The Open Door (13 page)

Mustapha looked at both Scott and Cody, his
eyes wide open, shoulders half shrugged, as if he were awaiting an
answer that would never come.  “It spoke in several languages,
and then all at once!  I wrote down what I could make of
it.”

  He handed Scott the paper, “This is
what it said to you?” 

  “Yes.  Quite troubling, isn’t
it?”

  “So, if I’m reading this correctly,
and assuming your interpretation is accurate, it’s telling us that
it will go after anyone who helps me?”  Scott became vehement
as a ball of concern formed in his throat.  He was to meet
Ella tomorrow.  Would he now have to cancel?  Maybe she’s
already marked?  Maybe by giving him the books, she’s already
helped him? 

  “Dear God.”  Scott said
somberly. 

  Mustapha inquired, “What is it?”

  “This girl, she recommended two books
and I purchased them.  She also offered to help, and I’m
supposed to meet her tomorrow.”

  “There’s no telling if she’s involved
already.  It may be best to stay clear of her until this is
settled.“

  “I at least have to call to see if
she’s doing OK.” 

  “I wouldn’t involve her anymore,“
said, Cody. 

  Scott knew he was in a serious
quandary. Should he completely blow her off—hoping this thing will
leave her alone?  Or is it too late?  Should he meet her
so they can face it together?  Scott barely knew Ella, but
couldn't live with the idea of something bad happening to
her. 

The dawning of a new day: a fiery ball rose
in the east, slowly evaporating the frost laden, dormant grass that
awaited spring.  For Scott, the new day meant the possibility
of a new threat, a danger from depths unknown, and an uncertainty
about his future with Ella. 

  Shutting off his alarm, he rolled to a
seated position on his bed, pausing for a moment to gain his
equilibrium before standing. 

  Scott had little sleep that night,
pondering his dilemma regarding his meeting with Ella.  It
haunted him more than the tall mystery man.  He had four and a
half hours before his scheduled meeting with Ella, and indecision
still plagued him. 

  Four eggs, one piece of dry wheat
toast, and a glass of orange juice filled the morning air in
Scott’s kitchen with a familiar scent, and filled his stomach with
much needed energy. 

  He worked out for thirty minutes, took
a shower, and dressed for his special occasion—even though he
wasn’t sure he was going.  Once ready, he prepared himself to
call Ella.  He should have called last night, but the meeting
with Mustapha and Cody carried on into the morning hours—too late
to call Ella. 

  Scott reached for his cell-phone, and
dialed all but the final digit, hesitating, readying his right
index finger to press the cancel button.  He pressed the final
digit to complete Ella’s number—the phone rang.

  “Hi Scott!”  Ella answered,
anxiously anticipating his call. 

  “Good morning, Ella.  How are
you?”

  “I’m good, thanks!”

  “I apologize for not calling last
night, I had a late meeting at my place—I’ll explain later.” 
Explain later?  Great, now I’m all but committed to keeping
our noon lunch date
, he thought. 

  “No problem, I know how things can
come up.  I’m glad you called this morning . . . “ 

  Scott winced, waiting for Ella to tell
him that she saw a tall thin man, wearing a black top hat.

  Ella continued, “I’m not sure exactly
what your issues are, but I looked through my personal library and
found a few more books I can share with you.”

Relieved that Ella didn’t have anything
horrific to reveal, Scott accepted her kind offer, and kept the
lunch date. 

Sitting at her faux wood desk, Ella finalized
the previous day’s orders to be shipped. 

  She was efficient and accurate, and
although loved by everyone at the office, there were employees who
lacked enthusiasm for the job, doing the bare minimum, and
therefore harbored animosity towards Ella, believing they were
overshadowed by Ella’s herculean work ethic. 

  The clock struck eleven, and Ella
became excited; her meeting with Scott was in one hour.  She
wore her favorite skirt and blouse combo, finest heels, and an
alluring but ambiguous scent. 

