Confabulation (5 page)

CHAPTER
9

Simon typed feverishly at his keyboard, knowing that his research could be halted at any time by another bout with blindness. He’d had so many. Couldn’t place them at all, they seemed to just fill his memory, though. One he remembered, though. Last night. He was asleep, at leats he thought he was, but then he wasn’t. Lights and shadows filled his vision. Not the white cloud he remembered, but he was asleep. He figured he just remembered it wrong when he woke up. Either way, he was sure it happened.

He tapped his foot as the circle of dots rotated on the screen. “Come on, I’m sure I pay for faster response than this shit.” Finally a result. His first attempt, with the phrase "white haze vision" had returned a variety of useless pages, mostly fanfic of various shows. After that failure, he entered the more clinical sounding "vision loss white haze." That had returned more appropriate sites, but the results dealt with cataracts and other physical problems with the eyes.

He shoved the keyboard away after several subsequent attempts yielded equally valuable results. "What is happening to me? Why can’t anyone find anything?" Simon raised his head as a humming resonated throughout the house. No, in his head.

He felt certain he shouldn’t worry. But why? He had a problem. No. No problem. Simon shook his head. Jumped from his chair and quickly scanned the room. Nothing. He ran to the front door. No signs of entry. He unlocked the door and checked the front of the house near the window he was sitting near. "Is someone there?"

Nothing. No one. He stood in the yard. Needed to check the mail. Why? He didn’t think he wanted to check it. No, he was sure he did. He needed to. More than anything.

He walked over to the box. Walked back into the house with the mail in hand. Simon felt a little guilt as a car drove past. Saw him still in his sweats, and obviously having not showered. Or shaved. In a few days. Ever since his job had been changed, an accommodation to his disability, he hadn’t needed to leave the house.

He thanked his boss for allowing him to keep working. Sure, doing analysis on the industry and comparing products and rates with competitors, was work, and kept a paycheck coming. But inside he felt like a complete failure. He was unable to do his job, and he couldn’t even find out why he was having problems. He’d seen doctors and psychologists, but no one had any answers.

What became an idle hope for the vision problem to stop never came true. He had a disturbance every day. They were common. So common he didn’t even bother noting when they happened, he just knew another was around the bend no matter what he was doing.

But he also knew he was fine. In that same indefinite way, he knew was doomed and fine. Didn’t make any damned sense. He wondered if he was the subject of some weird test. Actually hoped that was the case. Hated himself for thinking that way. He’d always solved his own problems. Detested his weakness now.

When he was sixteen, his parents died after being hit by a drunk driver. His grandparents made a room for him in their house, but he didn’t want to move away from his friends and his school, so he decided to live on his own. Insurance and a little inheritance gave him enough to get by for a few years. Since then, he’d relied on himself to solve almost every problem he faced. He did the repairs around the house, prepared his meals, and ultimately put himself through college.

Now, he placed his hope in a ridiculous fantasy that he concocted from a brief hallucination. As he flipped through his bills, he laughed about his situation, mainly because he hated to cry. He continued to flip through the mail. "Bill. Bill. Ad. Bill. Ad. What’s this?" He picked up the small envelope with no address information and opened it. Inside he found an address and a small note.

"You’re not alone. Go to this address at noon Thursday and you will receive instruction."

He turned the card over, but there was no other writing. He recognized the street name on the address, but he couldn’t imagine why he would be directed to an area of town that was filled with restaurants, bookstores, and bars. What the hell could be there? He entered the information in his phone and made an appointment. “Well, at least it gets me out of the house.”

CHAPTER
10

Henry stood in the garage, holding his hands up in frustration. "Where will you be?" He looked around and back again, meeting her eyes for only brief glimpses.

"I can’t tell you, Henry. Don’t get all overprotective on me. Again."

Henry sighed. He’d worked out what he thought was an ingenious plan. He was going to take her on a full day of shopping, a trip to the zoo, dinner. Anything to keep her occupied. She thought it was a great idea. Henry got a good night’s sleep for the first time in weeks.

However, Kelly’s work again interfered. Watching her at the office wasn’t easy. Following her on a weekend to a client’s office wasn’t even an option. No way he could pull that off and keep it hidden.

He swallowed. "Sorry. I was just looking forward to this weekend."

She placed her hand on his shoulder. "I know. I was too. But, duty calls.” She hefted her briefcase and walked toward the door. “I’ll be home late."

He wanted to argue with her. Tell her she was in danger. But, he’d seen that play out before. He followed her out, and opened the door to her car. Put his hand on her back. "Okay, have a good day."

"Thanks, I’ll try."

Henry shut her door and watched her drive away. Waited for a few minutes, then started his own car and headed out. Watched the garage door go down, and then accelerated quickly in pursuit. He hoped to find her on the highway and follow her from there.

He wasn’t sure where she was headed, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t out of town. She didn’t have many out of town clients, and a trip to sign one up would take more than a day. He pulled onto the highway, and began darting through traffic, trying to gain ground. He sped past cars on his left and right, hoping to be able to see Kelly’s car ahead.

"Damn."

