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It’s three in the morning per the mantel’s clock.
I can’t sleep. I’ve never been a good sleeper, and having my leg bonded in plaster doesn’t help the situation.
Since I’m thirsty, I get up for a drink but first use the facility, hopefully quiet enough not to stir Zoey. But the light flowing out of the upstairs guest room may mean she’s awake or has fallen asleep fully dressed again. Maybe she’s still texting Amir.
I feel bad we didn’t get to talk much last night.
After picking a glass out of the cupboard and filling it, I gulp down the cold water. I look out the kitchen window and see the swings and . . . the swings that started everything when those girls went missing.
As I head back to bed, I ask D—Are you around?
Of course, we’re always here for you.
Good. So nice to hear your voice again. It’s comforting at times not to feel alone. Zoey and Jeremy are wonderful, but I’m starting to miss my husband. I want to get used to being able to talk to you; it’s encouraging to know someone is nearby, anytime.
Yes, that’s how we designed it: to make you feel in control and a part of us, always.
Thank you. I do wonder, though . . .
Yes, we can see you’re troubled. Your heart rate has spiked. Is it about Jeremy and his feelings for you?
I don’t think so. I understand he’s lonely, but it’s in a different way. I want him to think of me as a sister, not a lover.
That makes sense. I think he’s getting the gist of things. Remember, he’s hurting—maybe more than you are, having lost both parents.
Could your restless mind be about James? Do you find his new beliefs discouraging?
Yeah, maybe that is why I feel down. Like I’m not good enough. Like my article had no substance. My heart wasn’t in it, so it didn’t read well. Do you agree?
Don’t worry about trivial things. It’ll all work out. You did fine. And maybe it’s good that it wasn’t one of your best works.
How can you say that? I only want to do my best and be the best. And this article, it’s trash. It’s not up to my potential.
No, we disagree, Sarah. It’s perfect. It’s well written.
You wait and see. If James is into his religion, this may be the best way to counter him—by not giving him the accolades he desires. If no one raves about the article, they won’t idolize him or praise him for being the only survivor, which he had no control over anyway. And if he has no platform to preach his flawed beliefs, then isn’t that better than him being personified and glorified? See, it’s perfect how it’s working out.
Oh, I understand. You don’t want him to get noticed because then he’ll be able to spew his God and Jesus lies more. Yes, that’s a great strategy! I never considered that angle.
Correct. We have it and him under control. You need not worry.
Okay. But you’re not going to hurt him or cause him any harm, right? I mean, he’s an innocent kid.
We have it handled. You did well, especially with your alphabet retort. That was priceless and so debate-worthy. Now go back to sleep. Only hours until it’s morning and a new day.
***
After dawn arrives, I’m awakened by Jeremy’s soft knock at the door. When I open it, he enters with three cups of Starbucks coffee and three choices of breakfast sandwiches that he tells me he had to wait in line for over an hour for. Knowing Jeremy likes the sausage one and Zoey would pick the egg white one, I select the bacon, gouda, and egg. What a nice treat.
Zoey clatters down the stairs in a huff and with motivation. “It’s a great day, guys! I’m early for once because I have to run over to my place and change shoes. Sar, do you think this skirt’s too short? Jer, do my legs show too much? I must look professional since I’m sitting in on a meeting with the head honchos, and I need to make an impression.”
Jeremy looks at her, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he hands her a sandwich, for which she appears grateful. She takes a bite and heads to the door, explaining she hopes to be home around five for once.
Of course, I tell her she looks marvelous, but she could find something a few inches longer and maybe pull her hair back into a bun instead of a ponytail. She’s stunning any way she looks, but if professionalism is the goal, notch it up a bit.
After she leaves, Jeremy and I plan our day. We’ll first hit Aunt Amy’s duplex ten minutes away and see what’s up there. Then we’ll go over to Jeremy’s parents’ house so he can look for their financial papers. On the way back (and if I’m up to it), we’ll stop by and see Carl at the office.
