It's No Picnic (2 page)

Maybe he should take the event and this place more seriously. Could be the residents mean well, and they do seem nice. No. Alex was not here for that. But he’s new, so best not to rile everyone before getting to know them.

Alex and Don kept on the path to the old churchyard—twisting and turning until finally—they arrived. The twins were the first to greet Alex, one saying, “Hello Alex,” while the other replied, “And goodbye…”

“We’ve met, right?” Alex said with a dry air.

“This morning silly,” one said, “And witty…” said two.

“
Breakfast
?”

“We thought it would please you,” retorted one, “And annoy…” said the likeness.

Now Alex—no stranger to looking at, into, and over—chancing some wine on one of the tables said, “Excuse me ladies, I think I’ll get some wine.”

“Allow us,” one said, “And me…” quite to the contrary.

“If you
must
.” Alex said insistently.

And why not? After all, he’s here for rest, and rest he shall. Let these two fetch some wine.

“Alex,” Don said, “This is Eli and Cap.”

“Hello. Nice to meet you.” Alex said abruptly, distracted by one.

“Here’s the wine Alex,” said the one and only.

“Thank you dear.”

The one woman giggled, as if a two—year old sap having thought for the first time, running away as it might be to tell Alter Ego all the news.

In the meantime, Alex stood, looking, drinking the wine. At home, from the window, the view of the old church was shady at best. But now, up close, he could see all; the subtle cracks, the splintering wood, the missing panes; all signs of an aging assembly. Amazing and so different from the fixed feel of Longport. And that oddity on the door, that
horseshoe
—everywhere, yet mute.

This made him think; think about why he left, staying with the daughter for a time and now this. Some good years still lay ahead, so why did he choose this, now. Could be cynicism, which made him doubt, doubt he could do anything else.
It’s
failing, and a toast while it passes seems all the better. Besides, the fight is gone.

Tired and stiff, Alex said, “I think it’s time to say goodbye, or…”

“But we’re just getting started,” one of two edited, “And finished…” cried the clone.

“Forgive me. I must go. Maybe another time.”

Then, in chorus, one said with two, “Forgiven. And condemned…”

“Bye,” Alex said, “And thanks for the party.”

The path gives, so can it take away. As Alex began walking, he noted what little sun was now low hanging in the sky. Only two or so hours passed. Where’s the daylight? Then—the modest light left in the blue; cut away, sinking into an unreal void.

The path had changed. Perhaps, badly chosen. Maybe a dark mirage. Time acting as if slowed. Objects looking like thinning plates, flattened as if motion set truth. The trip home seeming endless, a voice from the shadows saying, “Hello.”

A
LEX
T
URNED
T
O
T
HE
V
OICE
, finding once again, an unwanted guest. Then, wide—eyed, and with a motionless stare piercing ever deeper into the emptiness, Alex asked, “Who?”

“Forgive me. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“What do you want?” Alex said emphatically.

What do you want
, in fact? One day, one day and already the past is pressing up against the present. Is it that way? A steady buildup of memories, events, and thoughts casting themselves into a person, ever more fixed as time moves on. Solid, broad, deciding an entire life.

“Everything and nothing,” came, the voice.

“Digesting the twins, are we?” Alex said jokingly.

“Can’t you see? Isn’t anything telling?”

“You mean Longport, and the residents. Are they odd?”

“Yes.”

“At times. But people often, are strange. Yet that doesn’t at heart make for suspicion.”

The voice. It was saying something. Music to the ears. He’d heard it a million times before. Take heed, there’s something here. A hint of things to come, a postcard from the edge. It never failed. Sensing the least offense, like a hound eager for a fox.

“Don’t you smell it? The offensive odor that suggests.”

“Yes, but to see.”

“Well then, let me show you. Look. What do you see?”

“—
A forest at night……A graceful, ashen, dress……She’s running, suspended, as if floating along the ground, like a spirit……A name, a name on a handbag, Nadie
—I’ve lost it.”

“But do you take it?”

