Three worlds collide, p.7
Three Worlds Collide, page 7
Jackie took a moment to soak that in, recalling that she hadn’t seen anything unusual. “She is always up late with her astrology group. She’s invited me a couple times but...”
“Same here,” Sally replied. “Anyway, Tiffany said she hadn’t seen anything. But one of her friends had felt a strange presence. Some woman named Martha, who claimed to be a psychic.”
Jackie rolled her eyes. “Ooookay.”
Sally shook her head in agreement. “Yeah, I thought the same. But here’s the thing... Tiffany explained to me that evening she had shared a story with the group about two children...” Sally paused, then lowered her voice, “Who got run over on Haynesville Woods Avenue before this neighborhood was here.”
Jackie let out a deep sigh, and her shoulders slumped forward a bit. “So, the driver told me the truth about that?” Jackie looked up into the rearview to see Elena occupied with a game on her device. She tilted her head a bit and saw Sean looking intently at Sally.
“It would seem that way. I don’t think the driver knows Tiffany,” Sally said. “But here’s the thing that stands out about what Tiffany told me.” She paused for a second to gather her thoughts, smoothing the fabric of her lap. “After she told her group the story, adding her own brand of spooky to it, the psychic got agitated, mentioned this... presence, and then left suddenly.”
Jackie tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, considering the implications. “That is strange. This psychic didn’t say anything else about the story before rushing out?”
“Apparently not,” Sally replied.
“Some psychic she must be if she runs off scared after a little ghost story by the fire,” Jackie said.
“I know right... These people,” Sally scoffed.
“Anyway, this guy, John, the driver, said that the ghosts of those kids lurked around our street, causing mischief,” Jackie added. “Is that what Tiffany said too?”
“Something like that.” Sally brushed off her pants leg dismissively. “A bunch of nonsense if you ask me.”
Jackie shook her head. “Yeah, but it’s very odd that two people who don’t even know each other came up with the same story.”
“Local folklore, I guess,” Sally replied, a dismissive tone in her voice. “Unless Tiffany has a secret love life we don’t know about.” They looked at each other and shared a brief laugh while Sean rolled his eyes.
Waiting at the next stoplight, Jackie glanced up at the rearview to check on Elena again. She let her gaze linger a bit longer, thankful to see her safe.
In a strange, sudden motion, Elena’s head jerked up and met her mother’s eyes with an unusually serious demeanor. “Momma, are you talking about my friends in the front yard?”
Jackie froze, mouth agape. Sally turned slowly to look back at Elena. Sean stared at her. A horn broke the silence. The light had turned green. As she accelerated, Elena spoke up again, giggling this time as she said, “They always want me to come out and play.”
𓂓
Officer Street pulled up to the precinct, eager to speak with the specialist about the video. He couldn’t stop thinking about that flash of white light at the moment Clay crossed the front of the truck. Streets’ intuition told him he needed to know more.
The precinct was an ordinary two-story brick building with double doors set in large windows that wrapped around the front and sides, with smaller windows along the second floor. He pushed through the glass doors, said hello to the desk sergeant, made a quick right heading through a plain door, and up a set of sterile stairs to the second floor. He emerged from the door and headed to the specialist’s office, immediately to his right.
Detective Slade sat in a gamer-style chair analyzing the video. Two long desks dominated the right and back side of the office. Several large screens provided the only light in the room. Despite the cables and wires that ran back and forth along his desk in apparent disarray, everything appeared to work as it should.
“Couldn’t wait either?” Streets said with a smile as he walked into the room.
Slade looked up from the computer screen but didn’t say anything. His eyes were wide. His face had a combined look of disbelief, fear, and morbid curiosity. He tilted his head toward the screen, inviting Streets to take a look.
