The Space Between (3 page)

"Why's that?" Albert butted in. "He look like some lost kin to you?" When Harold didn't respond, Albert joked "Or are you just trying to cash in on this young man's fame,
cousin
Harold."

Mitchell let out a scratchy cackle, obviously delighted with Albert's crack on Harold.

"Aw, shut it," Harold muttered and turned away.

Isaac decided to answer the question anyway. "I've got family in Tennessee and up north, but nothing as far south as this."

"Then it seems we have ourselves a mystery, Ike. Nothing like a good mystery to get a sleepy town like Holden to perk up."

Sissy returned to take Isaac's order, soon after which the talk turned to standard issue conversation: politics, career, and sports. The three older gentlemen were pleased to discover they had a fellow fan of the Georgia Bulldogs in Isaac Owens, thus declaring that rock stars weren't half as bad as expected. Once he'd finished his lunch and signed a few autographs for Sissy and her three younger girlfriends who'd just happened to come by the diner for a snack, Isaac paid his tab and rose to leave.

"It was really nice talking with you all. I'll make sure to stop by before I head out of town."

Albert turned on his stool to shake Isaac's hand again. "Now don't be a stranger. You'll probably get pretty bored out at that end of the county and we could always use some fresh blood in here."

"I'll keep that in mind." He turned to wave at Sissy and her gaggle of friends. "Nice meeting you ladies. Mitch, Harold." The other two men nodded at Isaac in similar fashion as they had upon his arrival.

As Isaac passed through the door and back into the rain, he heard Albert call out, "And keep us posted on your big mystery, Ike! We could use the excitement!"

§

Driving south again on 61, Isaac stopped to fill up the Mustang at a small gas station about a mile outside the center of town. He garnered some curious looks from the haggard woman behind the register, but no questions about where he was headed. She seemed more concerned with the small black-and-white television keeping her company behind the counter and the cigarette perched between her dry, yellowed fingers. Isaac wasn't sure, but he thought he saw traces of pulverized sawdust ground down between the wood planks under his feet, and wondered if the same woman had been working here when the last batch had been scattered across the floor decades ago.

After a few stray buildings passed by, the trees once again took over the landscape, crowding in toward the road like angry locals staring down the outlander. They were tall, mostly pines with the occasional patch of hardwoods, only a few species of which Isaac could identify. The rain had increased, and after another twenty minutes on the road, just when he was sure he'd missed his turn, the green sign reading "Mt Zion
Trl
" sprung from the tree line. The wheels of the old car locked up in the last few feet of deceleration, causing the rear to swing out just enough to get Isaac's adrenaline pumping. He managed to stop just in time, and wrestled the wheel counter-clockwise to make the turn.

Isaac winced as the front wheels of his car dropped a few inches from the blacktop onto the gravel road that was Mt. Zion Trail. He let off the gas before the rear wheels breached the drop, then released the breath he'd been holding when he didn't hear the scraping of metal against road. It was the damn rain! He could hardly see the reflective sign, much less the surface he was driving on. A fine mist whipped about the road, the wind creating a haze of water and backsplash that rose inches above the ground.

Listening to the churn of gravel under him, Isaac slowed the car down to twenty and brought the piece of paper with the directions close to his face. He read down as far as he'd gone, ascertaining he only had another two miles to go before arriving at the house: 100 Mt. Zion Trail, Holden, Georgia. Two miles driving the suburbs of Nashville sometimes seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. This road was a completely different journey, taking Isaac through several sharp turns every few hundred feet. Some of the hills off to the left and right were steep enough to turn his stomach, the image of his car sliding off into a ravine and ricocheting like a pinball against the trees materializing in his thoughts.

But he managed to stay on the road, and quickly became amazed at how the topography had changed so dramatically from the flatlands occupying most of the scenery between Atlanta and Holden. The woods were thicker as well, and Isaac thought he caught a glimpse of a creek winding its way through them at the bottom of the slope, far below the road. The hardwoods were more common here, and even though the rain and bleak skies dulled the life of everything in sight, Isaac found himself enamored with the multitude of colors that made up the canopy and floor of the surrounding forest.

Suddenly the land opened up, and he found himself at the base of a valley. He brought the car to an idling stop as he took in the scene around him. He'd reached his destination, as the road ended roughly fifty yards ahead. Just before the abrupt meeting of gravel and more trees there was a driveway stretching off to the right, disappearing behind a small copse of dogwoods. It reappeared before ending at a moderately large house. The rain had yet to let up, and he could not tell much about the building from the road, but he could tell that the land there was fairly level all the way to the house and beyond.