Since Zoey didn’t select my wardrobe, I ask Jeremy to go upstairs into Denny’s closet and find a pair of loose black drawstring sweatpants. He also locates one of my husband’s button-up collared shirts to put over my bulky arm. This time, we only cut a little slit on the pants to fit them over my foot cast. Dressing myself is a little more complicated, but I feel funny asking a guy for help. I roll up the shirt’s cuffs and put on a little makeup, so I don’t look dorky.
***
Before we leave my condo for our excursions, Amazon delivers my scooter and Jeremy quickly assembles it, showing me how I can get around more easily without my foot holding me back.
After popping a couple of Motrin and climbing into Jeremy’s Suburban, I feel alive getting out of the house.
The warm, cloudless sky makes the sun brilliant, so I don my oversized sunglasses to filter the glare and hide my bruised face.
Once Jeremy puts the scooter in the back, we head toward Sepulveda Boulevard. It’s already over seventy degrees out, and only a few cars are vacant on the sides of the wide street. Since it’s morning, only a handful of stores appear to be open, and there aren’t many people around.
“Turn left at the light and then an immediate right. Her duplex is the white one with the black trim; she’s on the right side, so park in the driveway since her car is probably in the carport.”
Jeremy obeys my directions, and when we arrive, he asks, “What will you do if we don’t find her? Have you heard from Denny’s brother yet?”
“I don’t know. If she’s not there, then I’ll have to file another OWL report. If she’s there, be prepared for her fire and brimstone sermon. She has no tact whatsoever and will leave you feeling lambasted. I did text Hal, but he’s in Israel—or was. Who knows?”
“Do we go knock on her door? If she’s not there, how will we get inside?” After exiting his side of the car, he opens my door and gets my scooter out of the back.
“Oh, ye of little faith! I have Denny’s keys, see?” I dangle the keychain in front of him.
“Ah, good. I’d hate to have to break the door down or crawl in through a window and have her neighbors call the cops.”
“Nope. Keys work great when in your possession.”
Using my newfangled scooter, I roll up the walkway and stop on her front porch. When I knock on her front door, there’s no reply, so we unlock it and enter.
It’s so quiet inside that we can hear a clock ticking. There’s nothing amiss in the living room, so I roll down the hardwood hall to the kitchen.
Her cat Isaiah warily greets us by meowing. I go into the tiled kitchen and check his self-feeding and watering bowls; only a few dry kibbles remain and maybe a half inch of water. Oh my. I forgot about her cat—a cat I’ve never liked. He scratched me once because I shooed him off my lap, and we’ve never gotten along since then. And whenever I visit, Aunt Amy knows to keep him away from me.
While Jeremy checks the rooms, I search through Amy’s cupboards and find the cat food, replenish the feeder, and add water.
“Sarah, come in here!” he calls to me from the adjoining dining room. “Look what I found.”
I let out a curse when my casted foot bumps against a chair leg as I enter the room on my scooter.
“Amy must have been on her laptop at the table,” he says.
Her glasses are on the keyboard; her clothing is draped haphazardly on the chair; her socks and shoes are under it. Her watch, earrings, and a cross necklace catch my attention.
“She’s gone.” I pick up her glasses and set them on the table. “She, also, was taken. Looks like I’ll have to file that report.” I’m dumbfounded knowing another person is gone, even though I didn’t care for her.
“Yes, and look here.” He motions to the tabletop. “Here’s her Bible. She must’ve been on her computer when it happened and was reading or studying something.”
“Oh yeah, you better believe that.” That’s peculiar. I wonder if she had sent me that email about how sorry she was for the way she’d been treating me right before she disappeared. I still have it in my inbox. “Can we fire up her computer and see what she was doing?”
“Let me try.” Leaning over, he slides the laptop in front of him, away from the Bible, and clicks on the blackened screen. When it asks for a password, he ignores the message and hits enter. The device instantly comes to life.
Hmm, was it set up without a security code?