Intrigued by Slade’s lack of response, Streets walked over to the desk and leaned in closer. Slade used a dial to back up the video to the point where the events had begun. Clay and Sean were in the foreground, kneeling over separate areas in the front yard. Elena was in the distance, across the street, standing in the front yard near her soccer ball, which she then gave a swift kick. She had apparently shanked the ball badly. It went through a flower bed and then bounced down the gentle hill and into the street. She paused for a moment and then ran casually down the hill to retrieve the ball as it slowly rolled to a stop in the road. From the house behind Elena, Jackie burst out of the door, stumbling as she lunged out. That’s when Clay looked up and took off like a sprinter from the blocks with Sean not far behind. As he approached the road in full sprint, the truck came into view. The driver was looking down at his phone and didn’t see Clay or the girl.
“Lying sack of shit,” Streets muttered to himself.
Slade didn’t look away from the screen. “I've watched this next part at least half a dozen times.”
As Streets watched the events unfold on the screen, he noticed something that did not add up. Judging by speed and distance, it didn’t look like Clay would reach Elena in time.
Slade looked up and said, “I’m going to slow this down a bit so you can better see what happens.”
Streets nodded.
What can only be described as a brilliant white light had begun to materialize near Clay on an almost parallel approach angle from his left side. Their paths formed a V as the light seemed to merge with Clay a few steps before he lined up his dive for Elena.
“I’ve used some filters here to reduce the brightness of that light so we can see the details of what happened in that moment,” Slade commented as the footage continued to play.
Despite the video’s slow motion, Clay appeared to quicken his pace just enough before he grabbed Elena under the arms and tossed her. In that moment, he also appeared to have a thin glowing outline around his body, like an aura moving in unison with him. An instant afterwards, the light appeared to pass through, then emerge from him. Clay was struck by the truck, which came to a stop a split second later. Only his legs were visible after that. The driver could be seen gripping the steering wheel with his left hand, a shocked look on his face, a cell phone clearly visible in his right hand. The light quickly vanished after passing through Clay.
Slade paused the video and Streets looked at the screen dumbfounded, then glanced over to Slade, who shrugged while he shook his head. Then a more resolute posture came over the specialist, and Slade backed up the video one more time. “Now, look more closely at that light. I’ll upscale the video so we can sharpen the focus a little, slow down the speed some more, and zoom in on it.”
The video restarted more slowly just as the light appeared. But as it did, details within the light became visible. As it slowly grew in intensity, what looked like a head and body resolved into view. As the body became clearer, arms appeared to reach out from the light with open hands. Then the apparition merged with Clay, accelerating him at the precise moment he dove.
Slade paused the video and looked over to Streets, whose speechless gaze remained locked on the frozen image.
Chapter Five
“There you are,” the nurse said softly.
Clay’s eyes opened slowly, blinking and squinting as he adjusted to the surrounding lights. “Ughmf,” he groaned.
“You gave us quite a scare,” the nurse said as she worked over him. “Doctor, could you come in here?”
The doctor poked his head in and saw that Clay had regained consciousness. “Sure, I’ll be just a minute.”
Before the nurse left, she turned to Clay with a warm smile. “There are people here to see you. Once the doctor has checked you over, they can visit.”
“People?” Clay asked as she walked away.
The nurse paused and regarded him thoughtfully. “Can we call anyone for you?”
Clay strained at the thought. “My w-wife—wait, s-sorry, divorced. I-I guess I’m a little mixed up.” He strained to focus on her hazy form.
“Well, won’t your ex come? You were married once, doesn’t she—”
“No, she doesn’t,“ Clay snapped.
The nurse stepped back and crossed her arms. Clay blinked his eyes some more and caught a glimpse of her name tag. He could only make out the first part of her name, ‘Char’.
“Sorry, just need a minute,” Clay added.
The nurse nodded. “Okay.” Then she left him alone.
Waiting for the doctor, his mind raced with thoughts of Leslie. Should I call her?
With that, he was back in his kitchen—their kitchen—the coffee machine gurgling furiously... His mind replaying harsh words spoken years ago.
