Strange Awakening by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 10
I woke the next morning to an already risen sun doing its best to peek out from sky covering dark clouds, nothing to get excited about, but a distinct improvement over the previous night’s half mooned queasy darkness. The news anchor was in a particularly jovial mood as he wryly told of the record turnout at the previous night’s NASCAR event in Indianapolis.
Apparently the crowd got so excited, when in the first drag event; a local racer set a new track record that they left the stands and milled about on the racing area. They wanted to personally congratulate their local hero so much, that they put an end to the night’s events, refusing to return to their seats.
I went to the kitchen to get some sausage and eggs, thinking about what kind of mood Butch would be in today. I’m the one who’s in danger. He isn’t yet, unless he manages to get that way because of me. It’s really asking a lot of him to get involved in my problems. What if the situation were reversed?
Would I put myself in danger to help some new acquaintance? I really didn’t know and without the memory of past some experiences, I had no idea of what I’d previously done in any similar situation, if anything. This does seem unusual, though and most likely I’ve never before been involved in this kind of crap. Since no one had elected to shoot at me yet, perhaps I
could get out of the whole mess, merely by not walking past the yellow house anymore. I could walk the other way and hope that I don’t run into anything criminal there, I guess. I could also go out of my way to avoid the lady in black, if I ever come near her at the reservoir again.
A deep blue 1975 Camaro pulled into my driveway. I hope they don’t have weapons. What can I do if they’re armed?
They’ll probably try to enter the backdoor. Maybe I can get out of the front door and get to the woods. They might not be able to find me there. I might also be able to get to someone’s house. Then I saw Butch get out of the car.
I went out the backdoor to greet him and said; “You asshole, you scared the shit out of me.”
Butch said; “That’s a nice way of saying good morning.”
“You know I’m freaked out about the people next door and you show up in a strange car. I thought people with guns were coming.”
Laughing, Butch said; “I didn’t bring my gun today.”
I couldn’t help laughing, too and said; “You should have.”
“Why, I’m not doing any kind of hunting.”
“Come on in for a while. Where did you get the new car?”
I led him to the kitchen table and we both sat.
“That’s really my brother’s. He left it when he moved out.
My other car got a little fucked up in the ditch in front of your house.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know, but it makes a rattling sound in the front.
Sounds like some piece of metal got loose.”
“Fine. Fine. You’re forgiven for taking ten years off my life. So, what are we going to do about the creeps next door?”
“I don’t know what you’re going to do. I don’t plan on doing a whole lot myself.”
“Oh, come on. You know yourself that there’s something evil over there. You said you would yesterday.”
“I’m not sure exactly what I said yesterday and neither are you. I think I only promised to be here at 10AM. I do know that the Masons own the property and I don’t want to get into any shit with Joe.”
“Joe may not be involved. He may just think that he’s rented the house to hunters from another part of the state, as usual.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“When you got out of your car, I noticed a flag decal of the good old US of A. They shouldn’t be doing that kind of shit here. Keep it in Thailand, or wherever else it comes from.”
“You don’t pay attention very well. I told you that is my brother’s car. I don’t have a flag decal on mine.”
“Well, forget that then. How about just because it’s the right thing to do?”
“Hey, Ed, Ed. Relax man. Let’s take a drive to the food store and stock up.”
“How can I relax when my ass is about to be grass?”
Butch didn’t reply, got up from the table and headed to the back door. I followed him to his brother’s car and got in the passenger seat.
It was an overcast humid day, threatening to drizzle at any time. We started driving and when we passed the yellow house, I noticed two cars in the driveway. Some guy I didn’t recognize was standing next to one of them and I could see him look our way.
“I think you just got in trouble, man. Now, they know you’re with me.”
“You keep forgetting that this is not my car. He didn’t get a good look at me. If they come looking for my brother, they’ll have a hell of a time finding him. He’s stationed in Saudi Arabia now.”
“Army?”
“Yeah, career.”
