2012
Della quietly directed a couple of F-bombs at the microfiche
machine as she scrolled through the early century news articles. She was determined to recreate the family
tree of her house and learn who the woman in her bedroom had been. She hadn’t used one of these contraptions since
1993 when she abruptly decided to research the shooting death of a boy she had
dated back in 1980. Her parents had
shielded her from the news coverage back then and she hadn’t experienced the
impact of exactly how tragic it had been until at the age of 30 when she became
obsessed with a need to know everything that had happened. She wanted facts,
not just what she knew from all the whispering that happened around their school and what her
immature mind had imagined.
No one had heard of
grief counselors back then. Everyone was
in a daze at school. The family had held
a private funeral a day or so prior to a memorial service arranged for his
friends. Della couldn’t be there. She had a leading role in the school musical
and it was opening night. The director
made an announcement before the curtain opened that the show would be dedicated
to Ben, even though there was no one in the audience who knew Ben. They were all at his memorial service. None of seemed it real…until that day in 1993
when she woke up and found herself focused on the need to visit his grave, say
the good-bye that she never got to and apologize to him.
Ben Spencer. He was
17 and beautiful (she could still picture his eyes and remember every colored
fleck as if were yesterday). He drove a
banged up 1966 Mustang that he’d been working on since he was 15. Ben would have been her first if it hadn’t
been for the police officer that found them parked in the van he had borrowed
from his brother for their big night overlooking the lights of the city. He loved his “Stang” but that evening called
for finer accommodations. He kissed her
gently and gave her a silver ID bracelet with her name engraved on the front and
“Love always, Ben” engraved on the back.
She still took it out from time to time, draped it across her wrist and
wondered if he still loved her (or the girl she was at 17) and looked down on
her from wherever he was.
Their “break-up” did not occur under the best of terms. One of the popular boys at school asked her
out and since being popular was everything at that age, she started distancing
herself from Ben and started spending time with the other boy. Della was too cowardly to end things face to
face with him, so they just drifted.
Nothing was ever said or finalized…they just stopped. She knew he was hurt by the look in his eyes
when they would pass each other in the hallway…and from the way his most loyal
friend, Aaron, looked at her with disappointment. They were never mean about it. Just sad and disappointed, which made her
more ashamed than if she’d just flat out broken his heart and dumped him.
Someone vandalized her car shortly after that and when the
police asked her who might have done it, she suggested Ben (arrogantly thinking
that surely he was still pining away for her).
She answered a knock at her door a couple of days later and found Ben
and Aaron. Ben was furious and demanded
to know why she would imagine that he would do something like that and insisted
on knowing why she would tell the police and try to get him in trouble. She had no answer. She just looked at him stupidly. Ben put his hands on his hips, shook his head
and dropped his gaze. He turned to
leave without another word. Aaron
glanced sideways at her as he followed; the disappointment ever-present on his
face. That was the last time she saw Ben.
During the early months of their senior year, his boss
showed up at a convenience store where Ben worked a Saturday late shift. The door was locked, the money missing and
there was no Ben. That kid’s ass was
fired, the boss thought, and started a fresh pot of coffee before dialing the
police.
Ben had told his parents that he was going to stay with
friends that night after work. Problem
was, he hadn’t yet told his friends he was coming over for the night, so no one
missed him. It wasn’t until Monday
morning at school that people started to chatter and speculate about where he
was.
His boss called the police.
The school called his parents. His parents called his friends. Friends called his parents. The police called his parents. His parents called his boss. The pieces started falling into place and by
Wednesday everyone was whispering intensely about it at school.
An amateur rock hound found his body with two bullets wounds
in the head about a week later while he was tooling around in the west desert
with a metal detector. Ben’s burnt car
was recovered in Oregon shortly after that.
The ensuing investigation revealed that two men had entered the store
that night and taken the money and Ben. A
suspect was later arrested and he admitted that he and his friend had forced
Ben to drive them to the desert where they killed him. The second suspect was never arrested and the
first man killed himself before the case was ever prosecuted.
Della never got to visit Ben’s grave and apologize. She had pulled every news story she could
find from the microfiche files and resolved herself to the fact that she would
never be able to relieve the feelings of guilt that she had developed. His obituary read that he was cremated and no
location of internment was listed. Maybe
his parents had his ashes. After all
that time, she would never be able to track Aaron down and ask him. Even if she could, she would have been too
embarrassed to talk to him.
The popular boy was an ass, like most of the others she’d
been with since. In 1980, she was too
young to appreciate Ben’s goodness.
She’d hoped that wherever he was, he had fond feelings for her. Maybe he saw her when she would pull out the
bracelet. Maybe from where he was he
could see into her heart and know that she was sorry for how she had treated
him.
The closing-time bell sounded from the main floor above her
at the library and some of the lights went dark. She returned her focus to the machine and
tried to remember if it had been this difficult to maneuver back in 1993. The machine rebounded to the left when she
tried to scroll to the right. The
illumination from the microfiche spilled into the growing dimness of the room
and she could hear one of the workers at the counter behind her, turning things
off and shuffling papers.
Steve would be waiting outside to pick her up but she
couldn’t leave empty-handed. She needed
something to get her going in the right direction.
She brushed her hand at something on the back of her neck
and tried again to scroll to the right. It
rebounded to the left again.
A gentleman to her right was replacing dowels draped with
newspapers on the storage racks. “Ma’am,
you’ve got 10 minutes.”
Della’s heart started to race and she wished she had a
Valium with her. What good was it to
fill a prescription and never have it around when you needed it? The pills were probably expired by now.
