Chapter5

                                                                                                                   Chapter 6
                                                                                                                   The Revelation

John woke up every hour, or so it seemed, throughout the night. The front door had been replaced with a steel one, as had the back door, but the feel of the car hitting his legs and then seeming to turn to jelly, as it should have destroyed him was littering his nightmares. On the rare occasions that he wasn't awoken by a nightmare, a phantom noise, or wind in the trees did the job.
When the sun finally rose, he had already showered and changed. He forced himself to sit to keep the carpet from wearing thin with his pacing. He studied the bruising on the back of his calves as he sat, watching them turn from green, to blue, to black as the bruises darkened. Buster also seemed to be having a hard time sleeping as well. His ears would perk up and he would sniff the air at any sound. John looked at Buster, who seemed to have finally found sleep only to find the nightmares chased him there as well. His paws were moving convulsively and he issued low barks and growls.
"It's ok, boy. You're a good boy." He crooned as he always did when the dog seemed to be having nightmares. This time however, his crooning must have escalated the nightmare because the legs started to twitch and a whine came from Buster's throat.
"Buster. Snap out of it, boy." He said. The loudness of this tone snapped the dog from the dream and he was standing in an instant. John nuzzled Buster's nose as the dog pressed it to his hand.
John got up and went to the mirror, looking at the red rims under his eyes and the slightly sallow complexion that made him look like a haunted recluse, which wasn't exactly wrong. What would Julie think of him? Would she take one look at his hunted and somewhat mad expression and flee from the restaurant? He began to pace again, wondering if he should call and reschedule. What good would that do? He thought. He would still be crazy tomorrow.

At ten thirty, John moved to the radio, and turned it on. He tuned it to a talk radio station, his hand seeming to move independent of thought or will. He didn't know why he had chosen this station, he hated talk radio, but his hand moved to his side as though it was decided, and he had no more say in the matter. A loud shock jock berated a woman for something that she had said on the air, and wouldn't let her speak. John wondered absently why the woman didn't simply hang up. He found himself, for the second time, inexplicably craving a beer. He moved to the fridge that he had removed a bottle of orange juice from only one hour ago. His hand opened the door and reached inside to grab the beer that was there. John's mouth hung open, when he had opened the fridge and grabbed the orange juice; the fridge had been nearly empty. A strange creature with black hole eyes had disturbed his weekend plan, including his shopping, but still, he didn't remember buying beer. He watched in astonishment as his hand nimbly performed duties that it had never done before as he pushed the lid against the counter and brought his fist down in the bottle top. The cap went flying, and landed on the floor, rolling to a stop in the corner. He would have dropped the beer in surprise, but his hand seemed determined to complete its task. The beer moved down his throat and other than his mind, the only parts that repelled were his taste buds and his stomach. The latter cramped up as the cold and foul tasting brew hit it. He felt as though he would vomit, but his body continued to guzzle. When the entire beer was gone, his body was his own again. He ran to the toilet and was violently sick into it. The beer and orange juice mixed and the taste and the smell made him dry heave several times after his stomach was empty.
He brushed his teeth, removing the taste and trying to ignore his racing mind. In his experience, he found that if he could delay the initial response of his brain, which was difficult in and of itself, he could come up with much more reasonable answers. Reasonable was just what he needed right now.
At eleven thirty, he decided that he needed a second opinion. He dropped the reluctant Buster off at Paul's store. Paul had agreed to watch him while John went on his date.
"You look like shit, man. What's wrong?"
"What's this?" he asked, holding up the beer bottle.
"A Bud, why man? Are you drinking now? I thought that you hated the stuff."
Without another word, he turned and went to his car, more confused than ever. If it was in his head, why did the beer appear out of nowhere? More importantly, why did Andrea, his mother's nice quiet neighbor, hear the screeching tires? On the other hand, if it was real, then why did the clown in the store end up being just a man, and why did the car seem to melt as it hit him? His brain felt like it was a VCR on pause. He got into the car, putting his seatbelt on and starting the vehicle like a robot on autopilot.

