Chasing My Shadow (3 page)

CHAPTER 3
 

Tara Lee took Stone to the airport and saw him off. With a promise from both of them that they would get together soon, he gave her a hug and a kiss and boarded the plane on his way to Colburgh. He wished she was coming with him. He had to take a shuttle plane to the small Bradford airport, then a cab from there to his town of Colburgh. He asked the cab driver to let him out at the corner of Baintler and Crane, paid him, and took a deep breath. It was good to be home, then he started walking up Baintler Street.

As he looked around him he had a horrible feeling of disorientation and knew something was very wrong. Suddenly he felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach, and he stopped short. As he looked up the street at his store he noted a big sign that he couldn’t make out, but it wasn’t his sign. What had happened? It looked like some tables and chairs lined up between the building and the sidewalk. It was obviously being used as a cafe. What had Jerry done? He stumbled toward the cafe in a daze. He felt like he was in a different time zone. He had left here only a few weeks ago; this was definitely the right street—and now this! What did it mean? The strength was slowly leaking out of his legs and he sank to the sidewalk.

He was aware of confusion and noise as he tried to open his eyes, then he looked up from his spot on the sidewalk to see a ring of faces looking down at him. Someone’s jacket was folded under his head, and an elderly woman knelt beside him with her hand on his head. “He’s coming to,” she said. “What’s the matter Sonny? It looks like you fainted.”

“I’m sorry,” Stone said, as he tried to stand up. Hands reached out to help him and he was soon on his feet. “I was in the hospital a few days ago and I guess I’m still a little weak, but I’m okay now. Thanks,” he said in embarrassment. “I’m just going into the little cafe for a bite to eat and I’ll be fine.”

A man about his own age said, “I’m going that way and I’ll walk along with you. Sure you’re going to be OK?”

“Oh, sure.” Then as they reached the cafe, “Thanks for your help, I’m fine.” He glanced up at the big sign over the door. It read simply DIENGO’S, then he tried to walk as steadily as possible into the cafe that was supposed to be his Collectibles Store. He was completely confused as he made his way to one of the booths along the side of the room. There were tables in the center of the room but he wanted to be in a booth by himself. He faced the street and gazed out the window to what looked like a barber shop across the street, as he could just make out a barber pole. It wasn’t supposed to be there. He wished he had his glasses. His heart was beating fast—much too fast he knew.

The little waitress arrived. “Your order, Sir?” He could only stare at her for a few seconds. Then, awareness slowly came to him and he said, “Just coffee, please.”

He sat with the coffee in front of him as he looked around the room remembering all of the work that had gone into getting his store in shape. What had happened? He had made out a list just before going on this buying trip. People would be wanting those things and everything he had bought must have been lost in the plane crash.

He gazed, still unbelieving, then very angry. He had worked so hard to put up all of those shelves and someone had taken them down. He would have to find out who was using his store and why. What was Jerry thinking of? He had asked the electrician to install the new fixtures in the ceiling and, glancing up, he was relieved to note that they looked like the same ones. At least those hadn’t been changed and, surprisingly, this gave him some comfort. He had known Jerry, and he couldn’t believe he would have just…then his thoughts were quickly interrupted. As he glanced down at his coffee he noticed that someone had left a daily paper on his bench and his eyes flew open as he read the date June 30, 1994. 94? He suddenly felt light-headed as he started mentally counting. It had been 1983 when he left on his buying trip and now, if this paper was to be believed, it was 1994? Did that mean…? It had to mean it was the year 1994. Could he have lost almost eleven years? Where had he been and what had he been doing? Now he remembered his roommate, old Joe, mentioning his ‘91 Olds. He was always so mixed up that he had thought nothing of it. He now wondered if these clothes were his after all and how he could have obtained them as well as the money. Where did he get all of that money in his shoes as well as the expensive clothes he was wearing? He didn’t have that kind of money—never had! His eyes dropped again to the newspaper and he saw the words, “President Clinton”. Who in the world was he? It was supposed to be President Reagan…, wasn’t it? He sat in a daze for some minutes, then knew he couldn’t just stay here.

