After Death (28 page)

Ricky’s voice continued, now completely terrified, rising in a piercing shrieking:

“I WANNA GO HOME, I WANNA GO HOME, I WANNA GO —“

The voice was abruptly severed — just as in the Burt’s story.

Frank leapt to the machine, tried to play it again. The messages started over. First his wife’s. Then John Belman’s. And then — beep! Nothing. The voice he had just heard was no longer there.

It was a precursor — A taunt — A warning — He could feel it! It was just the kind of thing the monster would start with…

He snatched up the telephone and quickly dialed Jackie’s cell. A brief moment for the connection to pass through and he heard a tinny version of her favorite Hall and Oates song playing in the bedroom down the hall:

“Baby come back, baby come back to meeeee… I was wrong and I just can’t live without youuuuuuu…”

Goddamnit! — She’d left her cell behind again. He kept telling her; What’s the point of having one if she didn’t bring it with her?

He hung up and dialed 411. He tried to be patient as he asked the operator for the number for the Pasadena Casa Maria’s and waited. He agreed to be connected as his nerves were beginning to jangle again.

Please be okay. Please let Jackie be okay.

The Hostess’s voice at Casa Maria’s was warm and calm and friendly as she came on the line and stated the restaurant motto before asking what she could do for him.
Almost too calm, too friendly
, he thought.

“I’d like to page Jacqueline Davis, please.” He replied, voice aquiver.

The hostess said, still in that smooth, pleasant voice, that she would be happy to help him and asked him to hold the line. Then there was Muzak — a horrible rendition of a top twenties hit that further set his teeth on edge. He couldn’t stop his fingers from nervously twitching against the sofa as he waited. The seconds seemed to stretch, his anxiety building. He found himself repeating a mantra to himself —

Please be there, Please be okay…

The friendly Hostess came back on the line:

“I’m sorry, sir, but no one’s answering the page.” She said sweetly.

Goddamn it!
Frank thought.
Does she have to say it with this tone —
Like she’s joyful at delivering this news
.
This is serious! Jackie could be in danger!

“Please.” He asked the friendly Hostess, fear beginning to creep in around the edges, beginning to claw at him. “Can you please try again —
Please
.”

There was a soft click and a long moment of silence and Frank was about to ask again — Perhaps she hadn’t heard him, perhaps she’d been distracted by someone else in the restaurant and had set the phone down... It clearly sounded as if he’d been transferred… but why..? He had just opened his mouth to speak when there was a second click and a young man’s voice interrupted him:

“By the way, she has lovely hands, Frank.”

Frank coughed.

What the —?!? Who was this? And why had he said that?

“Excuse me?” Frank barely got out.

“I said she has lovely hands, Frank.”

Frank didn’t recognize this voice —

What was going on?

The man’s voice resumed: “That’s what he told me to say to whoever called for Jacqueline Davis. Hold on a minute — I have a note here for you…”

There was the sound of rustling paper, the young man obviously juggling the phone and flattening out the “note”… He cleared his throat and read:

“Dear Franklin. Jackie and I are gonna take in some nightlife so maybe you can meet us later. I’ll leave you directions. Oh, and the hands thing was cute, don’t you think? You must always keep your sense of humor. It makes even the darkest of days pass easier.”

The young man paused and made a “Humpf” sound and then continued:

“There’s no signature… That’s strange…”

Frank dropped the phone, reeling.

He had her! — He’d taken her! — Oh, God, NO!!!

He could hear the young man’s voice still coming from the phone on the counter — saying something like “Is something wrong, sir..? Sir..? He said it was a practical joke… That’ you’d get a real kick out of it… Sir..?”

The thought blared in his head:

His Jackie had been taken! — WHAT COULD HE DO?

He began to pace, head clutched in his hands.

He couldn’t believe it had come to this — What had he caused? What if he hurt her? — Oh God!

And then he saw the wet muddy shoe prints that lead across the carpet to the front door.

“I’ll leave you directions”, the note had said.
It had said that he would leave Frank directions!

And so he had!

The brown, muddy shoe prints lead clearly out the front door, across the driveway, and to Frank’s dew covered VW. They continued all the way up onto the hood of the car where the monster had obviously stood, the prints now side-by-side and facing the windshield. Frank could hear his own rapidly beating heart thumping loudly in his ears. Before he could ask himself why — it became clear. On the wet windshield was a distinct handprint — and as he watched, the moisture collected at the index finger and ran downwards as though extending and pointing towards the dashboard inside.

Frank was flummoxed —
What was he being directed to?
He dug in his pocket for his car keys and quickly opened the door.

The “finger” now bled directly down at the cheap plastic compass on his dash — the almost useless joke gift from Jackie. Just as he glanced at it, the needle spun to the North and remained there, quivering yet fixed.

Frank could feel his rage building, the blood rushing to his face.

The bastard wants me to drive North — The bastard is controlling Jackie’s own silly gift to direct me to
—

He yelled in frustration at the top of his lungs:

“ELI!!!”

He leapt in the car and started the engine. He slammed his fists against the steering wheel.

The sonofabitch has Jackie, What can I do?, What can I do!?!
And his mind answered almost immediately.
Nothing — Do as he wants. You can do nothing else.

Rain began to splash against the car as he punched the gas and blazed out into the street.
Of course, it did
, he thought.
Rain isn’t normal for L.A. but of course it’s pouring!

