The Recluse Storyteller (14 page)

The girls scooted to the door and slyly looked at each way before quickly exiting and returning to their apartment. Margaret stood facing the hallway, and she sighed, looking for relief.

“Mother is dead.”

She turned around and shut the door behind her, once again leaning up against it. She reached down to the locket around her neck and unclasped it. She stared for the longest time at the two ink portraits inside.

“Twins. Beautiful twins.”

She closed the locket and began to cry.

Chapter 10

The Tipping Point

Chester Tomsey had been trying to reach Margaret all week, buy to no avail. She spent every waking hour thinking of the bank, the burning house, the bright light, and the ridge of death. She had even forgotten to go to Full Brands the following Tuesday evening. Her house was a little messier than usual, but she had her thoughts
—
her many thoughts. She often felt the presence over her shoulder, and it reminded her of the past and prompted her into the future. It made her sad.

* * *

“‘Reverend Taylor. Let me go. I’ll bring Nicki back. I promise. You stay in the village. My father really wants to talk with you,’ said Quan, who pointed to a gaunt old man, shirtless, ribs sticking out like a series of speed bumps, standing next to the entrance to the nearest house-on-stilts.

“‘But I’m worried about Nicki.’

“‘I know. I’ll bring her back. I promise. But my father really wants to speak with you.’

“‘Okay. That’s why I came here in the first place.’

“Quan looked over at his diminutive father speaking Vietnamese to him in a machine-gun like fashion.

“‘But I don’t know Vietnamese. How will I talk with him?’

“‘My cousin Tran is inside and will translate for you. Go. You need to hear what he has to say.’

“‘Okay. Thanks, Quan. Please bring Nicki back.’

“‘Don’t worry. I will.’

“Quan got on the Honda Dream and sped out of sight while Reverend Taylor’s hand was eagerly grabbed by Quan’s father, leading him up the steps and into the bamboo-floored-dwelling with open air windows and a thatched roof.”

* * *

The phone rang—a rare occurrence in the house of a recluse. Margaret looked over at the phone, which symbolized nothing more than the awkward link between her inner self and the outside world. She didn’t want to answer it, but she stood up, walked to the desk, removed the receiver, and put it to her ear without saying anything.

“Margaret? Margaret? Is that you?” asked Janice on the other end. “I guess that’s a silly question. Who else would it be?”

Margaret said nothing, glancing lazily around the room as if she heard not a word.

“Margaret? I know you can hear me. Now listen. I received a call from Mr. Tomsey, and he said he’s been having a hard time getting a hold of you. Are you all right? Why aren’t you answering your emails?”

No response.

“Margaret. I don’t have time for this. Would you please answer me? Margaret? Margaret?”

The recluse storyteller hung up the phone rather methodically, almost petting it once it lay flat across the dial. She walked back over to her couch and took up her familiar residence.

* * *

“About an hour later, Quan reached the small, mustard-colored provincial hotel, which was run by the People’s Council. It cost nearly a hundred dollars a night for foreigners and had the amenities of a 1950s motel. Nicki lay on the bed with the rattle of the air conditioner keeping her company. She fumed over her father’s behavior and was regretting coming to Vietnam, as she stared at a small gecko on the ceiling overhead and hoped beyond hope that it wouldn’t have a heart attack and fall on top of her. Quan knocked gently on the door.

“‘Nicki? Nicki?’

“She jumped to her feet, surprised to hear her name, but she displayed an understated relief that she was no longer alone. She liked Quan. She also was happy it wasn’t her father. She didn’t feel ready to talk with him yet.

“‘Nicki? It’s Quan. Can I talk with you?’

“She unbolted the door and opened it part way.

“‘Come in.’

“‘Thank you.’

“‘I don’t want to talk about my father. I’m just exhausted.’

“‘I wanted to apologize to you. You were right. We both should have been honest with you. Actually, I’ve been watching you for about two years. I’ve always wanted to meet you, but your father didn’t think it was a good idea. He’s a good man, you know? A really good man.’

“Nicki nodded. She knew it was true. She knew his heart.

“‘I know.’

“‘I’ve really admired you for a long time. I was sad when you graduated last year.’

“‘I just can’t believe that you know all about me, but I didn’t know anything about you. I suppose I saw you around, but …’

“‘I know. Asian students are always around. But we are hard to get to know.’

“‘No, that’s not what I meant. Didn’t my father come?’

“‘No, I asked him to stay in the village to talk with my father.’

“‘Why?’

“‘Will you come back with me?’ Quan stood up out of his chair and leaned forward towards Nicki. She noticed that he was quite handsome.

“‘I don’t want to go back there,’ she said, turning away from him.

“‘I think you should. You should hear what my father has to say.’

“‘Why?’

“‘Then you’ll understand.’

“‘Understand what?’

“‘Just come. It’s important.’

“Nicki turned her head, acquiescing with a slight nod.

“‘Great! I have the motorbike out front.’

“‘Motorbike? Oh, no. I’ve seen how you people drive around here. I’m not going on any motorbike.’

“‘You’ll love it. No helmets either. Wind in the hair! Come on.’

“Quan grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door. She was on her way back to her father.”

* * *

A disturbance in the hallway awakened Margaret’s sensibilities, and she went over to put her head to the door to discover the juicy gossip of the day. Mr. Cheevers’ voice boomed throughout the corridor, mixed with the high-pitched, nasal tone of Mrs. Trumble.

“You are unreal,” said Cheevers.

“I’m just trying to be neighborly.”

“Bull. You’re trying to stir up trouble just like you always do.”