𓂓
As he waited for the brew, Clay ran his fingers over the two dusty mugs that taunted him each morning from a small rack set on the counter. Meant as an innocuous wedding gift, they had been personalized to read ‘Hers’ and ‘His, Hers too.’ Much to his dismay, they had proven to be prophetic.
“You should never have quit the engineering firm to start a stupid fucking landscape company.” Without even looking up from her magazine, Leslie repeated her morning greeting yet again with the casual yet caustic manner she had mastered in their time together. Her vulgarity contrasted the elegance of her silk pajamas.
With a huff, Clay pulled a plain mug from the cabinet, filled it, stirred in a little honey, and took a quick slurp of the life-giving concoction. Leaning against the granite countertop, cupping the warm mug, he breathed in the dark-roasted fragrance as he considered her words.
Standing there in his boxers, Clay issued his now standard reply, “It was my choice.”
She regarded him for a moment, a hint of attraction quivered in her body as it often did, softening her expression. “I’m just shocked you would even consider it,” she said before returning her attention to her magazine.
Tired of being provoked every morning, Clay snapped back. “Dammit Leslie, I’m my own boss. Besides that, you know I prefer hard work better than being parked at a desk all day.”
She jerked her head up and narrowed her eyes as she pushed back her auburn hair. “And a whole wardrobe of fine men’s clothes collecting dust. Those custom suits my father had made for you. All those ties I bought for you, and now you’ll never wear any of it again.”
He had grown weary of living a contrived version of himself for Leslie. He had made a change. It was that simple and she turned on him because of it. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’ll still dress up occasionally. Maybe, I don’t know,” Clay scratched his cheek and looked up in thought for a second, “out to dinner or something.”
“You think I’m being ridiculous?” She straightened her boney frame and continued. “So, my dirty ass little landscaper will come home and transform himself back into my handsome husband, impeccably dressed in a bespoke suit, ready to go out in less than an hour.” She puffed out a short breath. “That... is ridiculous.”
“It can be done.” But it would suck after a long day in the heat.
“Don’t you see that kind of work is beneath us?”
“Us? It’s my job, Leslie, not yours.”
“What you do reflects upon me. I never wanted to be with a dirty ass landscaper. I couldn’t imagine a more demeaning job.”
Nonsense, there are plenty.
Clay had been born into a blue-collar family. He took pride in the work—something Leslie failed to understand. Leslie’s father had raised her in a vacuum of affluence. She expected acquiescence and resented Clay’s newfound rebelliousness. He had let this go on too long. Eventually, he would come to realize that her insults were just a vain attempt to provoke and then vilify him for his reaction; therefore, justifying her decision to leave.
“I’m tired of hearing this shit from you. Every. Damn. Day,” he said, jabbing his finger at the floor.
Undeterred, Leslie countered, “You don’t understand. We’re hardly ever out together anymore. I have to explain to my co-workers, our friends, why they never see you at lunch downtown or happy hour on Thursdays. No one gets it. I feel like I have to defend you and it’s embarrassing.”
Clay simply stared down into his mug as if he might crawl into it for a warm coffee bath.
Leslie stood, then got in his face. “You’re embarrassing.”
𓂓
The beep of a machine snapped Clay back and he squirmed a little in the bed. Despite Leslie’s hostility, he had handled the end games of their marriage adroitly. Even though he had tried to put it behind him, he remained pissed off because her off-handed comments and vicious gibes still resonated in his memory years later, and often served to fuel his overactive insecurities.
Hard to believe, all that wasted time.
As a matter of survival, Clay had managed to derive a sense of validation from this familiar albeit self-tortuous mental loop. And, as many do, he thought he had come to find some semblance of peace within the constant justification of his choices. But lying there in the hospital, alone, he realized he had long ago become tangled in the web of his own faulty logic. And all these years since the divorce had been spent living in a prison of his own making.