  Not one to seek love, or even appear
available, Ella was struck by new and unfamiliar feelings: she felt
amazing, but confused.  Butterflies fluttered in her
stomach—they had been since he left her office the day
before.   These new feelings were an important sign for
Ella; she knew he could be the one, so she acted on it the only way
she knew how, discretely. 

  The bells on the door activated, a
customer or delivery driver had entered.  Ella rose from her
desk that sat just down the hall, around the corner from the
entrance.  “Hello sir, can I help you?”  Ella asked upon
seeing the customer standing in the lobby. 

  “I’m a friend of Scott’s.  You
know him, correct?”

  “Scott who?”  Ella questioned,
uncertain if the man’s intentions were good or bad. 

  “Scott Abrahamson,” the man replied,
with a meandering grin. 

  “I don’t really know him—he came in
for the first time yesterday—as a customer.”

  “Your pupils dilated at the mention of
his name.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re implying,
sir.”

  “No matter—please give him this the
next time you see him.”  The man handed Ella a bag. 
“Don’t open it; I want it to be a surprise.”

  Ella, in a hurry to end the awkward
exchange, accepted the bag and agreed to give it to
Scott. 

  Watching the tall thin man walk away,
she felt distressed.  She hoped Scott would have answers as to
who this man was, and how he knew they had met. 

  The clock reached noon, and Ella was
already out the door and on her way to meet Scott at the coffee
shop. 

  As she approached, Scott’s Roadrunner
was already parked outside: a good sign that he was punctual and
equally, if not more excited about their meeting. 

  She entered and immediately spotted
Scott sitting in a booth near the back of the shop.  He stood
up and waived to be sure she noticed him.  A polite handshake
started their meeting—he waited for her to sit before seating
himself. 
A sign of a true gentleman,
Emma
thought. 

  “Good to see you,“ Scott said, as he
smiled—eyes dilating. 

  Emma noticed his eyes were dilated,
and then wondered if hers were too, or if he would notice, or knew
what that suggested.  Regardless, it made her happy to know he
had more than a fleeting interest in her.

  “You too, here are the books I
promised, and a bag from a stranger.”

  “A stranger?“  He chuckled.

  “Yes, just a little while ago a tall
man—sort of gaunt looking—came in and asked if I knew you.  He
was strange, and he requested that I give you this bag, but he
asked that I don’t peek.”  She had a troubled look about her
face, and then she brightened up with a smile and whispered, “It’s
supposed to be a surprise!”

  Scott carefully accepted the bag,
trying to grin and hide his concern.  “What was this man’s
name?”

  “Not sure, he didn’t say.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “A long black coat, sort of dusty, and
a tall black hat—that was dusty too.”

  Scott froze—set the bag down—and
stared at it. 

  “What’s wrong?” 

  “Did he have a pointy nose and chin,
and pale skin?  Kind of like death warmed over?”

  “Actually, yes—you know him?”

  “I know of him.  I’ve seen
him.  I’ll have to explain, but please don’t think I’m
strange; I have two friends that can back my story.”

  Scott told Ella everything: the
sightings, dreams, Cody’s experience, and Mustapha’s
phone-call.  He had total trust in her, complete comfort, as
if he had known her his entire life. 

  Ella sat silent.  She believed
his story, as crazy as it was, but she didn’t know how to
respond.  “Scott—for starters—I believe you.”

  Scott let out a sigh of
relief. 

  “I don’t know what this all
means.  I can’t believe I came so close to him.”  A
paralyzing chill climbed her spine, as if a tarantula had been
released in her blouse.  “So you think he’s after me
too?  Because I tried to help you?”

  “I think that’s why he paid you a
visit today.  He wants me to know that he’s watching all of
us.” 

  She had no response.

  “I’m sorry I got you into this mess—I
had no idea.”

