The Open Door (12 page)

“Hi, I’m Ella, how may I help you?”

Add amazing voice to the list,
Scott
thought. “Hi! Yes! I would like to see your catalog; I’m looking to
purchase a few books today, and I would like to see what you have
in stock.”

Ella reached behind the desk and pulled out a
small catalog for Scott to look through. “Anything in particular?”
Ella asked, with a kind smile.

“Well—it’s difficult for me to explain. To be
honest, I don’t know much about this stuff. It’s really for
research.”

“What type of research? Maybe I can help—I
know our inventory and would be happy to recommend something for
you.”

Scott was afraid to mention anything that
might frighten Ella or make her think he was crazy, so he was
careful to answer. “It’s research for someone who would like to
bring some good into their lives. You know—out with the bad, in
with the good? They’ve had some negative experiences and would like
to—uh—pray—and possibly find a way to be rid of the negative
experiences. You know?” Scott had embarrassed himself, but Ella
smiled sweetly and responded in a way to not further embarrass
Scott.

“I believe I have just the thing. I would
start with the Old Testament and a Strong’s, which will help to
figure out the true meaning of the words and verses in the Bible.
By simply knowing and understanding the Bible, many believe it
nourishes the soul and brings more positive things into their
lives. Maybe it’ll be a good starting point?”

“Sounds perfect, I’ll take both.” Scott felt
a little uncomfortable, as if the conversation became overly
personal, even though it didn’t.

He watched as Ella walked away to retrieve
the books, and then turned to look at Cody, whom he had forgotten
was sitting behind him the entire time. Cody stared at Scott with a
sly grin.

“What?”

“Oh, you know. I saw how you looked at
her.”

“I was being nice. What? A guy can’t be nice
without it being taken the wrong way?”

“Not at all, but there’s being nice, and then
there’s: BEING NICE. I’m not blind you know. She’s cute, she has no
ring, and she seemed to be a bit smitten by you.” Cody said
sarcastically, using a terrible English accent.

“Yeah, well, I’m not ‘smitten’ by you, so
stick a sock in it!” Partly joking, and partly being serious, Scott
ended the conversation before Ella’s return.

Returning with the books, Ella gently handed
them to Scott—placing them in his hands while her longing eyes
locked into his.  She found herself smiling involuntarily, as
if she couldn’t stop had she wanted to.  A slight shy chuckle
was shared between both parties, and then Ella released her hands
from the books, realizing that she was holding one end of the books
while Scott held the other. 

  There was so much Scott wanted to say
to Ella—so much he wanted to ask, but the only words to escape his
mouth were, “Thank you.” 

  “You’re so welcome, Scott.  Do
you have any questions?  Anything at all?  I’m no expert,
but I know enough to where I can probably help, at least a
little.”

  Her offer was so sweet that it almost
overwhelmed Scott. 
Don’t blow it! 
He thought to
himself.  “Actually, I didn’t want to bother, but since you
offered, I could use a little help.”

  “There’s a coffee shop on the other
end of the mall; how about we discuss your problem and any
questions you have tomorrow?”

  Now overwhelmed with excitement and
happiness, for having the opportunity to have one-on-one time with
Ella, Scott accepted her invite while doing his best to conceal
both his relief, and his rapidly growing feelings for Ella. 
“That would be perfect.  What time would you like to
meet?”

  “Does noon work for you?  I can
take my lunch at that time.”

  “Perfect!  I’ll see you at
noon.”

  Cody found it hard not to grin, and
also felt slightly uncomfortable at the familiar exchange between
his friend and a total stranger. 

  Scott and Cody exited the
building—Scott looked back every few feet—admiring the building
only because he knew an enchanting angel still graced its
interior.

  “It’s over.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve never seen you like this. 
It’s sad—scary and sad.  You were whipped the moment you laid
eyes on her.”

  “Whatever.  She seems nice,
that’s all.”

  “Oh right!  I’ve seen you around,
‘nice’ girls, and you didn’t act like that!”

  “OK, so she’s nice—and pretty!”

  “And?”

  “And—maybe I like her.  What will
it hurt to have coffee?”