In seconds, he tells me, “Yes, looks like she had her email browser open.”
Just then her screen goes completely dark. As if it was disabled.
D?
“That was weird,” Jeremy says. “The screen probably got shut down because I didn’t use her password. Oh, well. I don’t feel comfortable accessing someone’s computer without them knowing, especially your aunt, whom I know little about.”
“Interesting,” is all I mutter.
“I wonder what she was reading in this Bible.” Jeremy closes the laptop and swivels the book so he can view it, scanning the pages for any clues. A pink highlighted section on one side of the page catches his eye. He puts his finger on it and reads out loud:
For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so, shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words.
“Woah,” he adds. “So, you think your Aunt Amy was reading this page when the disappearances happened?”
“Could be—but what an odd coincidence.”
“I’ve heard these verses before, but never read them like this.” He fiddles with the book’s thin pages. “Kinda gives me the chills if it’s true, huh?”
“No. You’re not becoming like James, are you, Jeremy? You can’t seriously think there’s a connection between these verses in the Bible and what happened the other day, could you? Do you?”
“Well, how do you explain that strange tri-sound we heard that this passage mentions—that we’ve never heard before or again? Or what about the people being caught up in the air and all the disappearances? I’m not saying I believe it, but people are gone. Was it synchronicity? I’m baffled, that’s all.”
He shuts the Bible and returns it to its spot on the table.
“Stranger things have and do happen, Jeremy. When I found Denny, he was listening to some tape that mentioned Jesus and forgiving sins. I was so mad that I threw Den’s headphones against the office wall. That’s why I avoid that room—I don’t want the memory of my meltdown. Denny’s gone. Amy’s gone. And your mom’s gone. Gone. I don’t think they are coming back, either. And there’s nothing we can do about it. We must move on.”
I reverse the scooter into the kitchen. I’m not upset. I’m worn down, beaten by all of this. As Zoey had said, it just won’t stop. I’m drained. I want everything to go back to normal—any kind of normal that I can get used to. Call me selfish, but this is getting to be too much.
Viewer, do you feel the same? Like me, are you tired of it?
I glance over at the cat, who is finished eating his allotted meal and licking his paws. At the minimum, someone is getting what he wants.
Jeremy walks in and looks at the animal, who slinks over to him and is rubbing against his leg. “What are you going to do with Isaiah?”
“Well, not keep him. That’s for sure. I hate that thing. And he hates me.”
Jeremy picks up the feline and pets it. “Well, you can’t simply leave him here alone.”
“Why not? It’s not my cat!” I bark.
“Because that’s not nice. I-I’d never leave a cat all alone. Poor guy. He’s been in this empty house for days. If you don’t take him, I will. And gladly. It’ll give me something to love and care for.”
“Great. You keep the cat, Jeremy. Don’t tell me you don’t want him in a week from now when he destroys your furniture.”
“He won’t do that. He’s old.” He snuggles up to the critter.
I’m touched by his compassion. I don’t know what to do with a pet, having never had one.
“All right, Eyes—yes, E Y E S.” He spells the word out. “That’s what I’ll call Isaiah for short. Let’s find your crate, bedding, litter box, treats, and toys.
***
We climb back into Jeremy’s vehicle, cat and his paraphernalia et al. I can’t see this working out, but whatever—if that’s what makes Jeremy happy, and I don’t have to be involved, fine with me. One less thing to deal with.
We start the eight-mile drive from one side of the Valley to the other, but when we drive side streets to Victory Boulevard by Birmingham High School, it looks like there’s a protest or rally of some kind as a couple of hundred teenagers are in the street, blocking our passage. Several are carrying handwritten signs that state, “Goodbye, Believers” and “No More Jesus Freaks,” or others declaring, “We’re in control.” Several have misspellings or are interlaced with profanity.
Jeremy has me use his phone to take some pics and a video and asks me to forward them to Carl, who’s always looking for an interesting angle from today’s youth, especially right now.
It takes us longer to get through their barricade, but we escape with no damage.
