“Wait.” He reached into his shirt pocket, took out a matchbook, tossed it to me. “There. New Line Motel,” he said.
“Say I come by about six?”
“Okay.”
He settled up and we parted on the street.
“See you,” he said.
“Yeah.” Bye-bye, Luke Raynard. Strange man. We’d known each other for almost eight years. Had some good times. Competed in a number of sports.
Used to jog together almost every day we’d both been on the track team. Dated the same girls sometimes. I wondered about him again—strong, smart, and as private a person as myself. There was a bond between us, one that I didn’t fully understand.
I walked back to my apartment’s parking lot and checked under my car’s hood and frame before I tossed my pack inside and started the engine. I drove slowly, looking at things that had been fresh and new eight years before, saying good-bye to them now. During the past week I had said it to all of the people who had mattered to me. Except for Julia.
It was one of those things I felt like putting off, but there was no time. It was either now or not at all, and my curiosity had been piqued. I pulled into a shopping mall’s lot and located a pay phone, but there was no answer when I rang her number. I supposed she could be working full-time on a dayshift again, but she could also be taking a shower or be out shopping. I decided to drive on over to her place and see. It wasn’t that far. And whatever it was that she had for me, picking it up would be a good excuse for seeing her this one last time.
I cruised the neighborhood for several minutes before I located a parking space. I locked the car, walked back to the corner, and turned right. The day had grown slightly warmer. Somewhere, dogs were barking.
I strolled on up the block to that huge Victorian house that had been converted into apartments. I couldn’t see her windows from the front. She was on the top floor; to the rear. I tried to suppress memories as I passed on up the front walk, but it was no good. Thoughts of our times together came rushing back along with a gang of old feelings. I halted. It was silly coming here. Why bother, for something I hadn’t even missed. Still . . .
Hell. I wanted to see her one more time. I wasn’t going ‘· to back out now. I mounted the steps and crossed the porch. The door was open a crack so I walked in.
Same foyer. Same tired-looking potted violet, dust on its leaves, on the chest before the gilt-framed mirror-the mirror that had reflected our embrace, slightly warped, many times. My face rippled as I went by.
I climbed the green-carpeted stairs. A dog began howling somewhere out back.
The first landing was unchanged. I walked the short hallway, past the drab etchings and the old end table, turned ‘and mounted the second staircase. Halfway up I heard a scratching noise from overhead and a sound like a bottle or a vase rolling on a hardwood floor. Then silence again, save for a few gusts of wind about the eaves. A faint apprehension stirred within me and I quickened my pace. I halted at the head of the stairway and nothing looked to be out of order, but with my next inhalation a peculiar odor came to me. I couldn’t place it-sweat, must, damp dirt perhaps-certainly something organic.
I moved then to Julia’s door and waited for several moments. The odor seemed stronger there, but I heard no new sounds.
I rapped softly on the dark wood. For a moment it seemed that I heard someone stirring within, but only for a moment. I knocked again.
“Julia?” I called out. “It’s me Merle.”
Nothing.
I knocked louder.
Something fell with a crash. I tried the doorknob. Locked.
I twisted and jerked and tore the doorknob, the lock plate, and the entire locking mechanism free. I moved immediately to my left then, past the hinged edge of the door and the frame. I extended my left hand and applied gentle pressure to the upper panel with my fingertips.