“I don’t see the point. After all, it’s only a woman, running…”

“On the face of it, yes. But beneath. What lies beneath?”

“I’m too old for this. I’ve left it once and for all.”

“You can never leave, Alex. You can never leave that which is a part of the stuff that makes you; well, you.”

Alex paused…puzzling over the strange voice. How can it be? After all, the whole point of Longport was rest. Rest from the past and all of the problems. Yet, once again, here it is pointing out the vile cast of humanity. Suggesting the foul odor following human affairs. But is it just to ignore?

“Okay. So, what do we have? A woman, running through a forest at night it seems, named Nadie; which amounts to a big nothing and nobody,” Alex said.

“No, what we have is a clue. To what, who knows? But a clue, even so.”

Is it a clue, or the lasting piece of an event? Perhaps some faulty view or belief, treated as if gaining worth over time. Maybe the effect of wine induced weariness. Maybe nothing, nothing more than a mind so refined, so attuned to the art of detection, that false images are mere routine and risk.

“Even so…”

The voice faded. Nothing, not even a sigh. Alex fought to regain thought, scattered as it may be. Always, it was a blackout of sorts, a lost wit made privy to facts that else, would be gone for all time.

The strangeness exhausted, having given and taken away, allowed the ordinary once again a chance. Head limp and relaxed to the front, and eyes trying desperately to stay open, Alex kept on moving along the path. After all, it seemed even a lifeless soul could make way without the least slip.

Arriving home, tired, low, with a blurred sense of reality, he fell into bed, asleep at once.

2

T
HE
N
EXT
M
ORNING
, Alex woke to knocking at the door. Now what? He got up, put on a robe, and went to the door. Opening it, he caught sight of a woman, standing, looking down—a face painted sad, a mind seemingly clouded. Staring hard, he paused…collecting thoughts; taking the lead; asking the woman in a calm tone, “Please—come in out of the cold.”

“Thank you. I’m Miss Teresa K. or Miss K. if you prefer.”

“Kay?”

“No, K.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes.”

“O—kay. So, what brings you here, to this neck of the woods?”

“Well, some chat at the party…”

“Go on.”

“Anyway, someone said you were a detective.”

Only two days, and somebody knows the past. Maybe the attendant. Perhaps a gossip not knowing the meaning of privacy? After all, the rule nowadays is,
snoop first; ask questions later
.

“Who, exactly?” Alex said, miffed.

“I can’t say. A body, that’s all.”

“Yes, I was a
detective
.”

“Professional?”

“Yes, I guess you could call it that.”

“And now?”

“In
spirit
, I suppose
.
”

Was this airy cynicism? After all, you can’t be what you are not. We are born
of
, and die
of
; like it, or not. But it’s possible to rekindle spirit. A rally of sorts, calling up old, with new will.

“It’s sister. Missing now for a month. The Franktown police looked into it, but found nothing. They told me she most likely ran off with some man, saying it happens all the time. But I don’t believe that.”

“And the police. Why should they be wrong?”

“
Alex
, I know. She wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I think she’s dead. Something tells me she was murdered.”

“Murdered?!”

“I just want you to look into it, that’s all. I think the police don’t care. No questions, no checks, nothing; not even a look to see if things were missing. How’s that for open and shut?”

“Were things
missing
?”

“No. One more reason I suspect foul play.”

“That doesn’t mean she was murdered. She could
be
missing. I tell you what; I think I can poke around some if that would give you a little peace of mind. But I can’t promise anything.”

“Oh, thank you Alex.”

“But first some facts. The sister’s name?”

“Nadie, Nadie K.”

N
ADIE
, the name on the handbag. The ghostly sight held during the fit. Of course, this name may be bits and pieces of a past, a past used to color a present, so lending faith to a hunch. But he knew better, better than to give faith to such a firm eye. Always have a viable future, one that leaves a door open in case all others closed.

“I’m sorry, did you say Nadie?”

“Yes, Nadie, Nadie K.”

Nothing, not even a blink from Alex. Questioning as if the name Nadie were indeed, nobody.

