The Gift of Illusion: A Thriller (11 page)

“So what do ya think?” Randy asked, not
taking his eyes off the flaming rib platter on the grill. “You
think she’s a keeper?”

Isaac pulled out a plastic chair from
underneath the white plastic porch table and sat down.

“I know we’ve only been together for a
couple of months but I really think it's working.” Lizzy opened the
sliding door and handed Isaac a beer, and Randy another as well.
Then she headed back to the kitchen to prepare the side dishes.

“She seems fine, Randy. It really doesn’t
matter what I think. You’re the one who’s marrying her.”

“Right,” said Randy. “But I know what you’re
thinking, and I don’t blame you. It’s true.”

“What am I thinking?”

Randy placed the lid down over the grill and
sat down across from Isaac. “You’re thinking it’s too soon. You
remember me telling you that I’d never get married again.”

Indeed, Isaac did remember Randy saying just
that on occasion, in fact, many times, but that really wasn’t what
he was thinking. The age difference seemed more of a concern, not a
problem, just a minor concern.

“And you’re wondering if this time is any
different than the last.”

“Not really,” said Isaac. “I won’t lie, when
you first told me, I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that after all
you’ve gone through in the past you were willing to do it again.
But it’s not my place to call. It’s your life. You can do what you
want. I’ll always be next door.”

“So you don’t think I’m making a
mistake?”

“What are you shooting at, Randy? It doesn’t
matter what I think.”

“I know, but—”

“Do
you
think it’s a mistake?”

Isaac was surprised that Randy was even
thinking about the question, not after how sure he had sounded
earlier. He wished he could take the question back, forget he ever
asked. Getting involved in other people’s affairs made him
uncomfortable. Relationships were hardly his strong point. The last
serious one he’d had ended sixteen years ago.

“Sometimes I think that I’m trying to prove
something,” Randy finally said. “To show myself I can do it. Ya
know what I mean?”

Isaac didn’t answer, though for once he knew
exactly what Randy meant. He had felt the same way many times after
Linda’s death. Every time he dreamt about that night, he hoped that
maybe, just maybe, this time would turn out different. Maybe he
would wake up with Linda by his side, right where she belonged. But
the dream always remained the same; he would wake up alone in a
half empty bed with the guilt of having to sleep in it.

Randy took another long sip of beer and
stared Isaac dead in the eyes. The look added to Isaac’s already
mammoth feeling of discomfort.

“I’ve been divorced three times. That’s not
something I’m proud of. And I know that some of that shit is my
fault. But sometimes I wonder if I really did enough? Or was I just
running away?”

“What are you running away from?”

Randy let out a deep breath of air. “I don’t
know. Commitment, I guess.”

There was a long period of silence followed
by a loud bang on the sliding glass door. Both men looked over at
Lizzy frantically pointing at the grill. A thick fog of smoke rose
from the top and navigated across the porch. Randy hurried out of
his seat and opened the grill lid. A cloud of thick gray smoke
rushed out and exploded into his face. He stepped back and fanned
the smoke away with his hand. After a moment, the smoke cleared and
Randy removed the partially burnt meat from the grill, stacking it
on a clean plate.

“It will probably turn out okay,” he
continued, as though nothing had happened. “I just hope I’m ready
this time.”

Isaac stood up and walked next to his
friend. “The only advice I can give you is to try and take it one
day at a time. Cherish every moment like it’s the last.” He patted
Randy on the shoulder. “Trust me, I wish I had.”

Lizzy had cooked an assortment of side
dishes to go along with the barbecued meat: baked beans, potato
salad, macaroni, and a dozen biscuits. Everyone sat down at the
table and rushed to fix their plate. Randy grabbed the remote to
turn off the TV when the news anchor broke into the story of the
car wreck. Instantly, everyone stopped filling their plates and
gave the television their full attention, everyone except Isaac. He
pretended like it was no big deal, not even glancing over for a
second, while at the same time hoping that the female voice in the
background would just shut her damn mouth.