He passed several exits. Some of them led to areas of town where he knew she had clients. He bit his lower lip and tapped then steering wheel. Didn’t know if he should exit or not. He slowed. Exited and headed for the turnaround.

Still didn’t know which exit to take. He’d hoped to find her car, but no luck. Now, he had to guess. His heart was racing. Almost stopped when heard his phone ring. He picked it up from the seat next to him and answered. "This is Henry."

"Hi. Listen, I’m going to have to leave town for the day."

The words took the breath from his lungs. "What? Why?"

"The client needs us to take a look at some things he has in another office. We’ll be taking his private plane, so I’ll be back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Henry began to sweat, and he scratched his now itching arm.

"I know, Henry, it spoils all your plans. I’ll make it up to you, I promise."

He thought about saying he was sick. That he needed help. But that was stupid. He was grown ass man. He sat silent.

“Henry, you there?”

"What. Yeah, sorry. Um, be careful. Have a good trip."

"I will. Bye."

"Bye." Henry ended the call and pulled onto the shoulder of the highway.

Henry needed a break from his thoughts. Some time to just not worry. He pulled back into traffic and exited as soon as he could. Headed home. On the way down his street, a man and a woman strolled across the road. He smiled, but considered just running them over.

As soon as he was home he picked up the rum bottle from the pantry and took a long drink. Ten drinks later, his mind was quiet, and the floor felt comfortable. He let the drink close his eyes. He licked his lips twice before passing out.

He woke up on the floor and could taste the gauze texture of mouth. He could also smell, and taste, his spewn stomach contents. When he finally got up, he went to the kitchen to get a towel. Returning to the scene of his gastric floor deposit proved to be too much. He leaned over and added to the pile. After several attempts, he was finally able to clean up most of it.

The day dragged as Henry fought against a headache and the doubt that Kelly would call. The worry that he’d said his last good-bye. Lunch came and passed without sign of Kelly or hunger. Eventually, he ate some bread to try and ease the hangover. Once he felt better, he improved on his feeble attempt at carpet cleaning from the morning.

He took the bag of ruined towels and stomach chunks out of the house. Across the street was the same couple from earlier. He thought about saying hello. Apologizing to getting too close to them in his car. And for the smell. He dropped the bag and took a step toward them.

They walked away. Quickly.

He was confused, until the wind drove a waft of his smell to his nose. Then he understood their quick exit.

Evening came, and Henry’s worry was consuming. The last of the alcohol felt like it was finally leaving his system, which let the worries take over. Images of her dead body were everywhere. He tried to think of something else, but it was like some who just kept yelling “don’t think red” a thousand times.

Henry cringed. He tried to ignore the thoughts and the headache, but they both grew in power. Though his stomach turned, Henry lifted the bottle to his lips again. He sat down on the couch, reclined, and hung his head over the edge in case of accident. He lay there for hours, fighting against sleep, and drinking into oblivion. He continued drinking until he heard the garage door open.

"Henry. Henry, you need to get up."

Henry fought through the pain of opening his eyes and saw Kelly standing above him. He tried to talk, but alcohol had robbed him of the moisture he needed.

"Don’t talk. I don’t know why you got so drunk last night, but we can talk about it later. Right now, I need to get going, and you need to get ready for work."

Henry shook his head, trying to tell her not to go to work.

"Yes, you do have to get up. Decent people don’t drink themselves into a sick day, Henry." She pulled her bag over her shoulder and took her keys in her hand. "I’ll be out of the office all day, so I’ll talk to you tonight."

Henry sat up quickly, but reclined again under the pressure of the ensuing headache. He opened his eyes again when he heard the door to the garage close. He scrambled to his feet and tried to race to the door. However, by the time his stumbling gate took him far enough, Kelly was gone.

Henry walked with small careful steps to the bathroom and turned on the shower. "I guess I’ll go to work." Henry stepped into the shower and let the water fall over him for several minutes. He knew it didn’t matter. And that he couldn’t do a damned thing for Kelly, but he had to do something to keep him mind busy. Other than drink.

Henry finished his shower. Shaved. Brushed his teeth, which was welcome, and trimmed the nose hairs that he saw  in the mirror across the room. He felt human again by the time he he was done. After a small breakfast of yogurt and toast, he headed to work. The drive was silent, and for a few minutes Henry could remember what his life had been like just a few weeks before.

CHAPTER
11

Carolyn parked her car. After several hesitant efforts to lift it, she picked up the note from the seat next to her. Checked the address to make sure she found the place. Once sure, she looked at. Her handwriting. She remembered writing it, but it felt like a dream. Like someone else had control of her mind. And her hands. She wrote it, but had no idea why, or what to expect once she got there.

When she saw the note taped to her bedroom door, she pulled it off, knowing what it was, but not wanting to believe it. She sure as hell wasn’t about to go. Someone was messing with her, and just following along seemed like a damned stupid plan. She ate, with the note right in front of her. Going seemed like a better idea with each bite. Did she want to go? Was someone making her want to go? In the end, she figured that if someone could make her think what they wanted, she didn’t have much choice in the long run.