“Missing a month, right?”

“Yes.”

Alex took out a pad and pencil, taking no end of notes while questioning Miss K.

“Wait…” Alex said raising an index finger, “Age?”

“Nadie and I are about the same age, which is…let’s see, forty—five. Yes, that’s it,
forty—five
.”

Clearly, not forty—five. Alex sized up a guess, writing it down, continuing, “Description.”

“That’s easy. You see, we’re twins.”

“Good. But a photo would help.”

“I can get a photo, no problem. In fact, I think I have one.”

Miss K. reached in, removing a photo from the purse, handing it to Alex. He looked at the photo, noting the old church in the background. Clearly, the woman in the photo was identical to Miss K. Long black hair, brown eyes, tanned skin. It seemed evident.

“One more thing. Where did you last see Nadie?”

“The old church on the hill.”

“Good. I’ll snoop a bit and let you know.”

“Oh, how rude of me. I didn’t even bother to ask the fee.”

“Let’s call it a favor from one neighbor to another.”

“Thank you.”

Miss K. opened the door, giving a thin, airy wave before leaving. Alex gave a nod, noting the gesture with little favor.

F
EELING
T
IRED
, Alex decided a walk might do some good. Looking out the window, he saw a landscape shrouded in mist but paid no mind, instead changing into sweats and running shoes.

Outside, the fog was more London than Longport, making even walk along the path shaky. Yet, off he went, determined to see something of this place.

First stop was the old church. A fascinating place. Not in the religious sense.
NO
—more a foggy, shadowy feeling. That feeling, crude, distant; yet not ignored. Besides, Miss K. last saw Nadie here.

Alex gently turned the knob on the old church door. It opened, encouraging entry. Nothing special jumped out. It was small, smaller than it looked from the outside. Old rustic pews lined the sides. The pulpit was tiny—capable of handling no more than five people—with an archway that allowed passage from the main hall into a sacristy. What’s more, a strange, musty air filled the entire place, adding an
aromatic
sense to what was unmistakably old age.

Walking along the main hall, Alex felt the old wood floor’s hollowness giving way, back and forth, adding spring to each step. As the main hall gave way to the sacristy, he noticed a tiny, white speck on the floor. To get a better view, he bent over, becoming aware of a piece of ashen colored cloth no more than a fraction of an inch on each side. He picked it up, placing it somewhere tidy, making a brief note of where he’d found it,
stuck on a protruding nail of the floor shy what looked like a prie—dieu
, also noting a passing hunch;
someone knelt to pray, caught clothing on a nail, and when getting up, tore a small piece of fabric without realizing it
.

Then—Alex walked back into the main hall, looking for anything wary, nosing the air for dirt,
reliving
—“She was lying on the floor, face down, in a pool of blood. This was the scene waiting when I returned home from work on that fateful day. The wife,
DEAD
. Suicide. Even though it came as no surprise, I was shocked. After all, she suffered from years of depression and most thought it only a matter of time. What a pair we made; one of us depressed, dejected and the other with the
auras
. The daughter blamed me. She thought it a duty to take care of the wife. I tried mind you. But she was simply too much. Work, the doctors, oh the doctors. This pill, that pill and nothing. Oh, we can enhance it this way and that way. An experiment indeed. Fact of the matter was they had no idea, learning too late that she had a brain tumor. No pill in the world would take care of that. Cough up a doctor and I’ll show you a failed detective. Sure, they make a hunch, gather evidence, and interview suspects, but it seems a rare thing when they catch the killer in time. At least that’s one story. Cynical, sure. I don’t deny it. People make you that way. It’s not all them mind you, only those that can’t descend from the clouds long enough to talk to mere mortals. Politicians, businessmen, I took in more those parasites than I care to remember. Street people, sure, but that was a condition, not a choice.”—A gust of wind opened the door sending a cool breeze down the main hall. The abruptness moved Alex, so suspending the brief lapse. He picked up the pad and pencil that had fallen to the floor making one more note—
nothing significant
—afterward placing them somewhere safe and secure.