  “It won’t hurt.  But that will
most certainly lead to dinner, which will lead to a movie, which
will lead to: ‘hey, why don’t you just come over and I will make
dinner for you?’  And of course, that will lead to: ‘hey
Cody?  How would you like to be my best man?’ I’m right—you’ll
see.”

  “You get all of that from me liking a
girl?”

  “I’m just saying.”

Scott dropped Cody off at his home after
enduring his verbal assault, which was an attempt to fully
embarrass Scott, and also gave warning that his best bud was maybe
a little jealous.  And why wouldn’t he be?  Ella was
smart, beautiful, well dressed, well mannered, and certainly was
easier to look at than Cody.

Dormant, seemingly lifeless gallows whisked
by like silhouettes against the gloaming star-filled canvas. The
sun set early these winter months, making the day seem shorter than
it was. Chills set in the almost night air that prompted Scott to
turn on the car heater.

Peering down at the books that rest on the
passenger seat, Scott thought of Ella: her smile, soft sweet voice,
radiant hair, shapely legs, and an innocence that ultimately won
him over.

Scott looked at his watch. A sound of
exasperation escaped his lips. It was only a quarter till five,
nineteen hours and fifteen minutes before he would see Ella
again.

A thought then suddenly entered Scott’s mind.
She said she would try to help ME, with MY issues.
“She
knows it’s about me,” Scott said, now concerned she would think he
was insane if he told her anything remotely close to the truth.

Ella was perceptive and caring. She was a
pseudo counselor to all her friends and family because she
listened, because she was sincere.

Quickly realizing that he would not be able
to keep anything from her, he started to think of how he would word
his experiences. His fears.

With twenty minutes of driving ahead of him
before he reached his abode, Scott turned on the radio—already set
to his favorite rock station. A classic by Ozzy rang out.
How
ironic, that a man whose moniker is, Prince of Darkness, is playing
on my drive home.
Scott laughed at the thought. “I’m being
chased by the Prince of Darkness,” he muttered under his
breath.

Suddenly, a white noise interrupted the song,
Diary of a Madman. “Come on!” Scott played with the radio’s dials
to no avail. Broken words separated by static started coming
through the frequency, but not from the song. “Angelus . . .
Lucifer . . . abyssus.” Scott listened intently in an attempt to
decipher the words. The voice grew louder each time it repeated the
phrase. Scott turned the radio volume down, but still the voice
grew louder, to the point where Scott’s eardrums ached—on the verge
of erupting. “Mortem! Die!” The final words came through at an
unnaturally elevated volume.

Slamming on the breaks, Scott pulled over to
the side of the road, turned the engine off, removed the keys from
the ignition, and quickly exited his car.

His ears rang so loud; blood surely must be
oozing out of them. Scott stuck his pinky in his right ear—no
blood.

Scott was able to make it the rest of the way
home without IT speaking through the car’s stereo, like some demon
that had possessed his car in order to reenact a scene from the
movie, Christine.

After entering his apartment, Scott noticed
the red light on the answering machine blinking. He pressed the
button.

Beep! “Scott, this is Mustapha, please call
me as soon as you receive this message, it’s urgent.”

Beep! “Hi Scott! This is Ella; I’ve been
thinking about ways I can help. If you feel like it, give me a call
with more details and I will be happy to talk before we meet
tomorrow. Bye!”

Beep! “This is Mustapha again. Please call
me. I would like to meet with you and your friend. No fee—this will
be free of charge. Something happened, and we need to try and help
each other. Talk with you soon. Call. OK?”

Beep! A falsetto voice spoke. “Scott, I love
you! Passionately! Smoochie, smoochie! Marry me you big hunk of a
man! This is Ella, your exotic love mistress.” A loud, puckered
kissing noise followed, and then the sound of Cody chuckling could
be heard in the background before the message ended.

“Child,” Scott said under his breath while
dialing Mustapha. He had come within a fraction of calling Ella
first, but Scott was a sensible man, not easily overruled by
emotions or hormones.

The phone rang. “Scott! Thank God you called.
Please, can you, Cody, and I meet? The sooner the better.”

