, and if all goes as planned, I can begin classes next quarter!”

“That’s terrific, congratulations.” Harold wondered if the email he’d sent about Rhashan’s possible drug use had gone unread. Perhaps he could send a retraction.

“I have a gift for you.” Rhashan held out a tissue-wrapped bundle.

“That was unnecessary, really.”

“Go on, open it.”

Still feeling guilty about his suspicions, Harold tore off the paper to reveal a thin length of fabric, multi-hued, and gaudy. “A tie. Thanks.” Now he had to advocate for him. Even if he had made some mistakes, the guy seemed genuinely eager to make something of himself.

“Put it on!”

“What? Now?”

“Here.” Rhashan stepped in, and took the tie from the desk where Harold had tossed it. “Take that one off, let’s see how this looks. The color really picks up the red in your hair.”

Harold undid the knot in his gray tie, and slid it off. Rhashan stood behind him and flipped up his collar. He draped the new one around his neck and began working the ends over each other.

“I’ll do it.” Harold usually watched himself in the mirror, but he was able to effect a decent Windsor from memory. “That was very…nice of you.”

“Magnificent.” Rhashan grinned. “My Leesa made this for you last night. She is starting a handcrafted clothing business to make more money while I am in school. She’s very clever.”

It occurred to Harold he was being pitched. “How much do I owe you?”

“No, mon! This is for helping me with the application.”

“Please tell her thank you. I’ll be sure to wear it on special occasions.” He started to remove it, but stopped when Rhashan’s face fell, and so he acted like he was only loosening it. “Um. I hope she makes plenty on the new business.” He tucked the end behind his belt. Longer than the polyblends he usually wore, it was also filmier. And gaudier.

“That’s the spirit.” Rhashan stood admiring the garish tie for a moment, then stepped back into the aisle. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Rashan’s catchy melody earwormed into Harold’s head as he tried to get back to work.

“Love that guy, don’t you?” Millie was passing Harold’s station. “That tune he always whistles, ‘Moondance,’ is one of my favorites. New tie? I like it.” Humming, she returned to her desk.

Midway through the afternoon, Harold sensed someone in the aisle, and turned to see Keith.

“Here’s your new ID. The picture came out well.”

Glad he still had his conservative tie on for the photo, Harold ran a finger over the raised 3D logo in the corner. He hadn’t realized how far back his hairline had receded. He clipped the new one onto the lanyard. “Thanks. No worries.”

“I wanted to tell you…” Keith paced the small space. “I spent my lunch break calling my folks.”

“Oh?”

“That gizmo. The whatchacallit that showed me their faces.” Keith wiped away the sheen that had appeared on his brow. Unusual for the usually stoic man. “But my mom…” His lips thinned, and Harold discreetly glanced away in case Keith wanted to cry or something. “She wants us to visit.”

“That’s fine.” Harold knew what it was like to miss your mom. “I hope you can mend your relationship.”

“I was wondering. How much would you take for that?”

The Kaleidoscope was still nudged up against the stapler where Harold had tossed it earlier.

“I-I’m not sure that’s something I could do.”

“If you change your mind, I will buy it from you.”

“What is it about the ’scope that has you interested in owning it?”

“It has the power to change lives. Maybe even see the future.” Keith’s walkie chirped, and he listened for a moment. “I have to go, but if you change your mind.”

He sprinted out, leaving Harold to wonder what he’d gotten involved in when the mysterious object was forced on him.

“What do you want from me?” He poked at it with a pencil. “What are you?”

“You okay in there, Harold?” Millie called to him.

“I’m all right.” Harold’s hands poised over the keyboard, and he stared at the screen, trying to ignore the object that was slowly changing his world.

****

“Hey, old timer, want a ride?”

Walter slowed, straightened his spine, and considered the offer despite the disrespect. The walk from the bus stop had been uphill, and the pack was beginning to feel like a bag of bowling balls. “I’d appreciate it very much.” His graying temples and stooped posture were probably to blame for the kid thinking he was older than he really was.

“We’re going all the way up the mountain. Pound on the roof when you want out, and I’ll stop.” Sporting a stubbly beard, the driver thumbed into the truck bed. Another hitchhiker, Walter assumed, already sat in the back leaning against the wheel well, arms crossed, and dozing. A young woman and a black and white dog watched him through the cab window.

Climbing in with a bit of difficulty, Walter settled onto the metal floor, leaning against his pack, letting his tired back relax.