After we cross the 101 Freeway and Ventura Boulevard (which is rather deserted, perhaps due to its many closed retail stores and restaurants), we head into the Encino hills off Havenhurst Avenue and wind through a street called Empanada Place, where it comes to a dead end.
There’s a thin gravel road that Jeremy drives on, and we take a couple of twists until we approach an iron gate around a fenced-in property.
He opens his window, keys in a password, and the gate opens.
I’m astonished. He had told me his parents were old school and liked living off the grid, but this makes me think of Charlie Manson’s ranch in Chatsworth, where his gang lived during the Tate and La Bianca murders.
We continue on the lane with a few more short turns.
Sensing my apprehension, Jeremy says, “Oh, calm down. This is where I was raised. It’s simply a house on some rural land in the Valley. Yes, a rare sighting in LA, but it was a fun place to live during my childhood because part of the property has access to Encino Reservoir. I can’t tell you how many times Dylan and I would sneak over there and play in the water. Dad would get furious when he found out.”
“It’s so remote.”
“Yes, that can be bad or good.” He pulls up to a driveway and parks his SUV in between the house and detached garage.
I notice his parents’ cars side by side in front of the building, but I don’t mention them.
In the dry California heat, I gawk at all the land with its many trees and bushes that dot the hillside.
The first thing the guy does when he stops the SUV is remove Isaiah from his crate. It’s almost endearing how he coos at the animal.
While carrying the cat in one arm, he pulls out the scooter for me with his other and brings it to my opened door, but the rolling device doesn’t handle the gravel well.
Inside the Lincolns’ one-story sprawling home, it’s as neat as a pin. Maybe too simplistic and sterile looking for my taste.
Photos of the two boys are on the fireplace mantel, so I ask Jeremy about them as he puts Isaiah down on the dated shag carpet.
“This one here, that’s when I was about five years old, and Dylan was nine.” He moves on to the next one. “Dylan and I love fishing, so that one’s at Lake Tahoe. Dad and Mom took us there often. We had a cabin there for several years until I went to college. By then, Dylan was at culinary school.”
“Is this your parents’ wedding picture? Your mom’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she was.” He picks up the framed photo with care. “Since both had been married before, they tied the knot in front of a judge in Santa Monica and honeymooned in Santa Barbara. That’s taken at a resort there. The lighting is stunning in that shot. The way the setting sun glistens off the water with them standing to the side makes it perfect.”
It’s nice to see Jeremy talking about his parents. I’m sure this is hard for him.
Wouldn’t you have trouble doing this, Viewer?
I can’t imagine going up to Denny’s office again. Maybe I can have Zoey help me clean it out, eventually.
He picks up the cat and directs me to a back room, which, I’m told, was once his bedroom and has been turned into his dad’s office. It’s got the original wood paneling typical of cookie-cutter ranch-style homes built in the 1960s.
Jeremy says this is the only home he knows, as he lived here most of his life. More photos flank the walls, mostly of mountain and river scenes. One could tell his father loved the outdoors.
“Did you take these, or did your dad?” I ask.
“They are all mine. Dad enjoyed my hobby as much as I did—well, he loved to be outdoors, and he loved me capturing the beauty.” He reminisces as he sits down at the desk, Isaiah resting on his lap.
He digs through the top drawer and locates a small black book. “I have to say that Dad was a perfectionist. He’s got every password ever used in this. And it’s in pencil, so I bet it’s up to date.”
“Whoa,” I comment, “your dad has an old computer.”
Its antique design takes over most of the desk with its large case.
“Yep, he only uses it for spreadsheets and printing out stuff. It isn’t hooked up to the internet; nothing in this house is. That’s why I couldn’t live here when I was in college. Sometimes, it’s cathartic to be in an electronic-free zone.”
Viewer, can you imagine that? No online access? No electronic texting or messaging? Nope, not my thing. Would you go crazy without it?
In the desk’s second drawer, a ledger is removed. Jeremy glances through the meticulous writings.