“What happened?”

“I would prefer to explain in person.”

“Cody experienced something—“

“Cody too? This is worse than I thought.
Please ask your friend to meet at your house tonight. Are you
available tonight?”

“This is important. Come over whenever you
can, and I’ll call Cody.”

Scott wanted to read and be in bed early so
he could be rested and at his best for Ella, but his curiosity and
fear were a ferocious appetite that needed to be fed.

“Come on . . . answer,” Scott thought to
himself, while impatiently counting the number of times the phone
rang before Cody answered.

“Hello?”

“Scott here. Mustapha—this guy that’s helping
me with my case—he wants you to meet with us at my place,
ASAP.”

“What’s this about? Did he say?”

“No details, but he’s on to something and he
believes he can help us. He sounded a little freaked-out, so we
need to at least hear him out.”

“I’ll get dressed and head over, but this
better be good.”

Cody and Mustapha arrived at Scott’s house
within moments of each other.  Cody in his black 1974 AMX
Javelin, and Mustapha pulled up in a 2000 silver Aston
Martin. 

  Scott lived in a simple 1970’s three
bedroom home—a rental serving as a temporary dwelling until he met
his future bride.  Scott kept it clean; the lawn was always
mowed and trimmed, and he lent a little of himself to the
interior—consisting of gothic-renaissance era styled furnishings,
sconces, artwork, etc. Most were surprised at his taste in décor,
but Scott was an old soul who liked the finer things—even if he
couldn’t afford them. 

  “You must be Mustapha!  I’m Cody
. . . how are you doing?”

  “Been better, dear sir, but nice to
meet your acquaintance just the same.”

  They walked in the already open door
to Scott’s warm and welcoming abode.  Mustapha immediately
complimented Scott on his taste in interior design, “Well done,
Scott—you have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you, but it’s not mine.  I
rent for now.”

  “No matter—I was speaking of your
furniture and overall interior, not so much the home itself.”

  “I’m glad you like it, everything will
be coming with me when I’m able to purchase my own home.”

  “Not to rush things, but can we get
started?  Where shall we sit?”  Mustapha said in an
anxious tone. 

  “Let’s sit at the dining table—would
anyone like a drink?  I’ve got water, orange juice, tea, milk,
and two beers left by friends when they came over for the fight
last Friday.”

  Mustapha settled on tea, while Cody
insisted on a beer.  Scott went with water—he wanted nothing
with caffeine, alcohol, or sugar so soon before bed. 

  “First off—Cody—have you had any
bizarre happenings since going to Scott’s childhood home?”

  Cody looked at Scott to seek
approval.  Scott nodded and Cody answered. 
 “Actually, yeah—I had a dream that started happy and went
sour fast.  Everything turned black, and then this man
appeared wearing a top hat, dressed all in black.  I woke up
to a loud banging noise, and when I checked my front door, it had
been slammed so hard the glass had shattered.”  Cody
hesitated, looking to his left, trying to remember the sequence of
events.

  “Go on.”  Mustapha said in an
effort to coax Cody into finishing.  Mustapha needed to tell
his part before too long. 

  “I cut my finger while attempting to
pry the glass from the door, so I went to clean the wound in the
bathroom.  When I returned, there was something written in my
blood on the door.”

  “Yes?  What did it read?”

  “It was in English and it read: death
is imminent.”

  “Troubling . . . then what?”

  “There was a man—the man in my
dream—he was standing across the street staring at me.  He
grinned, wiped blood on his lips after sucking on his finger, and
then he disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yes.  A bus drove by, and after
it passed he was gone.”

  Mustapha, intrigued by Cody’s
admission, dove directly into his experience. 

  “Last night, I was looking through
your documents, your research, and I received a phone call.  I
picked up, but could only make out a hissing sound and
static.  I hung up, and then the phone rang a second
time.  I picked up, and when I was about to hang up again, I
heard voices.  They spoke in several languages, including
Arabic.”  Mustapha paused, as if perplexed.  “Now—why
would it start off in my native language, knowing full well that I
would understand?  How could it have known?”