Isaac glanced in the opposite direction, off to the left. On that side of the road the land sloped upward, making the trees seem to grow infinitely taller as his eyes followed them up the hill. His head bumped the window glass as he leaned down to see the peak of the mountain, though unsuccessfully. He laughed and rubbed the spot on his forehead that had touched the glass. His gaze settled back to road level and he noticed a break in the trees: another driveway, though quite unassuming compared to the grand entrance across the street flanked with two large magnolia trees.

The mailbox to the left read "90" and Isaac peered again into the rain but could make out nothing but trees and gloom. He lifted his foot from the brake and let the car coast another thirty yards to the other driveway. The mailbox there, constructed from river rock and mortar, had the number "100" bolted to the front in large, cast iron digits. This was the place.

Isaac was mildly disappointed that the weather had ruined the grand unveiling of his inheritance, though he knew it was but a romantic notion based on his own imagination. As he neared the house, he caught a glimpse of the barn further out in the valley, though partially obscured by a run of trees. The rain was making it difficult to judge distance and anything beyond basic shapes. The car rolled down the drive, the gravel underneath the tires sounding quite loud as the vehicle shimmied across the surface. It was fresh gravel, he could tell that much, and he wondered if it were recently laid here on his account.

A second phone call from Mick had enlightened him as to the instructions included in the transference of the property. Enough money had been set aside to reinstate all of the utilities: phone, electric and water. An inspection had even taken place to ensure the house was habitable. Isaac thought these preparations were quite thorough, if not a little presumptuous. He was only here to check it out, maybe stay a week or two to get his spirits back up, his mind right. Then, after he found himself disenchanted with the place, he would put it up for sale and take what he could get.

Of course, there was the whole matter of why the property had been passed on to Isaac to begin with. That was a big part of the allure, he had to admit. And the answers he'd hoped to uncover may or may not play a large part in his decision on whether or not to keep the house and land.

The distracting cloud of thought lifted as he arrived at the house. Rainwater flowed down the windshield in a continuous sheet of obscurity, preventing him from getting a good view of the structure. He ran the wipers a few times, but it did no good; the downpour seemed to have doubled its effort at drowning out any chance of making his arrival grand in any way. Isaac twisted in his seat, groping in the rear floorboard for the umbrella he kept there. As he stared out the back window, one hand flopping blindly around on the carpet, he saw a blur of headlights from the road turning into his driveway. The vehicle looked blue, maybe green, and it stopped, still pointed at the house. It sat there for a half a minute before backing up to point itself in the opposite direction. Isaac squinted through the rain, trying to get a fix on the make of the vehicle. It was no use.

"Local curiosity," Isaac chuckled. "
Gotta
love it."

His hand finally found the umbrella pushed up under the passenger seat. He twisted back around, now adequately armed against the deluge. With a deep breath that soaked his insides with the pervading humidity, Isaac slipped out of the car and popped the umbrella open. He faced this new twist in his life head-on for the first time, separated only by a thick haze of water and wind.

Isaac stood on the front steps of the wrap-around porch. Very little rain was landing on him; the wind came from behind the house and swooped around, pulling most of the drops away in its wake. It was these drops flying across his peripheral vision that gave him pause. The motion of the rain seemed to slow for the smallest fraction of a second. Within that small window of time, Isaac also sensed a change in the air within the space he occupied. It was as if he'd entered an invisible bubble, one that stood outside of the time and space he regularly occupied. Then the feeling was suddenly gone.

How's that for a grand reception?
he thought, and took the final step up onto the porch. He turned around, sure he would see some disturbance in the air through which he had just passed. Of course he did not, and reflecting on how quickly the experience had occurred, Isaac reasoned it was probably just a combination of road fatigue and the weather.

He turned to face the house again and noticed how the white siding practically glowed in the gloom of the afternoon. It had been painted recently, but there was no mistaking the real wood grain lying beneath that brilliant coat of latex. The bottom edge of each board seemed to follow a natural grain path as well, so it was a good bet that this was the original siding. As a passing thought, Isaac wondered when the house had been built.

Closing the short distance from the stairs to the door, Isaac dug into his jacket pocket for the set of keys Mick had sent him. He pulled them out and flipped through them casually. There was one key labeled "Barn" while the last two appeared identical and were not labeled at all. He slipped one into the keyed knob and turned, then did the same with the deadbolt a few inches higher on the door. Putting the keys back in his pocket, Isaac turned the knob, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

Though he hadn't noticed while outside, it quickly became obvious the house was adorned with a metal roof. Even from the first of two floors he could hear the constant tapping of the rain echoing down the stairwell in front of him and just to the right. It was a sound he hadn't heard in a very long time, not since he'd begged his grandfather to let him camp out in the shed one night while visiting. That was easily twenty years ago, and the memory clung to his thoughts like a wet strand of spider silk, tickling his mood until a smile broke upon his lips.