She stepped past the heavy green door. A bell jingled above and she giggled at the weak sound that welcomed her. She took a few moments to take in the musty smell of old books and old wood. The place seemed well-lit and cool but not cold air. A nice change from the already hot summer morning outside.

"Can I help you?"

Carolyn turned. A short, bald man with large glasses stood in front of her. She stared at his white shirt, pinstripe pants, and braces. Seemed more at home in one of the books on the shelves than in the store. She blinked and realized he’d asked her a question. "I’m not sure what I’m looking for."

"Oh, just browsing then. Why don’t you come with me to the back?” He motioned with his head down a hall. “It holds our more interesting pieces. Not many people buy any of the books back there, a bit pricey, but they’re nice to look at. It’s like my own little book museum." He reached for her hand.

She took the wrinkled hand. Strong grip. She followed him to the back. He opened the door to a small room full of old books sitting face out behind glass doors. The clerk placed his hand on her back and stepped behind her. "I’ll leave you alone now. Enjoy the items, and let me know if you need anything." As he stepped away, he pointed to a small book that seemed newer than the others, alone in a case that was unlocked. "Many people enjoy that book, since you’re allowed to read it."

"Oh, thanks." She watched him leave. She turned back to the book. Heard the door shut behind her. "Now, what is in this book?"

Though it appeared newer than the others, the pages still seemed dry and the binding rigid. Carolyn turned the pages of the old text. Blank. She flipped through more pages. Blank. All blank. She cleared her throat and closed the book. Looked at the back and cover.

A symbol on the back and front. Wavy lines.

No title. No author.

She looked at the spine. Wavy lines.

She opened the book again.

Still blank, but there was something there. A memory. A notion of what she had seen before. She shook her head. She’d never seen the book. Still, she could remember the pages full of words. She tried to remember. Tried to picture the pages.

She could see the type, but not read the text. Just an image of a book. She put it down.

“Damn.”

"Is there a problem with the book, ma’am."

Carolyn slammed the book shut and jumped from the chair. She was relieved to only find the aged store clerk standing in the doorway. "Sorry. You startled me."

"Then I’m the one who’s sorry." He bowed his head. "Didn’t you enjoy the book?"

"Well, I found it, difficult to read."

"Ah, I see. As I said, it’s quite a curiosity around here. I have something else you might be more interested in, though. Exactly what you’re looking for, I’d say. You’d have to buy it, though. It’s wrapped, you see. One of the few things."

She nodded. Followed him back into the main store and to the counter.

He took out a box from underneath the register. Full of shrink-wrapped postcards. Pulled one from the end middle of the stack. "I had these made last year. Pictures of some of my favorite books, as well as some book and magazine collectibles around the world. I think they’re quite lovely, don’t you."

She smiled. "They certainly are.” She felt like she was in the middle of a strange role playing spy game. “I think I’ll take a package."

"Excellent.” He placed the selected pack in a bag. “I’m sure the recipients of these will enjoy them just as much as I do." He slipped her receipt into the bag.

"I’m sure they will." She smiled and took the bag from then clerk. She turned to exit.

“Excuse me, miss. You forgot your receipt.”

She turned back as two men brushed past her on their way out. “Thank you, but I’m sure you placed it in my bag.” She opened up the top.

“Oh, you’re right. Sorry. I must have printed a duplicate. Never mind.” He waved and turned away, placing the box back under the register.

After a slight wave of her hand, she exited the building and back out into the cement intensified heat. She slipped in her car, thankful for the space she was able to get close to the door. She started the car and air conditioning, wincing from the blast of hot air that hit her in the face. As the car cooled, she took the postcards from the bag and opened the package.

Just note cards. Nothing special. Pretty pictures.

She set the cards in the seat next to her. Looked at the door and considered going back in. Wondered if she got the wrong package. She watched two men, maybe the same two from before, head for the door.

Saw the old man flip the sign to closed.

The two men knocked.

Old man shook his head.

The two men looked at her. Stared right at her from behind their sunglasses before turning and walking away. She watched them go down the sidewalk, turn a corner and vanish from view. She looked back to the shop. The old man looked out the window and shook his head slowly. Pointed to the seat next to her.

She flipped through the cards again. About halfway through, she found a picture of the book with wavy lines. She turned it over.

Blank.

But she knew what it said.

"I can help you. You must know that you are being watched and manipulated. The people doing this are dangerous and will go to great lengths to keep me away from you. I am watching as well, and won’t let them harm you, but you must keep to your routine. I’ll contact you again, soon. Be careful."

Carolyn’s heart raced as she completed the note. The note that wasn’t there, but was as clear as day. "Who’s watching me?" She considered the possibilities.

The old man.

The two men.

Someone else.

Were they dangerous or there to help? Who could she trust? The questions ran through her mind, not taking the time to be answered to take root. She looked around. Saw nothing out of the ordinary. No men. Closed shop.

Deep inside, she felt that she could trust the anonymous helper, but she couldn’t be sure if the emotion was her own. Not anymore. She could be playing into the hands of the people out to harm her.

She drove back home. Thought about the different options. Only one answer seemed to ring true. She was being watched. This person, whoever it was, wanted to help. She prayed that the conclusion was her own.