The Recluse Storyteller (22 page)

“What do you want?”

Margaret pressed her back firmly against the cool metal exterior of the refrigerator. She had never sat in this position before but could tell why it was one of Cheevers’ favorites.

“What do you want?” cried out Cheevers belligerently. “You did this to me, you know? You! Why did you tell me that story? I was happy. I was happy.”

“Not happy,” divulged Margaret. “Michael not happy. Quinn.”

Quinn. The name exploded emotions in his brain that partially helped him discover clarity in the midst of a day-long hangover. Quinn. Never had a name been so hated. Quinn. His head kept repeating it. Quinn.

“It’s impossible. How do you know about Quinn?”

“You killed him. Red Hat killed Quinn.”

Cheevers’ antagonism grew soft, and he laid his head down on the end of the sofa and began to cry.

“Meagan,” he sobbed. “Meagan.”

Just as quickly as the blues spread over him, he picked himself up and sat on the edge of the couch, looking intently at the strange oracle sitting on his floor amidst a party’s worth of beer bottles.

“Tell me more. I want to hear more of the story. Please.”

Margaret leaned her head back against the metal. Even here she could feel his presence. It comforted her, pushing her to do the right thing.

* * *

“Red Hat looked at his watch once again as Meagan clung onto her mother, who herself couldn’t bear to look him in the face. Williams was still locked away in the bedroom, but he kept everyone on the outside up to date with the latest information. Red Hat punched out a speed dial number on his phone and waited for someone to answer.

“‘It’s time. Five minutes? All right. I’ll leave in five.’

“Silence gripped the room as he went over to the device and unscrewed the flask on the outside of it.

“‘Michael, what are you doing? Michael!’

“Williams heard the scream from inside the apartment but could do nothing about it.

“‘Michael. How could you? How—?’

“Red Hat put the flask up to his lips, smiled evilly once, and then swallowed. His wife looked on in horror thinking that a nuclear disaster was imminent.

“‘It’s only water,’ Red Hat laughed. ‘This thing is just a toy. It couldn’t hurt a fly. Here, Meagan. You can have fun playing with this.’

“His wife pushed it away from him in anger.

“‘Stop it! Stop playing with this poor child’s emotions. You’ve already scarred us enough.’

“At that moment, Williams got a call from an unexpected source. He stood stoically at attention, taking his orders directly from the Commander-in-Chief.

“‘Yes, Mr. President. I understand. I will, Mr. President.’

“Red Hat came over and opened the door to let Williams into the room. He even turned his back to him without fear of retribution, and, in fact, Williams didn’t try anything at all. He walked into the room rather somberly, looking at Meagan and her mother in a melancholic fashion.

“‘So everything is set to go?’

“‘Yes, you are free to go.’

“Red Hat’s wife looked at Williams with great incredulity.

“‘How could you let him just walk out of here? He’s already confessed that this device is a phony. What about the incident at the bank? Arrest him!’

“‘I’m sorry. It’s out of my hands.’

“‘Out of your hands?’

“‘The orders came from the President himself.’

“She looked at him in disbelief and then back at her husband, desperately clinging on to the hope that he would be repaid, pain for pain, with the years of hollow marriage and vacant promises that had already decimated her heart. She walked right up into his face, one last time.

“‘Who are you?’

“Red Hat ignored the question, looking only at Meagan, who clung to her mother unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. She fully expected to see her daddy at breakfast in the morning as usual.

“‘Meagan, Daddy has to go now.’

“He went over to her, still in his wife’s arms, and kissed her on the forehead. His wife clenched her fist and belted him with all her strength right in the ribs.

“‘Owwww,’ he said, cowering backwards in pain. ‘I’ll miss you too, dear.’ He turned around and handed Williams the officer’s gun he had borrowed from the bank. ‘I won’t be needing this anymore.’

“‘Daddy, will you be coming back?’

“The question actually jabbed at his emotions far more than he anticipated.

“‘No, sweetheart. I don’t suppose I will be.’

“He thought about the envelope that he had put in his pocket. It was his ticket out of the country. In essence, the only thing that kept him alive. He descended the steps and walked out into the street. The S.W.A.T. team had him surrounded, but he continued slowly and steadily to the police car he had previously been driving.

“In the apartment, Meagan sat on the couch talking to Agent Williams as her mother abandoned her, so she could go into the bedroom and sprawl herself out on the comforter to cry into her pillow.

“‘Mister Will,’ she looked up at Williams’ face not unlike a well-trained puppy forbidden to jump.

“‘Yes, sweetheart.’

“‘Was my Daddy a bad man?’

“‘Why do you say that?’

“‘Before he left, he said he was never coming back.’

“‘I suppose that’s true. I don’t think he’ll be back.’

“‘Williams knelt down on one knee and put his right hand behind her head.’

“‘But you are going to be fine.’

“‘I’m scared. I want my Daddy to be here.’

“‘I know. You have to be brave. You have to be very brave.’

“‘But was he a bad man?’

“Williams stopped for a moment and stared blankly out onto the street as Red Hat fled the scene one last time.

“‘He had to do what he felt was right. He may have made some bad choices, but no, I don’t think he’s a bad man.’”

* * *

Cheevers mind reeled and rolled, mesmerized by the rhythm of the story and the gentle persistent pounding from the alcohol. He pictured the day little Meagan sat on his lap, and he told her the same thing.

“You have to be brave, Meagan. You have to be brave. Be brave for your daddy, okay?”