He had no idea where to go or what to do, but knew he had to get some place where he could be alone to rest and think. He left a bill on the table to pay for the untouched coffee and made his unsteady way out the door. When he got outside he went to one of the tables away from the front window and slid into a chair for a few minutes before going on, as he looked up and down the street. As blurry as things were he could see that there were a lot of changes. Eleven years must have gone by—just gone! He hadn’t the least idea what he had been doing or even where he had been. Apparently not here! How could he find out?

When he felt that his legs might stay under him for a while he rose and made his way across the street to the barber shop. He probably needed a hair cut anyway. He sat down in a chair to wait for his turn. By the time one of the barbers was ready for him his legs felt stronger and he rose to take his place in the barber chair. “I don’t suppose there is a cab in town is there?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not. Where’d you want to go?” asked the barber.

“Currier’s Motel,” he replied.

“We’ve only got one motel, Mister,” the barber answered, “and that’s the Hollow Grove. That OK?” At Stone’s nod, he asked, “Is there anyone here who could take this gentleman to the Hollow Grove?”

“Sure. Glad to,” said a middle-aged man who had just sat down in the other chair. Glad to take you as soon as we’re both through.”

Just then another man came in whom everyone seemed to know and the conversation was lively and heated about a change from a residential zone on Maynard Street to commercial. Stone didn’t know, nor care, where Maynard Street was, but was just thankful that everyone had an opinion about the zoning change, and that no one was asking him questions.

When he and the man giving him the ride were on their way, he was asked, “New in town?”

“Yes, I used to live here about eleven years ago. I had a Collectibles Store where the little cafe is now. How long has that been a restaurant?”

“Gee. I don’t know. ‘Long’s I’ve been here. I came in the first part of ‘89. You coming back to live here?”

“Maybe, I haven’t really decided,” he told him.

“Here we are—Hollow Grove Motel.”

“Used to be Curriers when I was here,” he said, as he got out his wallet.”

“No no, put that away. What are neighbors for? Going right by anyway. Have a good one.”

Stone signed up for a room for three days. He felt he would need that much time to find out what he could here and decide on a plan to try and find out something—anything about where he had been and what he had been doing. After he rested for a while the panic that had seized him had abated some, and he soon realized he was hungry—hadn’t eaten since morning—and maybe he wouldn’t feel so weak if he ate something. He went into the motel office and asked the attendant if there was a restaurant within walking distance. When he found out there was a diner a little farther on he started walking. The little diner was crowded, but since he hadn’t known anyone when he was in town, he surely wouldn’t know anyone here now. He took a table in a corner and ordered clam chowder and hot rolls. Then he wished he had sat nearer someone and he might have asked them some questions about the town and found out when things had changed, but he couldn’t move now.

He was just finishing when an elderly man came over to his table. “Hello Sir, I’ve been looking at you, and trying to place you. I know I’ve seen you somewhere. Must have been a few years ago and…”

“I…I don’t think….”

“Wait! I’ve got it. The auction—that was it, at the auction. You’re the one I bought the Rockwell from. I still have that Rockwell picture. I didn’t get a chance that day to talk with you or the missus but wanted to tell you my nephew, my brother’s son, was the kid on the bench in that picture. He’s going to get it when I’m gone. How you been, Sir?”

“F…Fine, thank you. I…I don’t seem to remember your name.”

“James Tarkinby, I wouldn’t expect you to remember. Probably didn’t even know at the time who bought what. Now that I know who you are I want you to know how much we like that picture. Heard you folks was out west somewheres. Are you back in town to stay?”

“Just…just visiting,” he stammered. “Glad to know you like the picture.” The waitress arrived with his bill, and the man wished him well and left the restaurant.

Stone walked in a daze back toward the motel. The only thing he remembered clearly that the man had said was “the Mrs.” It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be. That would ruin everything. Maybe that man had mistaken him for someone else. There couldn’t be a Mrs.—so he would simply put it out of his mind along with everything else that was missing.

