Community Property

Chapter 2
Chapter One: In Poetry

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Chapter Description: Jack opens the door to the rest of his life. But how much of what he can see -- or hear -- can he trust? Chapter Two will be posted on Tuesday, 22 April 2014.

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Jack Brite appeared comically distorted in the ellipsoidal reflection the doorknob offered. When his hand came upon it, he felt a peaceful sense of warmth radiate up his arm, as though the afternoon sun had been shining on the metal device for hours. But the doorknob, much like the portal to which it was attached, was cloaked in perfect dark.

Chris is not much going to care for this, considered Jack with half a grin. He turned the knob; it did not protest. He leaned the weight of his body into the shining oak. It, too, yielded.

“Da Capo,” thought Jack. “From the beginning.” Well, this is the beginning of something, all right.

Jack entered the inner sanctum, determined with streetsmart efficiency that danger was not at hand, and closed the door behind him.

The first half of the room – as in, the half nearest the entrance – would have led the common observer to conclude that the area was a maintenance closet. Cans of paint in various states of order were stacked against one wall. Against the opposite, a pair of mops, a broom, and a pile of brushes could be seen. Filthy black binders covered in the white fingerprints of powder and caulk lay scattered about. The “treasure” of the mysterious room was, at least in part, a tremendous disappointment.

But the far end of the room had Jack in its clutches straightaway.

A heavy desk of a dark, hard wood, perhaps mahogany, dominated that part of the room and left an impressive footprint. Atop it rested some common tools and accoutrements of the academic… a globe, a perpetual-motion machine, a quill pen in a cubic glass, an emerald lamp with a shade shaped like a headache pill.

Someone sat at the blotter, scribbling furiously with a ballpoint pen. Moments later, her gaze rose to meet Jack’s.

She smiled, and Jack was won at once.

If the girl was older than Jack, he surmised, it was not by much—and she was certainly no younger. Auburn hair spilled from her head and touched her shoulders. Her mode of dress was simple and contemporary—a green flannel button-down blouse that hung loosely, a turtlenecked t-shirt beneath it in black, and a pair of jeans that looked like they came from a place that didn’t charge a month’s rent for them. (Refreshing angle for a teenage girl, thought Jack.)

Most crucial, however – to the boy, at least – was her great and unassuming beauty. Though he didn’t recognize her, she could have come out of any one of Jack’s high school classes, and she could have gone to the dance with any one of his peers. Yet she looked upon Jack with a humble warmth that set him immediately at ease.

“Hello,” she said, softly.

“Hello,” Jack replied, and he swallowed the lump of surprise in his throat so that the few steps he took towards the girl at the desk took on the appearance of total confidence. It was a neat trick. “My name is Jack. Jack Brite.”

The girl set down her pen, pushed her chair back, and moved to shake the boy’s hand, which she did. “Eve Chinaski. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting any company this afternoon.”

“Neither was I. What are you doing here?”

“Probably the same thing you are.”

“Urban exploration?” asked Jack. At once he wished his voice had sounded less doubtful.

“If that’s what you call it.”

“Sitting at a desk?”

“Hey,” smiled Eve, “who says exploration has to take place on moving feet? I write. I read, I think, I gather, I… guess. I find the things I discover while seated with an open mind are usually a hundred times more interesting than the things I find in flight.”

“Do you always speak in poetry?” asked Jack.

Eve chuckled. “You flatter me. I find that, when I get deep into my writing, it can be hard to turn off the purple prose.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I could go.”

“Why go?” Eve hadn’t made any motion to return to her seat at the desk. “Are you presuming we weren’t meant to meet?”

“I, uh, don’t put much stock in that sort of thing.”

“What if I told you,” said Eve, almost tantalizingly, her smile turning coy, “that I was certain we were meant to meet?”

“I’d think you were flattering me.” It was Jack’s turn to chuckle. He noted inwardly that the sun was projected to set in fewer than 60 minutes, and he preferred to be back in the suburbs by the time the sky’s starlight was swallowed by the light pollution of the city.

Eve took one step closer to Jack. “Did you or did you not think this room was a music school before you entered it?”

Jack’s mouth suddenly went dry. “I… uh…”

Eve said nothing more. She just smiled. She knew when she’d hooked one.

“Would you excuse me for just one second?” asked Jack.

“Of course,” said Eve. “I’ll be here when you return.”

Jack Brite left the room, noting with a quantum of unease that Eve, again, made no move to return to her desk. He shut the door behind him and fished his smartphone out of his pocket. A few finger presses of the speed dial, and the phone’s earpiece offered up the tone of a dialed number.

“This is Dr. Conrad,” came the voice at the other end.

“Chris, it’s Jack.”

“Jack, good evening! Your timing is reasonably good, as usual. I’ve got a few minutes till my next patient.”

“Listen,” said Jack, his breath quickening. “I think I’m having an episode. Those ‘clues’ we talked about? I think I came across one.”

“Calm down, Jack. Take a breath.” Dr. Conrad’s voice was quiet and controlled, as usual. Jack had always appreciated that about him more than anything. “Where are you?”

“I’m… trespassing. I’d rather not say.”

“I can’t talk to the police,” Chris reminded him. “Not unless I think you’re putting yourself or someone else in danger. So let me know, already.”

“It’s a building downtown.”

“Abandoned?”

“Of course.”

“I thought we discussed laying off the urban exploration for a little while, Jack.” There was very little scolding in the doctor’s voice, but it was there nonetheless. “At least until you got adjusted to your new medication.”

“You also said I could talk to you anytime, and if I don’t miss my guess, I have two minutes left to do that.”

“Less. Now, Jack, to which ‘clue’ are you referring?”

“Reading my thoughts. This girl I met—”

“A girl you met at school?”

“—No. No. A girl I met just now. Just listen to me, Chris. It feels like she read my thoughts.”

“Which is a sign you’re imagining her,” the psychiatrist reminded him. “How did this connection come about?”

“There’s a sign on the door leading to the room I found her in,” Jack explained. “It says ‘da Capo.’ So I thought the room was a music school, and the girl inside seems to know I thought that.”

“That’s not a very long shot,” said Dr. Conrad. “It’s a pretty common musical term.”

“Jack?” It was Eve, summoning the boy from inside the room. “Are you coming back in?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Just a second.”

“I gotta go, Jack,” said the psychiatrist. “I’d trust my cautiousness if I were you.”

“Wait! Just wait a second.” Without hanging up, Jack turned the knob on the door and reentered the room—now dimly lit, the green Tylenol lamp struggling to compensate for the retreating sun. Still, Eve stood there.

“Jack?” said Chris. The teenager could hear the beckoning voice of his psychiatrist and returned the phone to his ear as he approached a concerned-looking Eve. “Do you know what ‘da Capo’ means?”

“It means ‘from the beginning.’ Here, would you just talk to her for a second?” Eve tilted her head as Jack started pointing at his phone, signaling that he was a half a moment from handing it to her.

“Not literally, Jack!” said Dr. Conrad. “Literally, it means—”

Eve held out her hand. Jack pulled the phone away from his ear. He put it a half-inch above Eve’s waiting palm and let go.

The small device fell through her hand as though the appendage was made of air. It fell to the floor and broke apart into a dozen jagged pieces. The SIM card slid across the room like a hockey puck and fell through a heating register with a diminishing series of echoing clatters.

Jack looked up in confusion. Eve was smiling. He moved to touch her shoulder. His hand touched nothing.

“Literally,” said the girl…

Jack heard a loud click, like the report of a gun, erupt into the evening air. The door behind him had locked.

…“it means ‘from the head.’”

---===== to be continued =====---

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