Ghost Shadows (23 page)

“But what about
. . .
?”
t
he young assistant asked curiously stopping short of completing his question.
 

The doctor stared at him sternly and insisted, “I told her nothing. And as far as you and I are concerned, there is nothing else to tell; nothing to tell her and nothing to ever tell anyone else. And since you and I are the only two people who know the entire truth and we will never speak of it again the secret should remain a secret. Also, I had better never hear anyone else in this township repeating any such story back to me, or I will most certainly know exactly where it came from. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Clear as clear can be
,
”
t
he assistant replied appropriately chastised. “I swear, I won't say a word about it to anyone.”
 

With that, the doctor and his assistant got into their car and drove away in silence. The doctor
went
over in his mind the incredibly impossible results of his examination. It was beyond his understanding, beyond his comprehension how such a thing could possibly have occurred.
 

When he had autopsied Paul Simmons, he never expected to discover what he saw upon cracking open the man's chest cavity. No one ever would have anticipated finding the dead man's heart impossibly split cleanly in two.
 

 

Be Careful What You Wish For

 

Be careful what you wish for because you

just might get it.

—
Unknown
 

 

The only suitable gift for the man who has everything is your deepest sympathy.

—
Imogene Fey
 

 

Protect me from what I want.

—
Jenny Holzer
 

 

 

It had been yet another in a seemingly endless series of monotonous days; a day just like every other boring day of late and Stephen had become frustrated beyond his ability to reason. He had had enough of walking about aimlessly with no destination, no plan. Was this truly to be how he would spend the rest of his natural life? He felt as if he might lose his mind and scream with insanity just thinking about how miserable his life had become. How it consisted of the same old tiring routines day after day, week after week for low these many years.

This was all the more frustrating because Stephen knew he had enough money to be in complete control of every aspect of his life—much more so than most people. Nonetheless he continued to trudge along with the same mundane daily routine without deviation. And although he hated his life he did nothing to try to change it because he knew it was of his own making and emotionally he no longer had the ability to change anything. An outside observer might say he had everything, but Stephen knew in reality he had nothing, at least nothing that really mattered to him any longer.

Stephen had fallen into an exceptionally deep pit of depression having no idea how he might possibly go about digging himself out and really no longer caring if he ever did. He had been depressed before, several times over the years but this time it seemed much worse than ever. The creeping bouts of malaise had slowly begun several years earlier shortly after it had all happened; after his pitifully bad luck had done an abrupt about face; that is to say, at least from an economic standpoint.  

Now Stephen had the kind of financial good fortune most people only dreamed of. He had never even imagined having such vast amounts of money. However he knew if he could be granted just one wish, that is to say one more wish, it would be for everything to return to the way it had once been and all of what he now possessed would simply go away. But Stephen knew there would be no more wishes for him; those days were long gone. If he were going to find a way out of this miserable pit of despair he would have to do so of his own volition.

What Stephen did understand however was he had to come up with some means by which to put some sort of distraction or excitement into his life; something new; something to stimulate him; even if that something was something out of his control and potentially dangerous. He needed to find some activity that might possibly represent some sort of alteration to his normal mind-numbing practices; any sort of change whatsoever.

Stephen no longer worried about death or injury; his luck was much too good to allow something as trivial as physical injury to occur. He had tried all of the most hazardous of activities he could think of, from mountain climbing to sky diving to bungee jumping to walking down a dark alley with one hundred dollar bills hanging out of his pockets, but he realized his good luck would not allow him to be hurt.

At one point during one of his past bouts of depression he had actually considered trying to commit suicide but he instinctively knew no matter how hard he tried he would never succeed; his good fortune simply would not permit it. He was destined to live a long and healthy live of great wealth; a life he no longer wanted.

As he stepped onto the elaborate brick and stone porch of his enormous mansion, Stephen thought about all he had acquired and about all he had lost and about how foolish and naïve he had been. God, he missed his wife and daughter so much, and no matter how much money or good fortune came his way it would never even begin to make of for their loss.

He inserted his key into the lock on the finely handcrafted front door, and with a click he walked into the darkened hallway. He switched on the overhead hall light, which simultaneously turned on a small lamp on the oak hall table. He knew he should have put the table lamp on a timer but Stephen had no interest taking the time to bother with such things. The dense mist of apathy that had taken over his psyche like a creeping fog of malcontention was most likely responsible. It could also have been that he simply found technology to be more of an annoyance than a benefit. This was also the reason why he was able to enter the home without hearing the blaring of an alarm system in desperate need of resetting. He just didn't feel like dealing with the hassles of owning such devices. Besides, he knew he had nothing to worry about from any living being.   

Stephen casually approached the hall table and placed the large grocery bag he was carrying on top of the table, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wrinkled lottery ticket and laid it next to the bag. He took off his coat and hung it in the hall closet, deciding to walk down the hall past the living room and out to his kitchen. Perhaps he could make himself something exciting for dinner. He was not much of a cook, but maybe the distraction would be a good thing. He knew he could simply select any one of hundreds of phone numbers in his smart phone and he would be able to order whatever he wanted from wherever he chose any time day or night.  If he so desired, he could hop on a plane and fly to France or Italy or even China simply for the purpose of having an interesting meal.  

“I think that's about far enough,” Stephen heard a gruff voice say from inside the living room as he attempted to pass by the wide arched opening. He looked up and saw a trace of shadowed movement from deep within the darkness. A few seconds later he caught a glimpse of two dark eyes reflected in the light from the hall, along with a flash of something metallic located approximately waist high.
 