Only sound bites registered to Isaac’s
ears.

“The truck driver..."

“Highway 41..."

“Losing control...”

“Ending in the loss ..."

“Sadness for ..."

Isaac sat back and waited impatiently for it
to be over. Near the end of the report, the woman mentioned James
Ackerman, and did not forget to state the recent death of his wife
and daughter. Isaac expected the issue would arise, but what he
didn’t expect immediately followed.

“Although investigators had believed that
James Ackerman was responsible, no connection has been made yet to
link him to the death of his wife and daughter."

“Holy shit!” Randy yelled. “I had no idea.
Did you, Isaac?”

2

It took Isaac the entire length of dinner to
successfully change the subject. The group left the table and sat
down to chat in the living room. Twenty minutes later, Isaac’s
phone rang. He hesitated to take it off his belt. With a half dozen
watching eyes, he unclipped the Motorola from his belt and read the
incoming number. It was Chief Stevens.

“Isaac, I have some bad news,” said the
chief.

“Oh God,” Isaac moaned. “Don’t even say what
I think you’re going to say.”

Everyone in the room wanted to know exactly
what Isaac didn’t want the chief of police to say, especially
Randy.

“It happened again.”

When Isaac hung up the phone, Amy asked, “Do
you have to go?”

“Unfortunately.”

“That sucks,” Randy whimpered. “The night
was just getting started. I was in the mood for a little truth or
dare.”

Isaac smiled. He was a little old for truth
or dare. “Save it for another night. I’ve got to run out.”

“Big emergency?”

Isaac kissed his daughter on the cheek. “Are
you going to stay here for awhile?”

“No, I’ll probably go home soon.”

Isaac headed for the front door. “Emergency?
Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he finally answered.

Randy opened the door for Isaac. “Are you
going to tell me what it is?”

“No.”

It was getting dark outside. Storm clouds
hovered above. Isaac caught a fleeting gust of light mist as he
stepped out of the house and into the front yard.

“Oh, I get it, big detective stuff,
right?”

“Now you’re starting to catch on,” Isaac
said, walking away.

He stopped and looked back when he was
halfway to his house.

“Hey, Randy.” He shielded his eyes with his
right hand. The light mist had given birth to a hammering rain.
“Don’t worry. I think she’s great.”

Chapter Eight

1

The police cruiser sat in the empty parking
lot of an industrial warehouse on the right corner where Kingsley
Avenue met Highway 41. Across the highway, past the light, Kingsley
turned into Parker, and on the corner of Parker was the A-Plus gas
station.

The deputy watched and waited from inside
number 947 for the two detectives to arrive. He was sure they would
come, they had every time before. They were on to him, or his
trail, so to speak. But this time would be different, the game was
all but over, and tonight he would make it personal.

The bald one arrived first. It was easily
apparent (even from a hundred yards away) that the fat man was
scared to be alone in the poorly lit parking lot with the heavy
rain thumping down upon his shoulders. He paced the front entrance
of the gas station observing each passing car, hoping the next one
would lift the fear from his back.

Just when the fat man looked to have given
up hope, the Charger arrived.

The deputy watched the detectives enter the
gas station and tried to imagine their surprise. Sometimes he
wished he could be a part of it, for once be on the receiving end
of the illusion. Moments later, he abandoned the warehouse parking
lot (his voyeuristic view) and headed down Kingsley Avenue. His
loss of immortality fueled his desire for retribution.

2

From inside the house, the thundering rain
sounded like giant footsteps on the roof, or so at least Amy
thought. She had left Randy’s house just before the brunt of the
storm arrived. She actually felt lucky to have the house to herself
tonight so she could read in peace, though she wished the storm
would move on and torture someone else.

