The Lost Door (11 page)

“Hello, David.”

His heart skipped a beat, couldn’t believe his eyes. DeMarcus! “But… how?” he asked.

DeMarcus stood in the doorway of David’s hotel room grinning.
That damn grin.

“Come now. Let’s be civil. May I come in?”

He knew he didn’t have a choice. DeMarcus didn’t look like he’d aged a day while he had one foot in the grave. There was no way he could fend off DeMarcus even if he tried. He stood aside and let him in.

DeMarcus looked around. “Nice. Quaint.” He focused on David. “How long has it been?”

“Long…?”

“Since our last confrontation.”

“Fifty years.” It seemed DeMarcus was as equally baffled. “How is it you haven’t aged?”

“How is it that you have?” David didn’t know how to respond and was saved when DeMarcus held up a hand. “A silly question for an obvious answer. Our times are not in sync. What was years for you was weeks for me.” He sat on the edge of the bed, brushed out a wrinkle. “How have you been?”

Confusion boiled away to anger and he shut the door more forcefully than intended. “Cut the crap, DeMarcus. Why are you here? How did you find me?”

“I sensed Lilly. Where is she?”

A pang of grief swept over him. “How dare you talk about my wife.”

“Lest you forget she was mine before she was yours.”

“She was never yours.”

DeMarcus sighed. “I’m in no mood, so I ask again: where is Lilly?”

“Dead.” He couldn’t be sure, but David thought he saw a flicker of dismay flash across DeMarcus’ face.

“Impossible. I know she’s here.”

“Whatever you think you know is wrong. She’s been dead going on twenty years.”

David watched DeMarcus’ expression shift as he had an internal debate about whether or not he was telling the truth. “Do you mind if I look around to… indulge my curiosity?”

“If it gets you out of my room then be my guest.”

DeMarcus looked in the bathroom and closet. It was slow and meticulous.

“It’s not that big a place, DeMarcus. It shouldn’t be taking you this long.”

He turned toward David, the smile having dropped a little. “Where is she?”

“Whispering Pines Cemetery. Go look if you don’t believe me.”

“How long?” DeMarcus asked as if unsure he believed David.

“Twenty-one years.”

The man was on edge, and he was sure DeMarcus was going to lunge at him. If he did would he be able to fend him off? Doubtful. And if that happened he wouldn’t be able to figure out why he was back, why Lilly was guiding him here.

DeMarcus glided toward David and it took all his courage not to flinch away. When DeMarcus spoke he smelled of honey and liquorish. “What you perceive as death is nothing but an illusion. She’s someplace close, I can sense it. Two days… that’s what I offer you.” And with that DeMarcus let himself out.

Two days? Two days for what? What was he talking about? David knew he wasn’t going to like finding out.

five

Willem stood at the back of the church watching his brother’s friends pay their last respects. He knew none of them, and the few family present were all but strangers. Those first to arrive expressed their sympathies to him too for which he politely thanked them, but after the first dozen or so he moved to the back of the church to avoid any more awkward exchanges. He didn’t feel right detracting from Elliott’s wife and children, so he decided it best to blend in with the crowd—just another person in a sea of friends.

At the front of the room was his brother’s open casket. He was in a black suit, and didn’t look nearly as sickly as he did when Willem last spoke with him. Beth had come up beside him and gently placed a worn pocket watch in Elliott’s hand. It was familiar though he couldn’t quite place it. She’d looked at him with tired eyes and had asked how he was doing. Alright, he’d said. He felt the same as he did at his mother’s funeral. Nothing.

Beth had asked if he’d like to perform the eulogy, but he’d declined. How could he accept? He knew his brother as a child, not as a father and husband. He knew next to nothing of him. Anything after his twenties was a fog of estrangement and occasional brief visits. Best eulogy duties go to someone who hadn’t been absent the better part of his life, Elliott’s son or daughter perhaps.

So strange, Willem thought, that he was the last survivor of his family. His father, if he were alive would be in his nineties now, but with his lifestyle Willem was all but certain he’d passed. Sam’s death, his mother’s passing, and now Elliott—it was an unusual sensation knowing you were the last in your family. How had he survived so long? He didn’t eat particularly well nor did he exercise. He should have died of a heart attack years ago, yet here he was watching strangers grieve over his brother.

Reflecting on his past the last couple of days he saw where he’d made poor decisions. Willem never should have let things come between him and his family because, really, what was the point? He was more alone now than ever. While he hadn’t been on speaking terms with his mother or brother they were there, and he could have called them if he needed to. Deep down he knew he’d been the one to distance himself, that he’d pushed them away. For all these decades he’d wanted to blame them, to not bear sole responsibility, but sitting in his small hotel room thinking about Elliott and his mother, Sam and his father, past and present relationships, everything that had come between him and other people was his own doing.

Memories of his mother’s funeral flooded back. At the time he’d felt hollow and empty, unsure what emotions he should feel. He’d hated the woman for so long that he’d almost not gone, but after prodding by Elliott and Beth he’d succumbed to a need for closure. He’d hoped that by going he’d have a better understanding of the choices she’d made and be able to forgive her. Better late than never, he’d supposed. As Willem had stood outside the church the cold wind blew at his back and the gray skies above only further soured his mood. It was only when the organ started playing he begrudgingly entered the church.

Like Elliott his mother had been in an open casket, the polished dark wood reflecting the fluorescent lights. The turnout had been good, great in fact, for a woman in her eighties. He figured all of her friends would be long dead, but he had been wrong. There were scores of people there of all ages, people that his mother had somehow affected in a positive way. It seemed she’d been more a mother to these strangers than him. Seeing these people, these
strangers,
swooning about his mother gave him pause. Had he been wrong all these years? Was his animosity toward her misguided?