We continued on. Everything looked dismal in the gray morning. We were quiet for a while and when we got to town, I noticed something that got my curiosity going. In the midst of a lot of lesser houses stood a new brick Georgian colonial done impeccably. It must have been 6,000 square feet while the others ranged from 2,000 to 3,500. It just seemed out of place.
It should have been born someplace else. I wondered what the neighbors thought. Did they appreciate its beauty, or did they consider it ostentatious and begrudge it, secretly proud that someone considered their neighborhood good enough for something so fine and big. I decided that the neighbors probably would honestly answer yes to all of the aforementioned, depending on the day of the week and recent bowel movements.
I said; “Did you ever notice that brick house?”
“No, where?”
“Ah, we just passed it.”
“I’m going to go a different way today.”
Instead of continuing through the houses, he went down a side road, exiting on a road with nothing, but a park-like area with benches, parallel to the river. He drove slowly, as ducks would cross the road at times, often in a silly procession, acting as if they owned the place. We saw a few people sitting and a few walking around and looking at the old maintained outbuildings. It seemed very pleasant and then I saw it. At
the bend in the river stood a four level old red mill with its turning wheel in the water, slightly upriver from a 20 foot waterfall.
Butch must have noted my expression of awe and said; “This mill has been on the cover of many magazines about New Jersey.
It’s a standard feature in all the calendars. It might be the prettiest spot in the state.”
He pulled into a gravel parking area near the mill and stopped the car. He silently got out and I did the same. We walked to the mill entrance. The first level was actually made of stone, something like a foundation, but at least ten feet high. No one else was inside though there was a closed admission area and a closed gift shop. We looked around at the ancient farm tools and huge wooden wheels of all sorts. We went up stairs to the second and third floors, seeing more of the same, though the walls changed from first level’s stone to the opposing side of red wooden clapboard. The roof had a severely sloping uneven line, culminating in a 200 square foot room on the fourth and top level, which had nothing in it, albeit a few windows.
I said; “I wonder what they did up here.”
“I used to wonder that too. But, I think I figured it out.
They came here to hide.”
We were silent for a few minutes, looking at the views upriver and down. Butch then said; “I used to come here regularly as a kid. It’s so great. I don’t think I realized it then, but I used to think that everything would be like this forever.”
I noted the sadness in the comment and considered saying nothing, but stupidly asked; “What happened?
Butch made a snorting type of laugh and said; “I got married.”
I laughed too.
He continued; “Everybody I know tells me the same story.
It’s no big deal. What’s with you and your wife?”
“I don’t know. She sounds fine on the phone. But, things could not have been that great if she’s in Seattle and I’m here.”
Butch didn’t reply, so in a few seconds I continued; “I should have found a photo album. Then at least I’d know what she looks like.”
“That doesn’t matter much.”
“You’re probably right.”
“That witch I was married to was pretty typical. Like many, she initially said she wanted to live in rural beauty, escaping from some suburban misery she no longer wanted. After about a week she started to try to change her new home to what
she left behind. It’s stupid and she’s far from unique.
Probably, pretty common.”
I realized that I didn’t know where I stood on that one, as I didn’t even know if I was born here or moved here from elsewhere. However, I didn’t have any inclination to change anything other than my neighbor. Maybe, I’ll change my mind in a week. Before allowing the conversation to become too maudlin or questioning, I said; “What we need to do is continue on our mission. It’s pretty late in the morning not to have yet tasted any happy water. We might be withdrawing. Let’s get good and drunk. You can complain about your former wife and I can complain about my lost life and dangerous neighbors.”
“Sounds good.”
We walked downstairs and when we got outside we noticed about five fishermen in hip boots. They were standing in a shallow part of the river near shore, casting fishing lines further out.
I said; “They’re after trout, aren’t they?”
“Probably. One thing for sure though, is that they are going to have a great day.”
“We can do the same thing if we want to.”
“I guess so.”
We got to the Camaro and headed to the food/liquor store.
As we walked in I said; “Maybe we’ll get lucky and meet some adventurous wine guzzling females.”
