Under Abnormal Conditions (14 page)

“Nothing new.”

“Have you at least thought about talking to
your dad?”

“Even if I did want to talk to him, what
could he do?”

“You never know. He-”

“Bring the car later tonight, okay.” I
interrupted.

“Yeah, I get the message. Later.”

I sat the phone back on its cradle and began
changing for bed. A shower would only serve to wake me up and that
was one thing I didn’t want.

I opened a window to bring in the fresh air.
I stood there for some time, wondering why people were out that
late and did they leave someone home alone. The air was cool and
renewing. It smelled fresh and sweet, but something was missing. I
hated to admit it, but I was lonely. I felt so alone that even a
passer by on the street gave me a hint of comfort. It was so hard
always being there for others, but when I needed someone, I stood
in the dark alone.

I was being silly and I knew it. The
answering machine sat in the living room full of unreturned phone
calls, and I wanted to feel sorry for myself.

I wondered about Sara. I wondered if she had
left a message for me. When would be an appropriate time to call
her? I wanted more than anything to be there for her, but I
couldn’t force myself on her.

I guess it was guilt. Her sister was gone and
now her mother and in someway they both seemed to lead back to me.
I felt like I needed to take care of her.

The first ring of the telephone startled me.
The second one relieved me. I was almost praying it was Sara.

“Hello?” I answered on the third ring.

“It is too late?” Joey asked.

It wasn’t who I wanted or expected, but I
felt bad for not calling her earlier.

“I tried to catch up with you before you left
the restaurant, but you were talking to Phil and things didn’t look
too good.”

“I think I need to start looking for a new
job.”

“Really? He fired you?” she asked.

“No, but he let me know I wasn’t
welcome.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling at the meeting.
Well look, I didn’t need anything. I wanted to make sure you were
okay.”

“Thanks, I’m fine. You are the only person
from the club who called.”

“Sorry. I wish there was something else I
could do.”

“No. Everything is fine. It feels good to
know someone was thinking of me.” Even though she wasn’t my first
choice of late night callers, I knew her concern was genuine.

“How long did you stay at the restaurant
after I left?”

“Thirty minutes maybe. I’m not sure.

“How was Phil acting? I mean was he nervous,
mean, scared or what?” I asked.

“Well, he talked to Dexter and then they both
left. He did seem a little mad, but I figured he was still mad at
you. It was a little weird.

“How do you mean?”

“He was pointing at Dexter’s chest and
yelling something. I couldn’t really make it out though, but they
were into it pretty good. That’s about it. Did that help?”

“Yeah, I think so. Listen, I need to run, but
I’ll call you tomorrow.

“Okay, call if you need anything.”

“I will. Goodbye.”

I wouldn’t. In fact, I wanted to leave the
phone off the hook. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t.

I don’t know why I didn’t put it together
before. Phil was the type of guy that didn’t mind making profits by
illegal means as long as he didn’t have to get his hands dirty.
Dexter was just the man he needed. He had all the contacts and
muscle to back him up. Maybe Sherry saw something she shouldn’t
have and they needed me to pin it on.

He would be my first priority the next
morning, but I had to do something else first. I picked up the
phone and dialed Sara’s number.

“Hello,” her sleep deepened voice answered. I
knew it was a mistake to call. I was about to hang up when she
asked, “Michael?”

I wanted to hang up the phone. She had
obviously been sleeping and I imagined she needed as much rest as
possible.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t asleep yet.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I just wanted
to make sure you were all right.”

After a long breath she said, “I’m holding
up. The funeral is tomorrow. Tomorrow . . . ” she paused. “Tomorrow
is going to be a different story.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it right now. All of my mom’s
family is here.” She stopped and chuckled for a second. “It’s like
these people thrive on misery. I’m tired of them coming up to me
and telling me how sorry they are. It’s maddening. No one could . .
.” I think she realized who she was talking to and muted
herself.

“I just wanted to try and help.”

“Michael, I’m sorry. I know you understand
what I am going through. I . . . I . . .don’t know what to say.”
She began to cry again. “I really do need you.”

“I’ll do anything I can for you. You know
that. I need to make things right. Call me if you need anything at
all.”

“I . . . thank you. Goodbye.”

I gently laid the phone back on its cradle
and pulled the covers up around my neck and tucked myself in bed. I
always knew one day my pride was going to be the death of me.
Luckily it wasn’t that day.

Chapter 19

I turned off the alarm at seven, but it
wasn’t until eight o’clock that the sun pried open my tired eyes
from the most restful night of sleep I had in a very long time. I
was surprised at how well I had slept considering everything that
had happened.

After talking to Sara my plans for the day
had to change. I needed to drive to the school and try to talk to
Dr. Pierre. The situation would be far too difficult to explain
through an email or phone. This was something that needed to be
done face to face.

The events over the previous days had left me
drained. I took an extra long shower to help myself wake up. There
was something about a hot shower that gave me the false security of
stability. As I turned off the water I could hear my telephone
ringing. In my rush to answer it, I almost slipped and fell. By the
time I did reach it, the ringing had stopped. I tried not to think
about who it might have been.

I turned on my stereo and listened to Jimmy
Scott as I got dressed. He sang with such passion and torment that
I was sure he had already lived through the torture I was in, and
was later able to sing about it.

I felt like I needed to be with Sara, but I
had to question if I was even wanted or needed there. When my
grandparents died, I swore I wouldn’t set foot at a funeral unless
it was mine, and only then because I wouldn’t have a choice.

No one likes funerals, but I especially had a
problem with them. I hated hypocrites. Funerals were just people
gathered in a room with the dead body that at least half the people
didn’t know or didn’t like.