She picked up the latest issue of
Seventeen
from the coffee table and found her place. As she
began reading, there was suddenly a knock at the front door, a very
loud knock. She looked over at the door and listened. Perhaps the
wind blew something into the door, she thought. Why would someone
be standing out in the storm anyway?

After a few seconds, she convinced herself
that something must have flown into the door and focused her
attention back on the magazine, but before she could flip a page,
there was another knock. The second knock was even louder than the
first.

Amy got up from the couch and inched toward
the door. When she was close enough to see, she checked to make
sure she had locked the door when she came home. Thankfully, she
had. The importance of locking the door was something her father
had drilled into her head time and time again, especially when
she’s home alone.

She continued toward the door, careful not
to make too much noise passing over the large white sheets of tile.
She imagined someone standing on the other side of the door.
Rainwater drenched his body. He laughed at her apprehension,
mimicked the fearful look on her face. She had given in to her
imagination, and now it had taken over.

When she arrived at the door, Amy wasted no
time flipping on the porch light and putting an eye up to the
peephole. She hoped to dispel any thought of an unwanted visitor
and clear her running imagination immediately, and evidently, she
had. The peephole allowed for a view as wide as the front porch,
and from what she could see nobody was out there. Either they had
left in the time it took her to reach the door, or her initial
belief was true.

She calmed.

Her imagination was in check.

Maybe something really did slam into the
door, she thought.

She twisted the bolt to the right and slowly
opened the door. The rain was coming down even harder than she had
thought. The front yard already looked flooded with large pockets
of water. She glanced around the ground near the door but didn’t
see anything that could have caused the loud bang, and other than
some scattered mulch from the side of the house, the entire porch
was clear.

A quick flash of lightning sliced through
the sky as Amy stepped out of the doorway. She jumped back and
braced herself on the door while the thunder roared. Once the
resonating bellow dwindled to nearly nothing, she pried her hands
off the door and stepped back out into the porch.

First, she looked to her left, and although
she had to hold her hair back to keep the wind from blowing it into
her face, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary; no one
appeared to be hiding in the bushes. Then she looked to the right,
in the direction of Randy’s house. Again, nothing unusual or out of
place caught her eye. Yet, she did notice the lights flickering on
and off inside his house, which she thought strange.

One short breath later, the house lights
sputtered for the last time and abruptly died, as did the bulb
above her head. Lightning must have struck a power line nearby and
knocked the power out in the entire neighborhood.

She had never been scared of the dark, or
scared of being alone, but being alone in the dark with the
lightning, thunder, and foreboding presence of some mysterious
visitor, now that was something different altogether.

She crept back inside the house, shut the
door, and locked the stiff bolt into place. She reached around the
wall for the light switch, just to make sure she wasn’t going
crazy, and flipped it on. The light stayed off. The house was dark
and unusually silent. She had to remind herself to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

After a minute, her eyes became accustomed
to the darkness, which made her feel a little safer, though now she
could see the lightning cast haunting shadows on the walls. Each
shadow had its own body and face; some even had two faces. The
shadows came like a ghost, danced from room to room, and then
scattered only to return moments later with a new dancing
partner.

Now she had the worst fear of all, worse
than that of being alone in the dark. She feared she wasn’t the
only one in the house. Somebody else was here, hiding behind a
ghostlike shadow, watching with lost eyes and waiting to greet her
with a sick, malicious smile across its face.

Amy built up enough courage to step away
from the front door. She tiptoed into the kitchen and peered around
the corner, then walked over to the window above the kitchen sink
and looked out at the side lawn. Through the thrashing rain, she
could barely make out her green Civic parked in the driveway. She
slowly walked the remainder of the kitchen and came out in the
dining room on the other side. Her cell phone rested on the coffee
table. She thought about calling her father and telling him what
happened.

But what really did happen?

Nothing.

And that was exactly what her father would
say. Why did she need him to tell her? Besides, she didn’t want to
interrupt him while he’s at work, especially if it wasn’t really an
emergency.