Isaac stepped further into the foyer and found a mud bench against the wall, a place where visitors could sit to remove and store their soiled footwear. Surprised by its presence, he glanced off to the left through an open doorway where he could make out the shape of a chair and couch in the shadows. Mick had made no mention of the place being furnished. Was Isaac going to be roaming around a dead person's home, still full of the deceased's possessions? A place that hadn't been lived in for at least ten years, forty if Harold from the restaurant was right? These ponderings sent chills up his spine, down through his arms and legs. It didn't help that the place
smelled
like it had been empty at least that long. Not a bad or rotten smell, just abandoned.

He took a few more steps, the noise of his boots against the wood floors bouncing around the two-story foyer like rogue bullets. Even in the poor lighting, Isaac could see the fine craftsmanship of the stair banister. It followed the stairs up to a small landing, then cut back with the steps until reaching the second floor, where it whipped back around along the small walkway to the upstairs hall. It looked well-polished, managing to give off the slightest sheen even without help from the antique chandelier hanging from the ceiling above his head.

Isaac took a step back and turned, looking for a light switch. He found a set next to the door, and flipped them both up. The foyer and front porch bloomed with light, and he winced at the unexpected change in color and detail around him. The rich brown of the floor and banister grabbed his attention. Shadows played across the carvings along the handrail and, upon closer inspection, Isaac realized his admiration for the craftsmanship had been well-deserved. Even the crown molding and baseboard had the same level of detail, which led Isaac to believe the handiwork was nearly as old as the structure; you couldn't find this kind of product these days. And considering the condition of what he had seen so far, it was obvious that the care and effort that went into building this house had not gone unappreciated through the years.

The house seemed much larger on the inside, though Isaac knew he'd yet to get a good look otherwise. The rest of the first floor showed much of the same reverence for fine workmanship: from the wainscoting in the front dining area to the solid oak cabinetry throughout the kitchen. There was also a living area (which was indeed still furnished, the items covered with drop clothes coated with a thick layer of dust), a breakfast area adjacent to the kitchen, a small half-bathroom under the stairs in the foyer, and a laundry room at the rear of the house branching off from the kitchen.

Isaac was again surprised to find all of the necessary appliances in place, all seemingly brand new. The kitchen boasted an electric range and large refrigerator, both as white as the fresh paint on the siding outside. He was relieved to see a matching coffee maker atop the counter. In the laundry room — which seemed to be a later addition to the house due to the slight drop of the floor and different linoleum pattern — were a large capacity washer and dryer, also apparently new.

It's as if someone was expecting me
, he thought.

By the time Isaac finished his tour of the ground floor, he noticed the noise from the rain had subsided a bit. In the foyer he glanced out the door (still open from his entry) and saw that it had indeed eased up. He checked his watch, noted that it was closing in on half past four, then turned back to the foyer and began his ascent up the stairs.

At the top, Isaac took a moment to appreciate the large, single-paned window overlooking the front yard. Though the clouds seemed to be thinning, it was the time of year when nightfall crept in earlier, so the view was not much better for the improvement in weather conditions. He begrudgingly accepted that he would have to wait until tomorrow to explore the lay of the land, and the anxious child in him winced at the thought of delaying his trip to the barn.

He moved toward the main upper hall, pausing to decide in which direction to explore first. Finding a light switch on the wall to his left, he flipped it on and moved down that side of the hall. There were four doors, two on either side of the hall. Isaac opened each and leaned in, flipping more light switches to find similar mid-sized bedrooms. The two rooms on the left side of the hall were a mirror image of those on the right. Behind the door near the stairs he found a large bathroom straight out of an antique collector's dream. A claw-foot tub sat in one corner under a system of piping that ended with a detachable showerhead worthy of washing large zoo animals. The shower curtain was pushed open, hanging from a sturdy, stainless steel track system. A pedestal sink, perfectly matched to the tub, sat on the other side of the room under a large, oval mirror. The toilet was a few feet from the sink, near the corner opposite of the tub.

Isaac backed out of the bathroom and continued down the hall. This side of the house was almost identical to the other, though instead of four doors there were only three. He opened the two adjacent doors on the front side of the house. As before, each door opened up into similar rooms. However, the single door across the hall opened into a very large room twice the size of the others. And, unlike the previous six rooms, this one was furnished.

Isaac could make out, under several drop cloths like those downstairs, the shapes of a large bed butted against the far wall, a dresser near the door and opposite the bed, and a small couch to his right. There were two windows overlooking the back yard in the far wall. The rain was down to a mere drizzle, and he could see a crimson hue coloring the tops of a few large trees behind the house, making them appear as if ablaze. That would put the rear of the house facing east, and the front porch a fine place to settle in to watch the sunset some evening.