“I can’t help it if the incompetent mailman keeps delivering the mail in the wrong place.”

“No, you can’t help that. But you also can’t help wanting to cause problems for Margaret. You were going to knock on her door, weren’t you?”

Silent pause.

“Weren’t you?”

“Well …”

“You are unbelievable. Why don’t you knock on my door so I can slam your fingers in it as well?”

“Well, I’ve never heard a ruder comment in my life. You, sir, are a brute. And you are probably in cahoots with that so called innocent girl standing on the other side of that door.”

She held a few advertisements in her hand and threw them all over the floor. She looked at Cheevers and stuck out her tongue at him, turned around, and disappeared into her apartment across the hall from Margaret. Cheevers picked up the sheets sprawled all over and approached Margaret’s door to slide them under when to his surprise, she quickly opened the door and held out her hand to receive the junk mail.

“Margaret. These are for you. Are you having a pleasant day?”

She looked at him, emotionless, as if she had received a wad of mail from an inanimate mailbox.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” he said, slightly tipping his red cap in her direction.

“Red Hat.”

“That’s right. My father was a Cincinnati fan. I never got out of the habit of wearing one.”

“Father. Red Hat.”

“That’s right. Well, have a good day, Margaret.”

“Red Hat,” she responded in kind.

Cheevers shook his head a little bit and couldn’t help but wonder about her sanity. Margaret’s door shut tightly as he walked out of sight. The bank waited for her. She saw it vividly. She could hear the policemen from around the corner, trying to get Red Hat to give up. She saw Red Hat smiling like a gambler with an ace up his sleeve. She saw it all, and it all made sense.

* * *

“The police had reinforced positions inside and outside the Chester Walz Bank. They confidently told their superiors that the bank had been evacuated and the perpetrator was completely contained inside the vault area. Little did they know.

“‘All right. We’re coming in. Put down any and all weapons. You have no chance of getting out of here alive unless you do exactly what we say,’ yelled Officer Galley, who had served two terms in the Gulf War and knew a little bit about urban warfare.

“Red Hat secured the items in a small backpack and took from the safety deposit box a strange looking device—a smooth metal cylinder, which had a flask set into its side. He was ready to make his move.

“‘Listen up, coppers. I am unarmed but that doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous. You need to drop your weapons, clear a path to a vehicle with keys in it, or you’re going to be in a mess of trouble.’

“‘Can’t do that. You are not getting out of here alive if you plan to defend yourself. Just drop everything and we will get—’

“At that moment, Red Hat walked around the corner, startling the two veteran cops, who fastened their guns on his chest.

“‘Stand down!’ they ordered.

“Hat did nothing of the kind. He held up the device right at eye level of Officer Galley.

“‘You see this? This is your worst nightmare. All I need to do is let this drop to the ground and you got a dirty bomb on your hands. Simple as that. Your move, hotshot.’

“The officers scurried backwards a few feet, keeping their guns aimed at his chest. They didn’t know what to make of the dirty bomb threat, but they weren’t about to take it lightly.

“‘All right. Just calm down,’ said Galley. ‘You say this is a dirty bomb?’

“‘That’s right. A micro-dirty bomb that will do a remarkable amount of damage if this flask breaks. So you shoot me, it falls on the floor, and you and your comrades are dead. It’s a quick way to end it. Shoot me if you like.’

“Galley looked over at his partner, who wavered back and forth, wondering if they should call it in. He glanced briefly at his shoulder-com. Red Hat noticed the glance and encouraged him.

“‘Go ahead. Call it in. This is something that your superiors are going to want to know. In fact, it won’t be long until the whole city, the whole country knows.’

“Galley’s partner called it in and began discussing the situation with the outside perimeter. Red Hat wanted to get out of the vault area as quickly as possible, so he kept motioning for them to back up as he held the device over his head in a threatening manner.

“‘Keep it moving, Officer Galley. You don’t think I want to be trapped in a vault area. This dirty bomb needs that open window to access the outside, just in case you are foolish enough to let it fall to the ground.’

“‘Okay. Don’t do anything rash. What do you want?’

“‘Ahhh. Finally, my demands. Very simple. I need a car. I need a lot of space to maneuver. I need you not to follow me, but I understand your air surveillance will have a hard time leaving me alone. But that’s okay, just as long as I have a clear path on the ground.’

“‘Where do you want to go?’

“‘All in good time,’ he said, backing them up into the open area of the bank near the resting spot of the Yo-Yo Yoghurt truck, which continued to ooze its contents.”

* * *

Margaret jolted herself out of her intense storytelling with the realization that she was standing on the railing, one rung up on her balcony, overlooking the street. She felt terrified looking down, and her head twirled in a vertigo-inspired wave of light-headedness, bringing her closer to the tipping point. The pavement waited for her.

Johnny, the café owner across the street who often served Red Hat his breakfast, saw Margaret dangling against the railing, playing dangerous games of chance with the stories that consumed her.

“Hey! Hey! Lady. Watch out!” he called up at her.

Margaret glanced down at him and gave up. Her body twisted on the way down, hitting the side railing, and as fate could have brought her either way, it decided to plop her backwards onto the tile of her balcony.

Johnny made some quick calls.

* * *

Margaret heard the murmurs before she saw their faces. She was afraid to open her eyes because at least she could pretend to be alone with her eyelids shut. Reality has no bite in the dark, so she lay there as if unresponsive, listening to all they had to say. It was the normal cast and crew from all walks of life, hanging over top of her. She did wonder where she was, but from the feel of the material beneath her, she guessed she was still at home. Or so she hoped.