Cheevers was a shriveled mess on the couch. He lay back down and kept repeating the word ‘brave’ over and over. Margaret left him alone once again and headed back to her apartment where she found herself spending less and less time. As she closed the door, she leaned back up against it and once again saw the light—so bright in front of her. It came barreling at her at great speed, but Janice was calm and stood there, bravely, ready to do this for her country. Ready to stand on the brink and sacrifice everything. The light was blinding.

“Janice! No!” Margaret cried out in a desperate plea, then collapsed to the floor.

Chapter 18

Mrs. Trumble vs. the World

An hour later, Margaret sat at her desk, neglected computer in front of her, and handled the bound packet of unopened letters from Reverend Davies that dated back nearly five years. She had never once thought about opening them until today. She started in chronological order, ripping open the one dated one week after her mother’s death.

Dear Margaret,

Your church family sympathizes with you during this time. Your mother had asked me to check in on you from time to time. I hope you will permit me to do this. We are praying for you.

In God’s Love,

Reverend Davies

Margaret crumpled the letter in her hands and threw it on the floor. She opened another and then another, all of them ending up next to the first. In her opinion, they all read like they had been dipped into a vat of insincerity, dripping with words like ‘We miss you,’ ‘We are praying for you,’ ‘Hope to see you on Sunday’, among other set phrases. Finally, twelve letters in, she noticed a distinct change in tone. She read it again and again, pulling out a highlighter and marking over and over one curious phrase.

Margaret,

I want to tell you something that your mother said to me before she died. She said to tell Margaret that ‘it’s not her fault.’ Why that phrase slipped my mind all this time, I’m not sure. But I woke up this morning remembering it, and I wanted to let you know.

Reverend Davies

“It’s not her fault,” Margaret repeated over and over again out loud. “It’s not her fault.”

She stood up and staggered at the weight of the words on her shoulders. “It’s not her fault.” She walked over to the picture window overlooking the street. The sliding door to the balcony sat next to her. She looked at the railing where she had dangled closely with death just the other day, wondering what it would have been like to fly face-first into the ground like a flower pot gently jilted from its stand. Would there have been a Red Hat to cushion her fall?

Her arms extended upwards, covering the glass in a position of praise in some churches—she once again gave in to her thoughts and her mind. She was mesmerized by the words, “It’s not her fault.”

* * *

“The light came faster, speeding, twirling, overwhelming, all-encompassing, all powerful, omnipotent like a tornado wind, whirling pine trees like cones. The light was not all giving, all-loving, or life illuminating like some have described light to be. For it chased the darkness—it chased the shadows where hopes and dreams can live in their self-consuming comfort. For light brings death, like a bolt from the sky that precedes destruction, like the flash of a match which burns apart families, like the fire from a gun which brings death and sadness. Janice stood, brave, tall, ready to sacrifice everything for the light. Ready to say goodbye.”

* * *

The gang was all there, except Cheevers, who was downing his third cup of coffee in his room and running to the bathroom between each cup, but by 7:05, even he was there in Mrs. Johnson’s apartment. The whole scene rang familiar as they all mingled, waiting for Janice to call the meeting to order. Mr. Tomsey was there for one purpose only—to see if Margaret was competent enough to continue working for his firm. Mrs. Trumble was there, scowl in place, ready to make sure Margaret got, what in her mind, was long overdue—either put away or arrested. Mrs. Johnson hurried around serving tea and coffee with a mixed bag of emotions, which included her husband, Margaret, her girls, and her yet-to-be-born baby. Reverend Davies sat reflectively, unwilling to commit to anything until he once again heard from Margaret. The twins were down the hall, tempted to sneak out once more but being unsure whether they could contain themselves again. Janice was just hoping for some closure. She called the meeting to order.

“Thank you all so much for coming. I know you didn’t have to, but it shows that you care about Margaret, and that means a lot to me. She’s had a hard life, which unfortunately has pushed her into some extreme behavior.”

“I just want to know whether she is going to be able to work for us anymore,” Tomsey, ever the businessman, got to the heart of his matter straight away.

“I don’t know, Mr. Tomsey. We shall see. We will talk to her tonight.”

“Well, this whole episode would not even be necessary if you would have listened to me in the first place and called some official or specialist in to deal with her,” Mrs. Trumble retorted spitefully.

“Mrs. Trumble, we are all aware of your thoughts on the matter.”

“Fingers feeling a little squeezed lately, are they?” smirked Cheevers, who had had far too much of Mrs. Trumble and took great delight in being able to jab at her.

“Well, at least I don’t sit drunk on my kitchen floor with my door open.” Mrs. Trumble immediately glanced over at Reverend Davies when she said that. The intimation was clear, but she had graciously decided to not rope him into the matter by spreading the deliciously scandalous rumors at this time. Reverend Davies sat passively, not ready to engage in any verbal sparring at the moment.

“Can we just—look, we are in a bit of a quandary. Margaret’s behavior has been erratic. That much is true.”

“Well, come on. Let’s just put it to a vote and be done with it. This will be the shortest meeting in history, and the most sensible,” said Mrs. Trumble. “Come on, who votes that something needs to be done with Margaret and that Janice should meet with her attorney to sign the papers right away. Come on, up with those hands.”

Mrs. Trumble was standing in the middle of the floor with her arm stretched out high and proud. Everyone else kept looking down, trying to avoid eye contact with her but also trying to see if anyone else was voting in her favor.

“Come on, Tomsey. Where’s your hand?”

“I would much prefer to have her go back to work.”

“Cheevers. Remember the flower pot? She almost killed you with that. Raise your hand!”

“You won’t get me to raise my hand. There’s something about that crazy lady. I don’t want her to go anywhere. You, on the other hand …”