Amanderos was a fun looking place, he had never been inside before, but the idea of a Mexican/Italian bar and grill that booked bands on Saturday nights was an intriguing one. He moved through the large room and sat at a table by the bar. He realized at that moment that they had not exchanged descriptions, how would he know her? He looked at his watch: a minute after twelve. He looked around the room at the few women who sat alone in the crowded restaurant. A lively looking blond sat at the bar, talking on a cell phone in a manner that told him that whomever was on the other end was the only one that mattered to her. A short redhead in a business suit waved to the bartender and told him that she wanted the special. She was obviously in a hurry and he doubted that she was the right one. A pretty brunette sat in a booth and was watching him with interest. She smiled when she caught his eye and then quickly looked away. The girl on the phone had seemed so self-assured and this one seemed a bit shy. He was just about to go ask if it was her when he stopped, only halfway off the chair. A lovely young brunette walked into the room, eyes shining and a smile on her lips. She wasn't the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen, not by a long shot, but she had a wonderful glow about her. Her long brown hair was dark and rich and her eyes were a deep shade of brown. The red floral dress that she wore billowed around her and made him think of a flower in springtime. She had a light about her that kept him frozen in his tracks, even after the cell phone that she held to her ear began to ring in his pocket. When she walked over to his table and smiled, he nearly dropped heavily back into the chair.
"I assume that you're John. I'm Julie."
She pushed her hand out at him and he shook it weakly, feeling off his guard.
"Yes." His voice squeaked in a manner that hadn't happened since he'd hit puberty. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"Yes. It's nice to meet you Julie."
He sat staring at her for a moment with his mouth open like a fish chasing its next meal. He snapped it closed, sure that she would turn and flee from the moron who sat in front of her, but she only laughed and sat across from him. Surely epic poems could be written about that laugh, he found himself thinking.
"I'm glad you came out to meet me. You're pretty funny, and I like that in a man."
A wayward hair fell across her eye and mesmerized him temporarily. The view of her chocolate brown eye and the tendril of dark brown hair falling over it made his heart leap. He wanted badly to lean forward and sweep it back gently from her face, but he really didn't want to scare her off. He was really surprised she hadn't left already. "Your phone and mine are programmed with the same ring: island sounds. I love that ring, makes me think of a vacation that I will take some day."
She swept the hair back from her eye and pushed it behind her ear, smiling broadly. He realized that he hadn't said more than ten words to her since she had entered, and thought that he had to say something or all would be lost.
"Isn't that interesting."
What an idiot! He thought. Might as well have not said anything!
He shook his head and sought something intelligent to say to this woman that had him unable to think logically for the first time in his life.
"So, what do you do?" He closed his eyes, she was training to be a psychiatrist and he knew it.
"I am a student at Cal State and I am getting my masters in Psychology. When I'm not in class I volunteer at a local shelter for the homeless in Victorville."
Ahh, something to say that might not come out as the gibbering of an imbecile.
"I volunteered there before, last Thanksgiving."
They talked for a few minutes about the facility and after a while, the words came easier to him. Never in his life had words been so difficult for him to find as they were in the beginning of that conversation. After twenty minutes, they had ordered an appetizer and two colas, and gone through the small talk that usually precedes a meaningful conversation. She liked hiking, rock and roll, and Dr. Pepper. He liked gardening, classical and orange juice. They both loved to read and each loved to try new things. He had told her about his work as a realtor and Buster. She'd said that she liked dogs, but didn't own one and asked several questions about breed and personality. "He sounds like a precious little guy. I hope that you'll let me meet him sometime."
His phone rang again and he looked at the caller id screen on the front.
His mother.
"Excuse me for one second." He managed to sound normal to his own ears as he said it. Thank God. He pushed the talk button and put the phone to his ear.
"Hi, sweety, how are you?" A tinge of concern was in her voice in spite of her trooper's attempt to sound cheerful.
"I will have to call you back in a few day, but I am fine for now, just stay where you are and try to have some fun. I will deal with all the details and let you know."
He said a quick goodbye being careful not to sound like a momma's boy talking to mommy dearest while on a first date. He pushed end and put the phone back on the clip that attached it into his pocket.