He shot through traffic like a mad man, skidding noisily around corners, constantly switching lanes…

His windshield had fogged badly and his defroster wasn’t doing a thing. He didn’t care —

The monster wouldn’t let him die, would he? — That wouldn’t be any fun, would it?

The compass needle spun West and Frank spun the wheel accordingly, screeching around a barely visible corner heading West. The needle stayed steady then swung quickly South — and Frank cranked the wheel South without looking or worrying.

Where is he taking me? What does he want? What has he done with her?

He was going fast and barely had time to stomp the brake pedal as he realized he had come to the parking lot of a small rundown church in the poor part of town.

He lurched hard to a stop and checked the compass needle again — It was motionless — pointed directly ahead at the church. Frank peered out a small clear gap in the otherwise cloudy windshield. The dingy marquee before the church read:

JESUS IS YOUR SALVATION. COME IN AND BE SAVED.

***

The church was worn and old. A few Hispanic women sat in the scratched pews, two more women lighting candles near the dark wooded communion table that sat before an exquisitely crafted life-sized figure of Jesus hanging on the wall.

Frank moved quickly down the center aisle, searching.

Okay, he was here — Now where was she?

He felt ragged and tired and was doing his best to keep tears of frustration from blurring his vision.

He had done this — He was responsible for the monster taking her…

“Jackie..?” He called out. “Jackie...?”

His voice echoed in the wide hollow expanse. A Mexican woman nearby turned to him with a disproving look and raised her finger to her dark red lips.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

He continued to roam —

Where was she? He had come here like he was supposed to — Now where was she?!?

He strode quickly around the entire church perimeter drawing the stares of the few other believers. It was just a church — old, worn — ordinary.

Where was she? Where was his Jackie?

He was at the end of his ability to hold his emotions back. He had tried for so long to be reasonable — to believe that what he had been experiencing couldn’t possibly be real — It had eroded his will, drained his energy. His one true beacon of joy in his life had been taken from him and he was so psychologically exhausted — Lost…

Jackie… His beloved Jackie…

He stared around the room, glassy-eyed. The stained glass windows looked diffused through his tears and the room swam with color.

Jackie… His dearest Jackie…

He wiped his eyes and blinked them clear. The ceramic figure of Christ looked down at him from its gleaming place high on the cross. The figure was so beautifully done, the expression so merciful and kind…

He had never succumbed to this, never been this desperate, but here, in this place, in his horrible time of need…

He crumbled to his knees, sobs racking his body.
He needed help — She needed help so desperately…

The words poured out of him — Softly and urgently — fervently:

“Lord — I’ve never been a religious man, but please,
please
—If you’re there, hear what I have to say…”

He paused in a moment of self-recrimination and swallowed thickly.
The truth and nothing but the absolute truth would do. He must bare himself completely.

“For me, I ask nothing. No mercy for my acts, no special favors of any kind. But for her, I ask protection. She’s been taken… I’ve lost her… I don’t know what to do… I beg you to intervene. PLEASE. Intervene. INTERVENE.”

His voice got excitedly louder —
God must hear him! — God must help him!
He prostrated himself on the floor before the shining figure of Christ.

“Lord — I’m supplicant before you — I’m here on my belly pledging my undying faith to you if only you’ll shed your inscrutable face for one brief moment and INTERVENE.”

He waited, and stared up sincerely at Christ’s face. His body trembled — every muscle held taut. He resumed his plea:

“She has always been loyal to you, unwavering in her trust — Why won’t you help her?”

He got to his feet. Anger was starting to blossom again — rolling over and through his anguish — making it white hot. His voice rose without him realizing it.

“This is no time for mystery!” He burst out. “Manifest yourself — DO SOMETHING!”

A flurry of “SHHHHHHHHHHHHS” assaulted him from all sides, the other worshippers stared with offended looks of anger. The Mexican woman from before hissed at him in an aggressive whisper:

“…This is a church — Have some respect!”

Respect? RESPECT? His Jackie was gone— taken from him by a monster that was allowed — No,
encouraged
to run wild by this absentee God! How DARE she talk to him about respect!

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He shouted in her face, the octave of his voice dropping to a menacing rumble. “CAN’T YOU SEE I’M HAVING A PRIVATE CONVERSATION HERE!”

The woman and the others nearby recoiled in fear. Frank stalked forward, voice rising in fury — He leapt and clawed at the feet of the Christ statue.

“How can hell spit up such a creature only to have you watch his offenses with indifference!”

A taunting sneer crept across his face.

“A true God would not do this. A true God would protect his faithful subjects.”

He paused as though expecting this dare to draw a reaction… His frustration continued to build unchecked.

“SHOW YOURSELF YOU FRAUD!” He shouted. “By your inaction you show yourself to be either cruel or dead!”

He clambered onto the communion table narrowly avoiding the dozens of lit candles and reached to his full height. He pounded on Christ’s gaunt abdomen, harder and harder, no longer aware of the guttural grunts he was making or his numb and bloody fists, only thinking over and over again —

Fraud! — Fraud! Fraud! Fraud!

Still — even through his anger, far in the background of his mind — He hoped this provocation might still bring forth a response —

But the thumps of his fists seemed as ineffectual as his pleas.
God must be dead. That people would come here expecting help and comfort was disgusting… Pathetic!