For that matter, the honored person should
have some say in either who can or can’t come. I dreaded the idea
that the last moments I had before I was buried for all eternity
would be spent with anyone beside my chosen loved ones. I would not
want someone I hated at my funeral.

I walked into the bathroom to find something
to take for the beginning of a headache. As I closed the door to
the medicine cabinet, I looked at myself in the mirror. The mirror
showed a sad lonely man that was vainly trying to get out of going
to that funeral. There was no use. It was pointless to even try. I
had to go because it was my responsibility.

I finished my shave, walked to the bedroom
closet, and laid out my best, and only, suit. There were millions
of flashes going off in my mind, as I got dressed. Before I left I
peeked inside Ricky’s room. In the middle of the bed there was a
large lump covered by a blanket. I closed the door and walked
outside. There on the side of the house was his old beat up
Nova.

I was disappointed but not surprised. It was
too late and I had too much to do to wake him up. I still needed to
talk to Dr. Pierre before class, so I would deal with Ricky when I
got back home. I arrived on campus about twenty minutes later.

Finding a parking space that early in the
morning was like searching for an honest politician. You knew there
was at least one out there, but where? After driving around for
about fifteen minutes, a few spaces finally opened up.

As I approached he was walking out of his
office and locking his door. I needed just a few minutes to explain
my problem and beg for more time to find another subject.

Before I could say anything, he asked,
“Michael, you needed to speak to me?”

He caught me by surprise. “Yes, sir. I did. I
mean I do.” I stumbled.

“I don’t have much time, but we can talk on
the way to my car. I’m sorry I was short with you yesterday, but
I’m sure you can imagine the stories I’ve heard when a project is
due.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” I
said.

“Start at the end, and if I have any
questions, I’ll ask,” he said as I followed him from the room.

“It’s about the subject of my final
paper.”

“Okay. Did the person find out what you were
doing? If so, that could create a confound. If they know what you
are trying to do, it would change the entire dynamic of the
project. Is that it?

I didn’t know how to say it so I just blurted
out, “My subject is dead.”

The doctor didn’t take another step.

“Son of a . . .” he censored himself.

I really didn’t know what to say then. Even
before I had a chance to say anything, he rushed over to his car. I
hurried behind.

“Like I’m not already late,” he mumbled.

I looked over his shoulder and one of the
tires was flat. That bought me a few more minutes. He reached into
the pocket of his blazer and pulled out a pair of gloves as he
walked over to the trunk.

After fumbling in his pocket until he found
his keys. I could hear him muttering to himself as he popped it
open. He then looked up from the open trunk with eyes that asked,
“Are you still here?” He took off his glasses, squinted at me and
asked, “When we started the project did you have anyone else in
mind?”

“I guess so, but am I going to have enough
time to start from scratch?

He replaced the glasses on his face and
removed a jack from his trunk. The little man struggled with the
heavy equipment.

“Can I help you?”

“Just grab that tire tool for me.”

I fished it out of the cluttered trunk and
handed it to him.

He jacked up the car as we finished our
conversation.

“Do you think you have enough to do a
personality profile on her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me who she is. How does the world look
at her? How does she want the world to look at her? What drives
her? What or who does she love and why? Tell me the things she may
not even know herself. It needs to be in-depth, double spaced, and
twenty pages.”

He gave me an extra week to write the profile
and bring in a paper. He thanked me for the help, I thanked him for
the extra time and he was off.

My day was just beginning.

Chapter 20

I had a little extra time before I had to be
back in Dunham Heights for the funeral. The library was a good
place to go and clear my head. The entire place was packed. I
should have expected that, being so late in the semester. There
were dozen of students walking around like glazed-eyed zombies
worshipping the pagan gods of finals week.

I got into the elevator and got off on the
fourth floor. There usually weren’t too many people up there. I
hoped I could get a little peace and quiet, to gather my thoughts
and get my work done. No matter which approach I attempted to
channel my thoughts towards the task at hand, my thoughts turned to
Sara. I had enjoyed the conversation we had the night before.

I stepped off the elevator and walked over to
one of the pay phones. I really needed to call her, and maybe
afterwards I could concentrate. For one, to check on her condition
and for a selfish second, to get some much needed information. I
was sure she didn’t know with whom her mother was having an affair,
but I had the idea maybe her father might.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hi, how are you?”

“I’m . . . getting along.”

I could feel the pain in her voice and I
wished I could have been there to comfort her. As much as my heart
went out to her, I had to get some information.

“Sara, we need to talk.”

“I know. The police were here today.”

“Sara, I-”

“You don’t have to explain,” she said
comfortingly. “I don’t know what to think.” She began to sob again.
“They were asking me all these questions.”

“About your mother?” I questioned.

“No, they were asking about you.”

I was lost for anything to say. What could I
say? If I had said I didn’t do it, how would it make me look? If I
didn’t say anything, what would that mean?

“Are you there?” she asked, grabbing my
attention.

“Yes, I’m here. I don’t know what to
say.”

“I know you didn’t have anything to do with
what happened. The whole situation is just so unsettling. With the
police and my father acting so strange-“

“Strange like how?” I interrupted.

“I don’t know. He’s just different.”

“With what happened, that’s expected.”

“No,” she said quickly. “It started before
she died. He was coming home late and getting these strange phone
calls.”

“What kind of phone calls?” I asked.

“I can’t explain why it was so weird. It was
definitely a man, but that is the only thing I know for sure. He
never wanted to leave a message, and he was always so short with
me. I know all of daddy’s friends, and that man didn’t sound like a
friend.”

“That does sound weird. How did your dad
react to the message?” I asked.