A gun, Stephen thought. There's an intruder in my home and he has a gun. Yet he remained surprisingly calm as if the sight of a weapon pointed in his direction was a daily occurrence, which of course it was not.

It was just that Stephen had realized the intruder, who although intent on something nefarious, might actually prove to be exactly what he was looking for; the answer to his own unending plight. He tried to see back into the gloom to determine what the prowler might look like but could only see the man's pale extended hand; the one holding a very menacing looking pistol.

“You know,” the mysterious stranger said, “owning a house like this and not bothering to install a security system is pretty damn stupid, in my opinion.”

Stephen didn't reply but stood staring into the darkness. The intruder continued, “I could have simply come up behind you and slit your fool throat if I was so inclined. You are either extremely naïve or very stupid. If you hadn't come home just now I had every intention of robbing you blind. Oh, and for the record, I still plan to do just that.” The robber was caught off guard when instead of appearing terrified Stephen shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't care one way or the other. Stephen stood quietly for a few more moments before shaking his head as if disbelieving the strange situation he now found himself in. And then to make matters worse, Stephen chuckled aloud, unable to control himself.

“I don't see what you find so funny,” the stranger said with rising indignation and a significant amount of confusion. “In case you haven't noticed, I have a gun here, Einstein. And that means I hold your life in my hands and can end it at any time I choose with the simple pull of this trigger.”

Stephen was perfectly aware of the severity of his situation but what the intruder didn't realize was that it was this entire situation that Stephen found so oddly amusing.

After a few more moments of silence, Stephen finally decided to speak up and said with surprising calm, “Yes, I see your gun. And, yes, I can also see it's pointed directly at me. But I think I need to let you in on a little secret. If you truly believe you hold my life in your hands, then you are sadly mistaken, my friend; because you do not. However, if it makes you happy to believe in such fairy tales then by all means go right ahead and shoot.” Then Stephen waited a beat expecting to hear the crack of gunfire, feigning nonchalance while all the time hoping against hope that his amazing luck would suddenly fail him and he would be shot and finally reunited with his family. But there was no gunshot.

Although Stephen couldn't see the man's face he was quite certain he must have worn an expression of utter astonishment at this last audacious statement. After all, what sort of madman would so boldly suggest to someone pointing a gun at him that the attacker should pull the trigger? But Stephen knew things, many things that the intruder did not. And even without that knowledge Stephen was fairly certain the man was not even an experienced burglar and certain by the man's actions so far he was not a murderer by nature. Had the intruder been so inclined he would have simply knocked Stephen unconscious or killed him already rather than stopping him and issuing what Stephen was certain was an idle threat.

“No, I didn't think so. I don't believe you're a killer, my new mysterious friend,” Stephen said now standing in a surprisingly relaxed pose as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Look, buddy,” The man replied nervously growing obviously more nervous, “I'm not your friggin' friend. And maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not a killer; at least I may not have been a killer when I walked in here, but that don't mean I can't become one.” Although the man was still hidden in the shadows, Stephen could see by the way the gun was fidgeting in the reflective light that the man was getting anxious and uncomfortable.  “Look . . . I'm a very desperate man, and desperate men have been known to do things they might not normally consider . . . especially if they are pushed too far. And for your information, you are beginning to push me too far.”
 

Stephen said, “Although you may not believe it, I honestly do know where you're coming from and I understand your situation completely.”

The man waved his gun in a menacing manner and replied with frustration, “Understand? Understand? How in the hell could you possibly understand what I'm going through? Look at this place. It's a mansion; a friggin' palace. You're obviously filthy rich and you want for nothing, while every day for me is a struggle just to try to survive.”

Stephen insisted, “Look, despite outward appearances, I understand more than you realize. And I can empathize with you. Please, allow me to help you. Just tell me what happened to you to drive you to this. And considering that you plan on robbing me anyway and have already threatened my life once, I think you owe me that much. Wouldn't you agree?”

“What? Agree? Are you insane? I don't owe you a damned thing.” The man shouted, “I'm here to take your money and that's all you need to know. That and the fact that if you don't tell me where you have hidden your cash, I'm gonna splatter your guts all over the wall.” He lifted the gun shakily and shouted, “And don't think for one second that I won't do it either!”

Stephen tried again to reason with the man using a calm voice. “Easy now, my friend. I have every intention of giving you everything you want and possibly even more than you anticipated. All right? For starters why don't you come over here and look in this grocery bag. You can have everything inside if you want it. Go ahead. Take a look. It's all yours.”

“What? Groceries?” The man screamed. “I'm not here to beg for food, you idiot, and I'm not looking for your charity either. I am here to rob you—R-O-B—rob! So give me your money. NOW!”

“Well then,” Stephen replied still sounding strangely calm. Then take a look inside the bag and I promise you won't be disappointed.

Furiously, the man waved his gun, ordering Stephen to step aside. Then forgetting himself, the robber stepped out from the shadows and for the first time Stephen got a good look at him. He was a tall, thin, relatively good looking man with dark hair and surprisingly intelligent eyes. Stephen had expected a thug or perhaps at the very least some sort of street-smart tough guy. But what he saw before him was someone who was very much like he had once been. The man was obviously inexperienced in his new chosen profession. Stephen was suddenly filled with excitement at the potential the man offered for him. This man really could be the answer to all of his prayers.