Transience (4 page)

Leonard took the book from her shaking hands.
   

He flipped through it, stunned — drawing after drawing of artwork worthy of framing in a gallery. "Incredible," he whispered.
 
Over the course of the past few months, Leonard had developed a theory about Rebecca's condition.
 
Seeing this only confirmed he was right.
 
Once again, she'd amazed him, and he cursed himself for only discovering this additional evidence now — too late.

CHAPTER 6

Jack entered his home carrying a briefcase and a small white pharmacy bag.
 
The house was a small three bedroom colonial on a tree lined street, mid block.
 
He'd wanted a quiet neighborhood, far from busy roads.
 
A place where kids could play safely.
 
The house was completely dark inside, the lawn in dire need of mowing.
 

Inside, every flat surface held the scatterings of case files.
 
When entertaining the rare visitor, Jack spent a lot of time apologizing for the mess while clearing stacks of photos and important notes off the furniture.
 
Jack wasn't much of an outdoorsman or sportsman, although he enjoyed a day of fishing now and then.
 
There wasn't much memorabilia of his exploits, just a few citations and honorable plaques for bravery and citizenship.
 
All work related.
 
The only thing you could tell about Jack from a tour of his home was that he was in law enforcement.

When he joined the department, it wasn't for the perks or family tradition; Jack genuinely wanted to make a difference.
 
After receiving the promotion to detective, he had every intention of becoming the greatest investigator to ever carry the badge, often at the cost of family and relationships, no apologies.
 
Solving crimes and punishing the guilty gave his life purpose.

Jack hung his gun belt inside a closet.
 
He held the door a moment, staring at a never worn navy blue suit, still wrapped in the same plastic he brought it home in.
 
It had cost him over 400 dollars, and was by far the nicest suit he owned.
 
He was saving it for a special occasion.

He closed the closet and took off his shoes.
 
He noticed his answering machine was blinking.
 
It was one of those ancient Panasonics with the mini cassettes.
 
Jack actually had a passion for old school technology, one of his prized possessions was his antique Technics record player.
 

He looked at the message counter:
2 messages
.
 
Jack frowned with interest.
 
He pressed play.

"There's never been a better time to get term life insurance for only-"
Jack skipped to the next message.

"Hi Jack, it's Robert again."
Jack's eyes found a spot on the wall and stared, waiting for the asshole to finish.
"I don't know if you're getting these messages, I know how busy you are.
 
Please call me, we need to talk.
 
Something a brother should know anyway."

Next to the machine was a framed photograph of Jack, SMILING, his arm around a beautiful woman.
 
A smile that would break his jaw now if he tried it.

"We're still at the same number
…
be really great to hear from you.
 
Trish sends her best.
 
Anyway, if you get this and-"

Jack hit the erase button, almost breaking it.
 
He considered tossing the machine across the room.
 
Instead, he took a deep breath and coughed hard a few times, his cheeks puffing out.
 
The last one hurt enough to remind him to take his pills.

He dropped the small white bag on the kitchen table and tossed around a few stacks of papers until he found a glass.
 
He filled it with water at the kitchen sink, tore open the bag and dumped out a small pill bottle.
 
There was a red warning on the label that read clearly:
Do NOT mix with alcohol
.
 

He maneuvered the child proof lock according to directions and it popped open after a few tries.
 
He shoveled two pills in his mouth and went to take a drink, stopping just as the glass reached his lips.
 
He tossed the water down the drain and opened the refrigerator.

Inside was an assortment of take out containers, a lonely bar of butter, some cheese and two cans of beer.
 
Jack grabbed a beer, washed the pills down, and grabbed the other can.

He sat down at his table and started sifting through Angelina Rosa's case file.
 
An image of his brother Robert suddenly flashed in his brain and he abruptly cleared the table of its contents in one angry swipe
.
 
Fucking asshole!

His head blurred and his eyes closed.
 
He felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness.
 
He could hear people talking — distant, muffled, as if he was submerged under water, their voices just above the surface:

"Pulse rate?" a voice called out.

"We're losing him," another replied.

"Blood pressures dropping."

"We're losing him!"

He heard commotion, shouting.
 
The noise gradually began to fade, leaving him in total silence.
 
A soft voice whispered in his ear, "There's a reason."

With those words, Jack opened his eyes and found himself in a field of grass near a giant oak tree.
 
Two people were sitting beneath it, enjoying the shade of it's expansive branches.
 
There was a small pond nearby.
 

Jack looked up into a bright blue sky, so blue it was almost surreal.
 
Floating below the clouds was a small yellow kite with a white ribboned tail.
 
It swirled in the breeze, then did a few loops.
 
Jack watched it soar and maneuver through the air.
 
It gave him an enormous sense of peace and calm, unlike anything he'd felt in a long time.
 
This place was warm, full of love and happiness.

The playful kite spun and flipped, diving out of the sky.
 
It headed straight for the ground.
 
As it smashed and crumpled, Jack
awoke
.

CHAPTER 7

Rebecca sat in the back of the classroom watching the second hand of the clock tick away the last few minutes of the day.
 
She repeatedly placed her pencil at the top of her desk and let it roll down.
 
She counted tiles in the ceiling, counted the number of letters in words, whatever she could to keep her mind occupied.
 
Sometimes it worked and kept the spells at bay.
 