“As long as it’s not my wife, it’s okay with me.” He paused a few seconds; then said; “But, you’re married, right?”
I made a face at him and said in a pejorative way; “Yeah, yeah.”
We instinctively headed to the appropriate aisle with Butch pushing the cart. No one else was in it when we got there.
Butch said; “The word’s out.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Probably, by now, the whole town knows about our inappropriate behavior and comments from the last time we were here.”
“That was no big deal.”
“You don’t know small towns, buddy. You watch. As long as we stay in this aisle, no one else will come in, until the manager finds some reason to help us.”
“That’s all just weird to me. I didn’t think any place was that bored.”
Butch laughed; “Why are you thinking so much? You have to ration it and save up for something important. Take my word on this one.”
I mumbled; “Like what? Some body trying to kill me?” I took a look at the wine section and made a few choices. Butch
kept to his customary beer specialty. I said; “I’m surprised you don’t get fat drinking all that beer.”
“Fat doesn’t run in my family.”
“Yeah, but lots of people have beer bellies.”
“That’s what they call them. There are a lot of fat people and they all have excuses for it. You can just pick whichever one you’re most comfortable with; beer, diabetes, fat mother, blah, blah, blah.”
That made a lot of sense to me, so I made no reply. We filled up the cart with our preferences and headed for the check-out line. I saw two people quickly enter the liquor aisle.
Butch volunteered to pay this time. He informed me that his parents went to gamble in Atlantic City, so he wanted to go back to his house today. He had some things he wanted to show me there. That was fine with me and we quietly drove back.
When we got near the yellow house, we noticed that a large tree limb was down on the road right in front of it, blocking the way.
I said; “This is getting ridiculous now. I really don’t want to see these fucking assholes. If they’d keep their goddamn property clear, we wouldn’t have to get stuck stopping.”
Worse, two cars were in the driveway including the red Toyota hatchback.
We drove up to the log and stopped. I got out and tried to move it, but needed help. Butch got out and grabbed the other end and we carried it off the road placing it in the two foot ditch on the border of the yellow house property. We started back to the idling car when both the lady in black and the 230
pound guy came out of the back door about 200 feet from us. He had his now customary rifle. I got pissed at again having gotten stuck with the creeps. I live here and would occasionally like to take an unmolested walk or drive down a public road.
I yelled out; “Bring that mother fucking gun near me again and it’s going to get stuck up your fat fucking ass.” They both stopped near the house, said nothing, but stared at us. Butch gave me a questioning look.
I continued; “Nobody has any interest in you or whatever the fuck you’re doing inside. So quit being fucking stupid and advertising your worries. I don’t give a flying fuck about how many little boys you give blow jobs to, faggot.”
With that we went back into the car and drove away. The two occupants of the house had a need for discussion. The lady in black said; “Well, it looks like he has your number.”
“This is no joke. He knows what we’re doing in here.”
“Correction, what you’re doing.”
“Oh, right, you have no part. Whatever. If people find out what’s going on here, you’ll be arrested, just like me. So, what do you think we should do, especially now that there are two of them?”
The lady calmly replied; “I checked with Joe. Neither of them have any credibility. One’s a hopeless drunk and the other has brain damage. They both have already filed police reports, but the cops know them and Joe. If they wind up dead, the public record has a strong suggestion of the primary suspect.
Let’s take him at his word, for now and say that he really doesn’t want to be bothered. It’s the easiest and least dangerous way. I’ll start looking for another rental elsewhere to continue business.”
“That’s a pain in the ass and it’s hard to find a place with this much privacy.”
“We’re making enough money to afford a short break and I’ll find one, if not in Jersey, then Pennsylvania. What better idea do you have? You don’t even know how to shoot that fucking gun straight, anyway?”
He was having a bad day, being insulted from all directions, but he saw the logic of what she said. This profession was quick becoming nowhere as easy as he originally thought. He tried to focus on the money rolling in. He went
back in the house, silently. She stared down the road at nothing for a few seconds and then followed him back in.