I don’t want to know about the family’s finances, so I keep myself busy looking at the many books about fishing, kayaking, and parks in America.
With a sigh here and there, Jeremy doesn’t say much more, but he writes some notes on a pad of paper on the desk. He rips off the page, puts it in the black book, and sticks both into his back jeans pocket. After putting the cat on the desk, he takes the ledger, opens a filing cabinet, gets out a large manila envelope, and inserts the notebook into it.
Next, he opens a closet, pulls out some file boxes, and sets them on the top of a credenza.
I ask if there’s anything I can do, but he says no.
With Isaiah warily watching us, swishing his tail back and forth, Jeremy gets down on his hands and knees to access a floor safe that’s well-hidden under the carpet. He knows the combination because, in seconds, the safe is opened. He pulls out a bunch of cash and asks me to count it. He removes all the other contents, mostly documents and certificates, and adds them to the ledger’s envelope.
I count the bills and report: “$15,820.00.” Wow, that’s quite a bit of cash to have lying around the house. But I make no additional comment. It’s none of my business.
“Looks like we’ll have to stop by the bank. Didn’t Zoey say that 10% starts today?” He finds another envelope to carry the bills.
“Yes. Good idea.”
Jeremy’s handling this rather well, don’t you think? Maybe going through this with him will help me deal with doing it myself. I don’t know.
We don’t go anywhere near the garage, but while Jeremy carries the cat throughout the house, searching for more cash and coins, I roll my scooter into the backyard and immediately notice the fruit trees and grape vines standing in perfect rows in the middle of the yard.
I pick up his mother’s clothing, go back inside, and discard them in her bedroom closet.
While I’m in the room, I peek inside one of the nightstands next to their bed. There’s a Bible in it, so I carefully pull it out. A small picture of two boys falls out. It’s like the one on the mantel when Jeremy was little, but this one is smaller with tattered corners. I put it back and wonder if she, too, had faith in a God who I don’t believe exists.
Next, I retreat to their kitchen and open the fridge, which smells a little stale. I find a box of baking soda, open it, and store it on one of the shelves, hoping it won’t get disgusting to clean the next time Jeremy visits.
So much to do. It’s overwhelming.
***
“What will you do with the house, Jeremy?” I ask as I get back in his SUV.
Before he answers, he puts Eyes back in his crate and collapses my scooter, putting it next to the animal.
He climbs inside the cab. “It’s paid off, so I’ll probably get rid of my apartment and move across the Valley. I mean, this was my house growing up. There’re too many memories to give them up.”
“That’s a good plan. If you update it—like add current day conveniences such as internet and cable—it’ll be more valuable.”
“Yeah, the land is a lot of maintenance, and it’s further away from work and you, but Eyes and I could do okay here, once I get rid of some of the things I don’t want.”
He continues, “Last night, I asked my brother what to do, and he doesn’t want to sell it either, so maybe I’ll pay him off and keep it.”
I think about how all the people left must deal with the mess of those who have disappeared. It’s too much.
Viewer, is your list of things you have to do growing, too?
We hit the drive-through at Jeremy’s bank (waiting almost an hour in line), and he makes the cash deposit. He asks me if I want to stop by work, but I decline since I’m worn out and my leg is starting to ache. We swing by his apartment on the way to mine; I remain in the front seat of his car when he unloads Isaiah and the cat’s possessions. I’ve no qualms with him keeping the cat and don’t bother saying goodbye.
***
When we return to my condo, it’s after noon so we grab leftovers for lunch. I remark how tired I am and want to nap.
I tell Jeremy that I don’t think it’s important that he stays, since Zoey will be home in a few hours, and I can fend for myself now that I have the scooter. He’s more than contented to comply now that he has a reason to go home.
After downing more Motrin, I bid him farewell and go lie down on my mattress, turning the volume low on the television for background news.
Before I drift off, my phone rings, and it’s my sister.
“Hey, Silvia. How are you doing?”