He’d sat through the service feeling nothing, then he’d gone to the cemetery and witnessed her being laid to rest. While the rain had stopped the afternoon remained gray. The priest said a few more words, and then she was lowered into the ground. That evening, after more than a few drinks had been downed, the years of bubbling anger hit a tipping point for Willem. He and Elliott had their final blowout ending with Willem storming off. They hadn’t spoken since.

First Sam and then his mother. Now here he was, years later, doing the same thing all over again. Funny all that time he’d been disconnected, never wanting to talk or see them, only to lose them and… miss them. He felt alone.
I am alone.
All this time he’d thought that that’s what he’d wanted, and now he found himself wishing they were all back. Even though he hadn’t been in contact with them he’d felt secure in knowing that they were there.

What had he done? Why had he allowed himself to go on like this?

Anger is a funny thing—such a strong emotion that it could make you hate someone for so long and not remember why. Well, that was going to change. He was going to be a better uncle and brother-in-law moving forward. A better friend, too. When he got back he was going to make an effort to be more social with Justin. Hell, maybe he’d even go out with him one night.

Willem was brought back to the now when he realized that the chatter had stopped. Gregory, Elliott’s son, stood at a podium. He shuffled some papers, took a moment to collect himself, then looked out across the room.

“My father…” Gregory paused, wiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He turned away to collect himself, turned back after a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said again, the room remaining quiet. “My father was a good man, a compassionate man. He was an amazing grandfather, father-in-law, brother. He always put himself before others at work and at home. I suppose that’s why so many of you are here today, because this man touched your heart in some way. But there was a side many of you didn’t see—that of a father, a husband, a family man. That’s what I’ll be talking about today.

“My father didn’t have an easy life. He was born in 1946 and was the oldest of three brothers. Their father abandoned them leaving their mother to pick up the pieces and do what she could. The house wasn’t paid for, and she only had a high school diploma. Samuel, the youngest brother, died when he was just eight.

“I never knew my grandfather. My grandmother was a bitter woman, a hard woman, yet compassionate. She had had a hard life so it was no wonder she was the way she was. My father started working at a young age, as a stock boy if memory serves.” Gregory paused a moment and bit his lower lip, eyes distant. “The name of the store escapes me at the moment, but I know the owners name was in it.” A smile came to his lips. “The reason I mention this is because many of you know how tight my father was with money.” A wave of chuckles moved through the room, people nodding in agreement. “He made a dollar an hour, and he worked every day after school and on weekends to help the family. He told me once that he would have liked to have gone out for some sports, spent more time with his friends, but he felt a responsibility.”

Gregory’s steely gaze focused on Willem. “He had to become an adult far earlier than any teenager should have to, but he did it so the burden was not his mother’s alone. He gave up his childhood so that they could stay in their home.” His nephew’s eyes bore into his, and he felt ashamed. “It killed him not to be the big brother he wanted to be, but it was a sacrifice that he felt needed to be made.” And then his eyes drifted away across the crowd.

Willem couldn’t help but feel terrible. He’d distanced himself from his mother and his brother when all they were doing was trying to allow him to have a normal childhood, and he blew it by being a selfish idiot.

“What he learned those years—about working hard and saving, to not live lavishly—was how he lived his life. He managed to put himself through school, he worked exceptionally hard, and became successful. By his example my sister and I both got jobs while in high school. While he didn’t force us he definitely encouraged it because he felt it was an experience one had to learn to appreciate what you had, not what you wanted. If we wanted something that wasn’t a necessity we had to work for it, earn the money to buy it, to appreciate it. It was a hard lesson, a shitty lesson…” Those chuckles again. “But we are better people because of it.

“Not many people know this but he also served in Vietnam. He was drafted when he was nineteen and deployed at twenty. He served his country for four years until he was honorably discharged. He didn’t agree with the war, he felt it a lost cause, but he also felt it his duty as an American. I never talked to him much about what his experiences were. I tried, but when I did he always managed to change the subject. Another skill I’m sure some of you have experienced.” People laughed this time—a good sound.

“Now, how he met my mother is a story I’ve always liked.” Willem glanced at Beth and only saw the back of her head, yet he sensed she was smiling at the memory. “As I understand it, my mother was out for a walk downtown when she came across a bird. She sees this little goldfinch on the sidewalk—people walking by ignoring it—and she knew something was wrong. Although the bird tried to get away she managed to pick it up. It then occurred to her she had no idea what to do with it. So she has this tiny little bird cupped in her hands, and my father stopped to see what was wrong. She showed him, and when most people would have thought this lady nuts for picking up a dirty bird, he offered her his handkerchief to wrap the bird in. He walked with her to a nearby park and together they took care of this tiny yellow bird until it flew off. Anyone who’s seen their backyard knows their passion for birds. It’s more than appreciation and affection, but served as a reminder of a chance encounter that brought them together.

“I’m sure they had difficult times as all marriages do, but their compassion and love—not just for each other—is a reminder of how wonderful my parents, my
father,
was. He never yelled at us, never struck us, was never too busy for us…” He looked across the room, again focusing on Willem. “And he never gave up on any of us. He was what every man should strive to be, and the world is a lonelier place now that he is gone.”

Gregory looked away from Willem, folded up the paper and walked back to his seat.

* * *

Stavic had every intention of visiting Charles Went last night, but after being stuck in the station’s dingy basement digging through case files for hours, all he’d wanted to do was go home and get blasted. He’d thought about going after, but he had a reputation to maintain. Crashing his truck in a stupor would have ended his career real quick. And yes, he had his vices, but he enjoyed his job. In many ways he felt he was doing the community a service—by maintaining relations with the local dealers he could keep an eye on them. It was all for them.