  “It’s OK, it’s OK.” She repeated out
of nervousness. “I just need to process this—it’s a little
weird.”  Ella sat for a moment, staring at the salt and pepper
shakers on the table, contemplating, and then something
clicked.  She looked up, met Scott’s eyes, and smiled. 
Her smile took his mind off of their trouble, and made the world
right again; no more signs written in blood, dead cats, and demon
possessed vagrants.  “We’re all in this together, and together
we will get through this.” She was completely
unshakable—positive—downright cheery.

  Scott, mesmerized by Ella’s outlook
and brilliant smile, found himself without words.

  “You with me?”  She added.

  “Yes—we will get through this. 
Where do we start?”

  “With you—tell me everything about
your past experiences, and maybe something will click.  There
has to be something about your experiences that will give us a clue
as to who or what has been following you, and now me, Cody, and
Mustapha.” 

  Scott opened up and told all. 
Ella listened.  And for the next five hours they snacked on
flavored coffee and an assortment of bite sized French pastries,
while discussing his history of unusual events.  She had never
been so captivated by anyone.  It no longer mattered that she
and Scott seemed to be in mortal danger; she was going to be
spending more time with him than expected, a lot more. 

“Now, about that bag, let’s see what’s
inside!”

“To be honest, I’m a little scared to open
it. I thought I might wait till I get home.”

“If we’re going to do this together, why not
start now? If it’s something bad, I’m here for support. What do you
say?”

He paused. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled
back. “OK, let’s do this,” he responded.

He unfolded the top of the bag and slowly
pulled it apart. Nothing jumped out, made a noise, or exploded. He
looked in while she sat, anxiously anticipating the contents.
Reaching in, Scott felt something: a strap, leather maybe, about a
quarter-inch wide and six to eight inches in length. Something
metal, a tag was attached to it. He pulled it out, exposing an
animal collar.

“That’s strange, do you own a pet?”

“Not at the moment.” He read the tag,
“Whiskers?” It was the collar of his beloved cat. “The last time I
saw this was when we buried Whiskers in it,” he said
mournfully.

Ella was again speechless. They sat, staring
at the collar, both wondering how the man in black was able to
retrieve it—both shuttered in disgust at the thought.

Long and narrow, the decayed concrete of the
downtown alley glistened an ominous glow beneath the streetlights—
following the cold sleet that glazed over its past—stained from
sinister crime and drug dealings.

Lying beside a dumpster, a lifeless pile of
stench ridden, weathered clothing concealed yet another pile of
skin and bone, which enshrined the barely beating heart of,
Samantha; a rotted shell of a once beautiful twenty-six year old
woman that, in the last ten months sought solace in the form of
crack in a blown-glass pipe.

Life had dealt her a bad-hand, one she could
not muster the strength to overcome, and therefore—fell victim to
street vermin who accepted money for drugs when she had it, and her
body when she had nothing more to give.

She had passed through the gates of Hell,
breathed its fumes, and slept with demons.

Perfect rows of white teeth were now stained
and rotted, her breath reeked that of something dying on the
inside, her once angelic skin, now covered in dirt and open-sores
that flies fed on while she slept.

Some people find the strength to bounce back,
but not Samantha.

An abusive Uncle, an alcoholic mother, a
father she never knew, and a habit of attracting friends that spent
more time behind bars than in the free world—sent her over the edge
and into a life of self-abuse.

The city’s music was an orchestrated symphony
of tragedy: sirens screaming, cries of pain and torment, animals
battling to the death over the last scrap of food, vagrants
mumbling nonsensical words under diluted breath, and the rhythm of
her own labored respiration lined the walls of her mind with a
cacophony that would drive the most stable to insanity.

Money earned through begging was now gone,
and Samantha had gone too long without a hit. Withdrawals were
setting in, weakening her to the point where she hoped for
death.

Footsteps approached on the dampened
pavement, a looming shadow draped over her as she struggled to open
her eyes.

One of my dealers
—
it must be
,
she hoped.

“Samantha,” an unfamiliar voice calmly
spoke.

“I . . . I need some . . . I’m dying . . .
I’ll pay you back—I promise.” She begged pathetically.