“Fair. I can’t get over the fact my babies are gone. It makes no sense. I’m trying to center on the positive, but I see none. I try to think karma will right the world, my world, somehow. But I have no closure.”
“Yeah, it’s hard,” I tell her about visiting Aunt Amy’s house, leaving out the Bible and email stuff. She thinks it’s good that Jeremy took Isaiah. I mention his parents and the bonus banks are giving, plus the website to file missing reports.
“Thanks for the info. I’ll get on both of those tomorrow.”
We talk about our parents being stuck in Oregon, unable to travel, and how the Pacific Northwest has been devastated by the earthquakes. There’s little positive news, and we both know it.
She says, “Oh, I’m going to email you some e-book links. They promote mindfulness involving being calm and learning to accept the unknown, especially during these trying times. I got them downloaded yesterday, and they’re helping me look forward not backward.”
“Thanks. Usually, I don’t care for those books, you know that, but maybe I can skim through one or two.”
Without thinking, I add, “I think I’m depressed. I’m despondent, probably because I’m overwhelmed with all the tasks of what to do, and I have it easier than others. I can’t imagine being in Jeremy’s shoes and dealing with everything about his parents’ property from now on.”
My sister doesn’t confront my feelings but says, “At least, he wants to move into it. Imagine if he had to sell it. Think about all the mortgages that are going to go unpaid and homeowners defaulting on their loans. How will the missing people change the housing market? And what about the insurance issues involving them? Then think about the missing children. In Tom’s and my case, we no longer have our babies, but Jack and Jasmine were adopted less than a year ago, so it’s not like we raised them and knew them well like other parents. But oh, I do miss them. It breaks my heart.”
“Yes,” I respond, bothered about the idea of having a baby, our baby, and knowing he or she no longer exists. Which further depresses me, but I won’t mention a word to her.
“But,” Silvia adds, “I saw this article online. China has been making AI children—realistic-looking humanoids that can interact with you and act like a child who has the abilities of a three- or four-year-old child, with skills such as cleaning up, fixing things, and responding to commands. I told Tom, and he thinks we should investigate it, like get on a list now. With the entire world having no kids who are that young and us not being able to get pregnant, we had better order one soon. What do you say? I wonder what Dad and Mom would think.”
“Hmm,” I say, “that’s something to consider, and it would help relieve some of the paternal and maternal angst after all the kiddos disappeared. And our parents would probably accept it, hoping you could get one soon.”
We talk a little more, but I tell her I need a nap, so she lets me go.
After checking my wounds, including my swollen eye that now has tinges of greens mixed with the blues, I snuggle down in my comforter and have restless thoughts about robotic children who go berserk and take over the world.
***
I wake up around four and text Zoey, asking what her plans are. She quickly responds she’s already on the 5 Freeway past the Getty Museum, whose parking lot is empty, so she should be home in less than an hour. We discuss dinner, and she suggests raiding her freezer and bringing something over to my place.
While scooting around the condo, I put my dirty laundry in the washing machine and start it, empty the dishwasher, and wipe down all the kitchen counters.
The key fob James gave Jeremy is left on the bar. I consider throwing it away as it has no use to me, but I push it aside, setting it next to our coasters. Maybe Jeremy wants it, but it should be tossed.
Zoey arrives a little after five with a bag of supplies. “How about steak? Does that sound good with asparagus and a salad? We should probably eat this stuff before it gets bad. I didn’t want to stop at the store. It’s almost been a week, and it’s still a mess out there. Plus, I heard store shelves are not getting restocked . . . or maybe it’s a rush on food. Crazy people.” She starts putting the food away. “Oh, where’s Jeremy? Upstairs?”
When I tell her he left me alone for a couple of hours, she’s enraged. I counter that I’m a grown woman and I can easily take care of myself, then explain what I have done the last hour (I don’t mention I haven’t turned the laundry over yet). I also say she doesn’t have to sleep here anymore, but she insists she wants to stay tonight.