Just five more minutes
.
 

Even on the first day she'd arrived at her new school, the kids sensed Rebecca was different.
 
From the way she spoke using large words, to her incredible artwork that nearly gave Mrs. Lindsay a stroke.
 
The first time the teacher ever saw Rebecca draw, her hands were shaking as she exclaimed, "
Jesus, Mary and Joseph
!"
 
She made Rebecca draw three more pictures that day, watching in awe while the other kids were ordered to read and keep quiet.
 

The faculty found Rebecca odd, so old in her young shoes, so mature.
 
It ingratiated her with them. It intimidated her fellow students.
 
Rebecca wasn't just an outsider who didn't fit.
 
She was
different
.
 
The worst offense a child can make.

The taunting didn't begin until the spells started becoming a regular occurrence.
 
Rebecca would often scream out for no reason, or use bad language that just didn't belong in the mouth of a nine year old.
 
She mostly didn't remember the episodes after they had passed, but the other children didn't let her forget.
 

Her mood swings were unpredictable and scary.
 
They had begun a little while after moving here during the summer.
 
She couldn't pinpoint an exact time or place it started, just that she'd never experienced these problems back in Livonia.
 
Things were fine before they arrived here to
start over
as Mommy put it.
 

It was as if raw emotions were channeling through her.
 
She didn't understand them, but recognized they were originating from within.
 
As the problem metastasized, it started following her to school; poking and disrupting her day like a bad stomach ache.
 
No longer just a night terror, she couldn't escape the horrible, unexplainable thoughts that were polluting her young mind.
 
They were taking a huge toll, aging her, changing her.
 
Isolating her.
 

Doctor Hellerman had provided some methods and remedies for dealing with the episodes, like letting her stomach expand slowly while breathing deeply or humming a favorite song softly.
 
Sometimes it worked.
 
Other times not.
 
She'd overheard him telling her mother the nightmares were part of some memory she was
suppressing
.
 
Something she'd seen, perhaps recently, that was so horrific she just couldn't face it.
 
That didn't seem to make sense to Rebecca, but she didn't have an explanation for the nightmares.
 
They did feel real, like a memory, like it had actually happened.
 
Something she was reliving — not just dreaming.
 
Her mother disagreed.

The last bell rang and children burst out from each door, racing to get away as if the school building were on fire.
 
Rebecca descended the steps with her head down, avoiding eye contact.
 
Another day down. Step over the cracks.
 
Shoe lace untied
-
just keep moving, tie it later.
 

Rebecca had one more obstacle between her and the safety of home.
 
The dreaded walk to the bike rack.
 
Once you were out in the yard, away from school faculty, it was every kid for themselves.
 
Rebecca lived a few miles away from school.
 
The first few days her mother had made her take the bus back and forth, but that was worse than prison.
 
It locked her up with no place to run, allowing the other kids 30 uninterrupted (and mostly unrefereed) minutes to torture her at will.
 
So she begged her mother for permission to ride her bike instead.

In her peripheral vision she spotted Jeff and Tommy creeping like two evil henchmen, eager to play their favorite game.
 
Her heart sank as they pulled up right behind her.
 

"Watch out, she's mental," Tommy said.

"I hear she had to go to a brain doctor," Jeff said, returning serve.

"Yeah, they opened her head, but they couldn't find nothin!
 
Ta doosh!" Tommy's laugh was filled with evil.
 
Rebecca ignored their barbs and kept walking the endless path to the bike rack.
 

But Tommy wanted some tears.
 
He hopped forward on one foot and gave Rebecca's backpack a shove, knocking her face-down onto the sidewalk.
 
Rebecca caught herself just before she kissed the ground — scraping up her hands a bit, but otherwise okay.
 
Tommy hadn't intended to use so much force, but didn't apologize either.
 
Instead he raised his hand in a victory dance.

Rebecca stayed down, hoping they were satisfied, having gotten their humiliation.
 
They stood over her, cackling and high fiving like their team just scored a goal.
   

Holly Schmidt, another regular victim of the evil duo's barbs just for her name alone, stood over Rebecca, eyeballing the two hyenas.
 
Holly was very tall for her age, heavy.
 

"Leave her alone!" Holly screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Holy shit, it's Holly Schmidt!" They sang in harmony.
 
A parent walking with their child saw the commotion and approached.
 
Tommy spit in Rebecca's hair as they jogged away.

Holly offered her hand to help, but Rebecca was too embarrassed to do anything but get up and out of there as quickly as possible.
 
She brushed past Holly, unlocked her bike from the rack, tossed the lock in her front basket and climbed on her bike.

She didn't get 10 feet when the chain broke, sending her pedals spinning out from under her little, white sandaled feet.
 
She lost control and found herself face down for the second time in only a few minutes.
 
All around her, merciless child laughter.

She got back up without dusting herself off, defiantly marching her bike down the street, not looking back.
 
Her elbow burned, blood oozing through her sweater sleeve.

Along the route home was an opening in a fence that led to a wooded area.
 
It cut a direct path to her street that would have shaved about 10 minutes off her trip, bypassing the bridge over Route 101, and the big round about at Redwood Drive.
 
Many of the kids used it.
 
She saw people jogging in there from time to time.
 
She didn't know if Jeff or Tommy used the path to go home, but that wasn't what she was afraid of.