A warm breath of air brushed past her ear and she
absent-mindedly brushed at it again, leaned closer to the screen, and pushed
her reading glasses further up the bridge of her nose.
“Bingo!” she half-shouted.
The characters 467 jumped out at her from a page as she recognized her
house numbers and street name. The man
with the papers turned his head in response to her outburst.
“Sorry,” she said and pointed at the screen. That was stupid. He couldn’t even see the screen.
She knew that her home had belonged to a Jensen, Jenkins,
Jansen family…something like that…for years before she bought it.
The warm breath was at her ear again but this time she
ignored it as she eagerly read:
The Midvalley Times
May 23, 1917
A shocking and
unexplained death has claimed the life of Ivy Jansen, 18-month old daughter of
Cy and Mary Jansen, earlier this present month on Wednesday, May 9. The Jansens lived in a new yet modest home at
467 Lincoln Lane, just south of Bingham Junction and they are the son and
daughter-in-law of the well-known Jansen beet farming family.
The lifeless body of
the child was delivered to Doctor Jenkins’ home during the early morning hours
by her parents. The doctor opines that little
Ivy passed sometime during the night, based on his examination and the state of
the remains.
A preliminary inquest
has revealed that the child has, historically, been healthy and happy. Sheriff Colburn has promised that he will continue
the investigation into this mysterious incident despite Cy Jansen’s arrest as a
result of reports of his brusque mannerisms amongst his co-worker and reports
from neighbors who heard a loud and threatening quarrel at the Jansens’ earlier
that night.
“Dell-ahhh.” It was a
soft, sisterly voice in her ear and she felt the slightest wisp of warmth as
she looked up and questioned what she had just heard.
The newspaper man was gone; she could hear the sounds of
people exiting the building upstairs and lights being clicked off around her in
preparation for the employees to go home.
“Help.” Della flung
her head to the left and looked over the top of her glasses. There was no one there.
The microfiche machine began scrolling from right to
left. Surely there was some problem with
the rotating mechanisms in the machine.
“Help.” Another soft
whisper from further away.
She stood up and walked to her left, catching sight of a
skirt hem as it disappeared behind a shelf.
“Hello. Is there
someone there? What do you want?”
Silence.
“Please answer me.”
Her heart was racing. God, she
wanted a Valium.
She stepped further into the darkness of the shelving area
and heard the rustle of fabric from the other side of the shelves to her
right.
“What’s your name? I
want to help you.”
Silence, but for the buzzing of the microfiche behind
her. She stood still and strained to
hear when from out of nowhere, she was suddenly grabbed by an unseen hand and
turned backwards on her heels.
“Oh, God…Steve. What
are you doing?” She exhaled heavily and
blinked her eyes.
“I’ve been waiting outside for half an hour. What the hell are you doing?”
“I’ve been searching…I mean I’ve found…I’ll tell you when we
get to the car.” She could tell by the
look on her face that he was perturbed.
Steve put his arm around her, led her back towards the
machine and she grabbed her purse.
Della wanted to cry and she let her eyes fill just enough so
that he could see she was upset and maybe he’d ask her what was wrong. He didn’t notice.
She let him lead her to the car and when they were settled
inside, she turned to him and said, “I need to tell you something and you’re
going to think I’m crazy.”
Steve sighed and closed his eyes in a non-verbal
“what-is-it-now” gesture.
“Promise you won’t laugh at me.”
“I promise.”
“Please spend the night tonight. I’m scared.”
“Since when did you get scared being on your own?” He was amused by her vulnerable plea.
“I’m serious. Now
just take a deep breath and try to have an open mind. OK…here goes.
I think my house is haunted by a woman and her child and I think she is
trying to tell me something. I saw her
in my bedroom the last time you stayed over and the next morning I thought it
was a dream. I wasn’t sure at first,
because I was fuzzy from being sleepy, but it was so real, and the longer I
think about it, I figure that maybe it was real. My house is way old and surely over a period
of almost 100 years, somebody has died in that house or maybe the energy of
intense emotions has been left behind.
This woman, well, she followed me here tonight and tried to talk to me
and I think I’ve found out who she is and I want…no, I need…to find out who she is and why she has started appearing to
me. Her baby died and her husband…well,
he was arrested and I think she needs my help.
I saw her again in the shelving area.
Well, not her, but her skirt. I’m
sure it was the same woman. I need to
help her.”
Steve was chuckling.
“Slow down, Baby Cakes.”
That was her favorite nickname that he used for her.
“I’m going to get you home and make you a cup of tea. A strong cup of tea.”
Della inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.
“I’m serious.”
“I know, I know. And
you’re also a little bit kooky. Your
cemetery obsession is a perfect example…that and the headstone in your living
room. Look…you’re tired, things have
been hectic at work, the Baby Bea case is stalled, you’re under a lot of
pressure and I think you’re imagining things.”
“Whatever. Just take
me home,” she resigned.
(Don’t patronize me, you jerk)
“Well, you may be kooky, but you’re still pretty.”
(He thinks he’s funny.)
“ Let’s get you home.”
Della stared angrily out the window as they drove. She bit her tongue so as not to start a fight
and prayed that Mary would show up again tonight. That’d show him. We’ll see who’s kooky.
4 comments:
Wonderful post, Ellie. I love the backstory on the boyfriend, and the library scene was a little creepy. Steve really isn't that funny. ;-)
Thanks, Sabrina! You're a gem!
Ellie
Another great chapter Ellie, keep pumping them out! I totally felt like I was sitting in library with Della and was totally creeped out.
I love your first line. Such a great way to catch one's attention. hahaha!
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