Done with that. When I get home, I’m going to bust those damn coffee cups into tiny pieces.
𓂓
Officer Street looked around the technician’s office for a place to sit. He pulled a chair from the wall and eased into it. Slade sat back in his seat and looked over at him. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Is this the first time you’ve seen something like this?” Slade asked.
“Yeah, this is definitely a first,” Streets reflected. “I mean, you see the TV shows about paranormal activity and think how fake it must be... but this. This looks like proof to me.”
“Sure does.”
“Could the video have been... I don’t know... tampered with or enhanced somehow?” Streets asked.
“By this lady, Sally?” Slade chuckled. “She barely understood how the DVR worked. Besides, we have forensic filters. I ran algorithms to check for tampering. I also looked for encoding inconsistencies. I have more work to do, but yeah, so far, it seems legitimate.”
“You’re sure about the quality of the video?”
Slade sat up and grabbed the DVR. “Yes, this is relatively new tech, recorded in 1080HD. Her ex-husband installed it using wired night vision bullet cameras. It’s not high-end but fairly typical. I don’t have any reason to doubt the quality of the system.”
Slade kept going with some technical details about how he slowed and enhanced the video. Streets drifted off a bit while Slade carried on. For one of the few times in his career, he didn’t know what to do next. One thing was certain—he needed to keep a lid on this at least for now. He knew he couldn’t trust Hines. Although departmental loyalties were few and far between in this precinct, Slade had consistently proven he could be counted on.
Slade had cut his explanation short, as if he understood Streets needed time to process.
Streets looked up, his thoughts returning to the present moment. “Slade, I need your help on this one while I investigate.”
“Right...” Slade sat back and looked Streets in the eyes.
As a new detective, Streets knew he had thus far been relegated to tech geek because of his knowledge in that department, but everyone knew that Slade wanted more. Most newer detectives also understood that gaining the trust of an up-and-coming officer like Streets would be worth any risks.
“I’ll keep this between you and me,” Slade added.
“Alright. Can you make me a copy?” Streets asked.
“No problem,” Slade said. “I’ll put it on a USB.”
“Give me one at regular speed, then that second one in slow motion.”
“Can do,” Slade said. The files transferred quickly, and Slade handed him the thumb drive.
Streets gave Slade an approving glance. “Thanks, buddy.”
𓂓
They had moved Clay from the trauma bay in the ER to an intermediate care unit one floor up. Jackie, Elena, Sally, and Sean huddled around Clay’s bed. Sean had introduced Jackie and Elena as they settled in. The nurse explained that, since Clay had regained consciousness, he had been demonstrating better reflexes. The potent muscle relaxer they administered seemed to be working. He also had a deep bruise on his right hip and a contusion on the right side of his head where he struck the fender. Otherwise, he appeared to be fine, physically. Although he made good eye contact and responded lucidly to questions, he hadn’t been very talkative, only giving one-word answers or shaking his head in reply. This despondency worried the nurses as well as everyone else.
When the exams were complete and the test results came back, the doctor paid a visit to the makeshift family surrounding Clay. “Good morning.”
Everyone nodded and murmured back in response.
“Who is next of kin here?”
No one spoke, except for Clay. “There is no next of kin, Doc. I’m divorced. My parents passed away while I was in college, only child...” He stumbled on the words and looked down in shame after being forced to bare his soul in front of complete strangers.
Everyone stared at him, stunned.
“Is there someone we can call?” the doctor pressed.
“No.” A tear rolled from the corner of Clay’s eyes as they swelled with wetness. “No one.”
Jackie realized why Clay hadn’t said much. Besides the shock of the accident, he was worried because there would be no one to have his back and see him through this. “We are here,” Jackie said. Sally and Sean nodded.
Elena put her hand over Clay’s and looked up at Jackie. “That’s right, Momma,” she said, then turned and gave Clay an earnest look.