He realized a garage he had passed on the way to the diner had reminded him of something. Now he remembered that he had stopped there once to have new wiper blades installed on his car, and he decided to go in. He saw a man, possibly in his sixties, and a younger man visiting as they both worked under the hood of a car. The older man looked up as he entered and asked, “Help you?”

Stone replied, “Maybe. Have you been here long—I mean living here in town?”

“‘Bout twenty years, why?”

“Do you remember a Collectibles Shop back in town two stores from the pet store on West Baintler? It wasn’t there very long.”

The man thought for a minute, then, “Yes, I do remember it. Someone said the guy had an auction and sold out. That’s all I remember. I didn’t know him. What did you want to know?”

“Just anything about the store and the guy who ran it.”

“My secretary might know something. Rachael, got a minute?” he called.

A woman came to the open door of the office and said, “I heard you asking about the Collectibles Store. I didn’t know the owner either, but I bought some candle holders from a man who worked there. I think his name was Homer or something like that.”

“Could it have been Holmes?” asked Stone, holding his breath.

“It might have been. Someone you know?”

“I used to…if it was Jerry Holmes.”

“Jerry! That was it. Jerry Holmes. I remember now. He left soon after the others.”

“Do you mean the owner?”

“Someone said it was the owner, and some fancy woman was with him. I guess they had an auction and left right after.”

“Do you remember his name?” asked Stone now?”

“No, I don’t think I ever heard it, but someone mentioned that they sure made a handsome couple. I really don’t remember anything more,” she added, as she turned back to the office.

Stone called a thanks to her and the garage man, and left, more confused than before. A woman—a woman was with him—the Mrs. No, no, no! That man in the restaurant must have seen the woman and no doubt assumed she was his wife.

When he got back to the motel room the whole impossible situation hit him anew. Where have I been, and what have I been doing for the last eleven years, and who could that woman have been? He was trying desperately to find any explanation. Could it be that the man was referring to Millie when he mentioned the Mrs.? No, he lost Millie years before he ever came to this town, but it could be, it still could be that he had known of them before in another place. But darn, that couldn’t be as he did say he bought that picture at an auction.

It was a frightening thing not to remember anything for that length of time. Even the clothes he was wearing were alien to him. He had never dreamed of having expensive things like these. Where had he been living? Where was his mail? He must have met people in those lost years but wouldn’t know them if he saw them now. Was this amnesia? He’d heard of it but had never known anyone who had it. Would he get his memory back? How long would it take if he did? Did people who lost their memory always get it back? What if it never came back? How could he find out where he had been living and what he had been doing?

He looked in the motel mirror and couldn’t believe he was looking at himself. He leaned up close to the mirror to peer at himself. Even after the hair cut there was gray in his sideburns that hadn’t been there before, and he had acquired a few facial lines. He turned away realizing he no longer knew the man in the mirror. He hadn’t looked in a mirror in the hospital, being too dizzy to care. He wasn’t even sure there had been one available, and he had only glanced in one to quickly comb his hair at the hotel. He had thought it was the trauma of the accident that had changed him so much. He had never considered that it could be actual years, and everything was a blur without his glasses. He’d have to find a place where he could get some.

He tried to figure out what he should do and he felt so lost that all he could think about was Tara Lee. It was 9:45. Should he call her? What would she think? What could he tell her? No, he couldn’t call her in his present state. He had to find out where he had been and what he had been doing first. His life was mixed up enough now and he didn’t want to involve her without knowing what he could offer her. He had to find out who the woman was that had supposedly left town with him, and why she was with him. He finally went to bed only to wake every little while grabbing at snatches of dreams—impossible dreams of watching the walls in his store come crashing down with all of the items he had so laboriously collected.

He finally got up and dressed about six o’clock as soon as he heard any movement at all. Making sure he had his key, he went outside and walked toward the diner. Someone was just turning over the “Closed” sign to “Open” when he arrived. He went in, sat at the counter this time, and ordered coffee. He asked the man pouring the coffee if he knew of anyone who could taxi him around town a little later.