Next, we work side-by-side preparing our meal. She tells me her meeting went well with the bosses and, on the QT, they will be setting up a digital card system for everyone to start using by the end of the month.
“Zoey, do you think this will stop all the hacking and stealing of identities?”
“Of course not, but it may deter it. However, it’ll have info on the cardholder that includes their fingerprint ID to make it harder to duplicate. Also, within two or three months, they will expand to a visible tattoo with a chip that is inserted into the back of the hand to eliminate all thefts.”
“Ha. But what if someone cuts off my hand, takes it, and scans it?”
“Funny you should mention that, as it was brought up. They explained that VPR, known as Vascular Pattern Recognition, which uses what’s called near-infrared light to reflect or transmit images of blood vessels, has advanced its biometrics to include a human chip designed to work only with live blood, so it is tapped into the vein. No blood, no clearance on scanning the chip, which includes a tattoo on the skin that can be easily recognized.”
“What do you think about it?” I question. “I mean, isn’t that, like, prophetic from the Bible stuff Aunt Amy preached? Like what they call the ‘Mark of the Beast’?”
“Well, I’m not completely gung-ho about it. I see its value but wonder if the system is getting a bit controlling. Seems we are all becoming slaves—if not to our electronics, then to the system that makes them.”
She gets out a spatula from a drawer and says, “Oh, I didn’t tell you—when I was walking over here from my place, I ran into Gus. know, the pool guy with the nice tan?”
“Yes, didn’t he ask you out once?”
“He did, but I told him I was unavailable. I mean, c’mon, men who maintain pools don’t have much potential.”
While I’m setting the table, a doorbell ring interrupts us, so Zoey answers it.
I rarely hear someone ring our bell—everyone I know always knocks unless it’s a stranger.
“Hi, is Sarah here?”
Zoey is startled. She stops, then turns to me saying a young man is asking to see me. It’s James. What’s he doing here?
I tell Zoey to let him in. He enters, and I introduce the two.
Courteously, Zoey asks James if he would like some dinner.
Immediately, I evaluate if it’s the right move.
He replies, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was. Thank you for the offer, but I better not, ma’am.”
Zoey stops in the middle of plating the food. “Ma’am? Please, I’m not an old biddy. We have plenty of food. What male teen would turn down a steak? You’re a growing boy and need the protein, kid. Please come sit down with us, at least.”
Shaking my head in disbelief that this young religious fanatic is in my home, uninvited, I give up and join the conversation.
“James, have a seat next to me here in the dining room. We’re talking about Gus, our complex’s pool man. Anyway, Zoey, why did you mention him?” I return to the conversation as she pulls the roasted asparagus out of the oven.
“He’s so mad! He says someone, obviously a male, left their swimming trunks in the jacuzzi—it must have been days ago. And they got sucked into the pump and broke the entire motor. I mean, who leaves their clothes in a pool? Who knows, maybe he was taken?”
She looks at both of us without talking and then soberly adds, “Yet, as I told you the first night when the disappearances happened, I wonder if it’s we who are untaken.”
I don’t speak. The last thing I want to do is get James started on his Jesus talk.
But he puts his two cents in, saying, “Untaken? Yes, I guess I would say I’m untaken, too, like from the Rapture. Perfect description, Zoey. I—”
Flustered, I immediately cut him off. “James, why did you stop by?” I’m not ruining this meal by talking about religion.
After grabbing the third steak that was meant for Jeremy, Zoey places full plates of food in front of us and retreats to the kitchen to get hers.
James asks, “You know that flash drive I gave Jeremy?”
Oh, yeah, that bunch of nonsense that belongs in the trash! But I hold my tongue and reply nicely, “Yes, is there something wrong with it?”
One can only hope.
“Oh, no, I need it back.”
Zoey sits down with her plate. “What’s this about? Did I miss something?”
I give her “the look.” Yet, she pays no heed to me, giving James full attention.