As Isaac moved toward one of the windows, he began to feel something different about this particular room. Yes, it was larger than the others, most likely intended as a master bedroom, but there was more to his inclination. He paused and looked around, trying to force that nagging little difference into a more solid form in his thoughts. Then, after running quick mental images of the other rooms, he realized the difference.

The large bedroom in which he currently stood had originally been two. All of the other rooms had what looked like painted, pinewood strips making up the walls. This room, however, was more modern, enclosed by sheetrock that had been taped, mudded and painted just like millions of other homes built since the mid-20th century. Just to be sure, Isaac stepped closer and placed his hand against the smooth, cool surface, then rapped his knuckles against the wall a few times. It was definitely sheetrock; plaster wouldn't have such a hollow "thud" when knocked upon.

Isaac looked down at the floor, which resembled the same wood construction as the rest of the house. However, down the middle of the room, bisecting the northern and southern halves, there seemed to be a strip of floor slightly darker that the rest, as if it had been protected from sunlight or other such elements. That was clearly enough to deduce the room had originally been two smaller areas, similar to (if not an exact match of) the other rooms on the second floor.

It was really nothing to spend time examining, but for some reason Isaac found it odd. Perhaps it was because, even with the three large pieces of furniture currently in the room, it still seemed far larger than necessary for a bedroom. It was unlikely now, he reasoned, that this was the same house Harold had mentioned, the one in which no one had lived for forty years. This seemed to be a recent renovation. Possibly part of the instructions in the trust to accommodate him in some way, like the new appliances? Not likely. But, then again, how much of the whole scenario seemed likely to Isaac at this point?

His thoughts chased each other for a moment before he suddenly realized how tired he felt. He still needed to run back into Holden, at least for dinner and breakfast supplies if he wanted to get an early start checking out the surrounding property. As tempting as it was to throw back the dusty cloth and try out the bed standing a few feet from his tired body, Isaac instead rubbed his face in his hands and turned around, leaving the room.

As he turned to shut the door, Isaac noticed a tremor in the wall to the right of his hand where it rested on the doorknob. It was as if the light in that particular area had just
shivered
, disturbed by some otherwise unnoticed breeze. He felt no vibrations in the doorknob or the slightest puff of wind to indicate it was anything other than a visual aberration.

Isaac released the handle, took a step back and blinked, thinking he needed to clear away whatever microscopic particles had wafted into his eyes. He looked back at the wall and the strange phenomenon was gone. Just dust in his eye then, his vision momentarily thrown off balance by a few cleansing tears. He stepped forward again, reaching for the doorknob. Though he was laughing at himself under his breath, he couldn't help but shoot a nervous glance toward that area of the wall.

And there it was
again
. Briefly, then gone.

He stood still, afraid if he moved that it would return, yet also afraid if he didn't move he might lose his chance to find out what was causing it. Isaac could feel the hot rush of adrenaline flooding his muscles. His breath had quickened, little blasts of air rushing from his nostrils. The thud of his heart caused light tremors in his temples and neck, the arteries stressed with the sudden burst in pressure.

Whether out of fear or curiosity, Isaac let his hand drop from the knob once again and slowly backed away from the door. As he did, he watched the wall just to the right of the opening begin to change, shimmering as if submerged in shallow water. Keeping his head stationary, he let his eyes — stretched open so wide he expected to hear them creak against the stress — wander around the rippling surface, gauging its area and position.

One obvious trait was the aberration's shape. It was clearly a tall rectangle, and Isaac did not miss the fact that it was similar to, if not
identical
to, the doorway at which he currently stood. Noticing this, he realized the position of the phenomenon was exactly where a door should be if the wall matched the other three in the hallway.

This is how it looked before the renovation
he thought, his mind quickly putting the pieces together.
Like phantom pains from an amputated room
.

Isaac wished he were in a better frame of mind to appreciate that analogy, but the shift in surface and light occurring before him did not let up as long as he kept his head just so. To test this, he began to slowly lean further back toward the middle of the hall. The mirage began to fade, and he quickly moved back until it was stronger again. Then, without regard to the instinctive fear welling up inside of him, he leaned closer to the phantom door, taking a step forward to halve the distance between it and himself.

At waist level, halfway up the left side of the shimmering form, Isaac watched a doorknob materialize from the blur. He moved closer, and the wavy surface of the wall stabilized until he could see an actual door, the same as all the others on this floor, though not appearing as worse for the wear. The handle looked to be in better shape as well, neither tarnished nor dulled with age. And as he stood there, his face and body a few short inches away from what now could be seen clearly as another door previously not there, Isaac held his breath and closed his eyes in an attempt to pull himself out of whatever feverish daydream he'd fallen into.