"Client." He said by way of explanation.
She nodded. Her smile seemed to say; I know you too well for that lie. He cleared his throat again, feeling like this woman already knew him as well as any person could, and he could hide nothing from her. The feeling startled him and he stammered for a moment.
"My mother, actually."
She smiled and nodded as though it made perfect sense. The bartender, a chubby Mexican man who looked like a good-natured grandfather came to where they sat. He sat a Bud and a margarita on the table before them.
"These are from the man at the bar."
The couple looked at the spot where he pointed and found it empty.
"Wierd. He was there a minute ago. Oh well, enjoy."
The man went back to the bar and left the two alone again.
John's right hand trembled and he moved his left to cover it before he was forced to drink the beer and be sick again.
"Are you all right? You look a little pale."
She put her hand lightly over his and looked at him with deep concern. Before he realized what was happening, he was telling her the whole story. Claws, black hole eyes, child like fears, mental health concerns, the whole ridiculous tale. He went on for nearly an hour and she sat listening to him in silence. She never took on the appearance of someone who believes that the person to whom they are speaking is mentally ill. Never the frozen smile, or the blank stare that he expected, only a crease of concern on her forehead.
When finally he finished she sat back and looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Wow, what a trying experience this must be for you."
He concurred and they spent the next ten minutes or so going over the possibilities and the facts trying to decide if this was real or in his head, but in the end they were unable to come up with much more than he himself had already figured out.
"I don't suppose that you will want to see me again. Outside of a local psych ward anyhow."
She looked at him for a moment, a bit puzzled, then smiled.
"You know why I got into psychiatry?"
He shook his head.
"When I was a girl, my mother and I saw a ghost. We were in the living room of a house that we had just moved into and my mother was reading Alice in Wonderland to me. As we sat in the big recliner, a bright light came from the hallway and the room got very cold. We looked up from the book and saw a shimmering figure in the doorway. Neither my mother, nor myself spoke, but she held me tighter to her as if to protect me. The young woman turned in our direction and walked toward us, disappearing through a wall to our left. When I asked my mother if she had seen the girl, she said that she had and described her to me. The authorities and specialists who spoke to us offered psychiatric help and treated like mental leapers. No one considered that it might be true."
He nodded, understanding, after all isn't that why he, himself had not mentioned the black hole eyes to the cops?
She laughed another singsong laugh that made him smile.
"My mother and I even thought that perhaps we were insane for a day or two. When we saw the girl again a few days later, my mother decided that we needed a different kind of expert. She called a psychic that came to our house and told us that the young girl had lived there in the early nineteen hundreds. She had cared for her father until he died. She was about eighteen years old and had died soon after. She had just given up and decided to die, the psychic had said."
Julie's eyes drifted to her hands that were clasped together in front of her on the table and she studied them thoughtfully for a moment.
"I guess that she never wanted to leave the house because her father had died there and she could remember him by staying. When we researched the history of the house, we found that it was much smaller in the past. The hall where the girl always appeared was the front door and the wall that she went through had been a bedroom doorway. We were amazed to find that we weren't delusional, as the officials would have had us believe. It all fit together. When we found a picture from nineteen twenty-nine that showed our young spectral friend and an older gentleman that must have been her father, we were vindicated. After that, I became determined to become a psychiatrist that would understand that not everything is in the head of the person who sees it. Some things that may seem crazy, if you'll pardon the use of such a vulgar word, are not always so."
She looked at her watch and her eyes widened.
"I have to go, my next class starts in an hour and I have a long drive ahead of me."
He looked at his watch and realized that they had been talking for nearly three hours. They stood and he walked her to her car, a small black convertible that was practically new. He wondered how a student could afford such a car, but he didn't want to push his luck. He liked her more than he had liked any woman in a longer time than he cared to remember.
"I had a great time; I hope that we can go out again?" She looked at him with expectation.
"Of course, I would like to go out again; I would like it very much."
She smiled brilliantly and gave him a soft sweet kiss that sent his mind reeling. The world was still spinning as he watched her drive away.



Chapter 7