The truck pulled onto the tarmac, the wind and road noise preventing more than the initial exchange of pleasantries. The other rider closed his eyes again after shifting so Walter could stretch out. He removed a shoe and rubbed a blister that had complained for the past hour. No one had followed him when he got off the bus in the mountain town, zigzagging the narrow streets. Just in case someone had followed him.

Walter pulled out the napkin where he’d jotted down the directions Luke gave him, and he searched for landmarks guiding him to the turnoff to his final hideout.

Chapter Seven

“Hello, Harold.”

He turned toward the cheerful greeting. Again, it was his neighbor with the dog. Today’s headscarf was a silky blue and green number, knotted at the nape of her long neck. He thought of the tie Rhashan had given him, and remembered an argument he’d had with Georgia over his lack of imagination when it came to clothes. Maybe he’d wear the tie after all.

“Pretty scarf.” He fumbled his keys, his right hand with that slight tremble he got whenever an attractive woman spoke to him.

“Tut-tut! Not so fast, you dropped something.” She held up the Kaleidoscope just out of his reach.

The clip usually made a sharp click when he removed it from his pocket, and he couldn’t recall hearing it. “How did that fall? Thanks.” Harold scanned the names on the bank of mailboxes. Gave him a chance to control the shaking. Her mailbox read
S. Eubanks.
When she’d first moved in, they had exchanged names, he was sure of it, but that must have been at least three years ago. He guessed she was an artist of some kind. At least she dressed that way.

“Sure is a pretty one. I had a cardboard one when I was a kid.” Before he could warn her, she jammed it up to her eye. A penciled brow curled over it. She dropped her arm, and with a stomach clench, Harold knew.

She had “the look.” He willed his hand to steady and lightly touched her elbow to guide her inside. She threw her hand out like she was going to faint.

“Sit down a minute, I’ll get you some water.”

Miss Eubanks sank, zombie-like, onto one of his kitchen chairs. Her dog trotted past Harold before he could protest, tail whopping back and forth as it sniffed his furniture. Worried it would lift its leg, he filled a plastic bowl of water, hoping to trap the dog on the linoleum. “Here, dog!” Harold set the water down, and the dog trotted over.

Lolling laps of water all over his floor and up the side of his cabinet, the dog made itself at home, then flopped down on its side, panting.

“I thought I’d seen everything, but I’ve never seen anything like a psychic Kaleidoscope.” Miss Eubanks had watched him interact with the dog with some amusement.

Harold’s shirt buttons pulled at each other on the inhale. “I don’t really believe in magic or that sort of thing—”

“I don’t care whether you believe or not, that’s what it is.”

She met his eyes as if she could see into him. Or through him. “You don’t remember my name, do you, Harold?”

“It’s just that I’ve been busy.”

“It’s Pepper.” She pointed to the dog. “And that’s Glenda.”

“Glenda?”

At the sound of her name, the dog jumped up, tail wagging. She whisked her nose into his crotch and slimed Harold’s pants.

“Mind your manners, pookie, come here,” Pepper commanded, but the dog ignored her, clicking over to inspect Harold’s trash can.

“Why Glenda?”

“You mean why do I own a dog I can’t train, or why did I name her Glenda?” Pepper’s remark was light, but Harold still pulled her collar to get her away from the trash.

He shrugged. “Both I guess.”

“She’s not that bad, just needs more exercise than I can give her lately.” She scruffed Glenda’s head. Her tone fell. “My ex took me to see a performance of
Wicked
about the time I found my lump. He left me the next day. A couple weeks later I went out to the rescue shelter when I just couldn’t stand to return to an empty apartment ever again. Do you ever feel like that?” She got up and strolled over to the photographs on his wall. “These are pretty.” She straightened one of them. The attention somehow endeared her to Harold despite the way she ignored the dog’s disappearance into his bedroom. “Yosemite?”

“Yes.” Georgia had tried to get him to go to more theater, but large crowds made him queasy, and people randomly singing and dancing made him uncomfortable. It was unnatural.

“How come you never make it to any of the complex parties?” Without waiting for an answer, Pepper headed for the door. “I better go. Thanks for the water.” Hand on the doorknob, she paused, eyes locked on the Kaleidoscope. “But I will not thank you for showing me that creepy toy. Come on, Glenda.” She patted her leg to coax the dog to her side and rushed out as if she’d just remembered leaving something on the stove.