“It’s a USB drive with a bunch of Bible stuff on it, including what happened six days ago. And there’s this video on it called What Tribulation Saints Need to Know, plus one on the Mark of the Beast, which is all about this man—the Antichrist—who says he can save us by establishing permanent peace.”
He takes a breath, then continues, “But I know better; I know what happens next, because it was predicted two thousand years ago, and it’s all coming true right before our eyes. After researching, I discovered the truth for the first time in my life, and I found answers that make sense. It’s coming, and this gadget explains it all.”
Smiling, he adds, “I’m so glad I turned my heart over to Jesus and believe He died on the cross, shedding His blood for my sins. I am—”
Suddenly, there is a loud beeping sound. It’s the smoke detector!
I’m astonished. Are you, Viewer?
Zoey runs into our utility room and gets a broom.
I question her actions as I hold my hands—yes, including my wrapped hand—against my ears, wishing the noise would stop, but thankful it forced James to quit his sermonizing.
Zoey pulls out one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, moves it by the oven, and climbs up on it. She wields the back end of the broom at the high ceiling’s detector, trying to hit the little red button. After multiple tries, she hits her mark, and the unit goes dead.
Relieved the noise is gone, I calmly say, “James, please don’t talk about God or Jesus in my home, or you will be uninvited here. I don’t appreciate your proselytizing. You may be hyped up on your beliefs, but I, for one, want nothing whatsoever to do with them. And I’m sure Zoey feels the same.”
If he’s going fanatical on us, there’s no way I’m going to pitch Carl to hire this kid.
Zoey climbs down off the chair and puts it back, along with returning the broom to where it belongs.
James replies, “Okay, Sarah. I understand. But please, I do need that flash drive back, if you still have it. It didn’t download everything when I copied it, so I want the original again.”
I motion to him its location by the coasters on the bar.
Without eating a bite of food, he gets up, retrieves the flash drive, and says casually, as if there was no disagreement, “It was nice to meet you, Zoey. Thank you for offering me dinner, but I think I should go now.”
He leaves without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.
“Whew,” Zoey sighs. “What was that all about?”
“The boy has found religion and is turning into a zealot. I had to shut him down, quickly.”
“Oh, I see. He sure is enthusiastic about it,” she replies.
“That is true, dear friend. And you know I don’t go there, ever.”
“Yep, that’s true, too, Sar.”
***
After we finish our meal, bag up the untouched steak, and clean up the kitchen, I’m still a little agitated, and Zoey knows it. She gets out the bottle of red wine she brought and pours herself a glass, then she gets out a second glass and offers me two small ounces, which I greatly appreciate.
When we settle in the great room, with both of us on the couch and me with my cast resting on a pillow on the table, she asks how my day was. I walk her through the hours, mentioning Jeremy finding all the cash and getting the bonus. I tell her about Aunt Amy and finding her clothing, but I omit all Bible talk. She agrees that the cat needs a home and approves of its new owner.
We talk for hours, mainly about her work and my pain level being incredibly low for someone who fell down the stairs. When she says that it “must have been a God thing,” I shake my head, and she apologizes for the faux pas.
While on her second or third glass of wine, she intersperses Amir into her conversation—he did that, he did this, he’s so wonderful—on and on. They hope to go out in two days, so maybe she’ll cut back on the infatuation stage where one wants to know everything about the other and tell everyone he or she knows how perfect the person is for them.
When it’s a quarter to midnight, we’re talked out, so we both head to bed.
What a full day it’s been.
I head to the bathroom to change into my pajamas. After brushing my hair, washing my face, and putting on moisturizer, I stare at myself in the mirror.
D? D, you had me going today!
Clever of us, wasn’t it?
Twice, right? You shut Amy’s laptop down and set off the smoke alarm. All remotely.
That we did, dear.
And I see what you mean about Zoey not being fully committed.
Correct. She’s on the fence. Let’s help her swing to our side, right? And you’re the one who can help us do it.
Yes, and I’ll do my best.
But it’s James who bothers me the most. What will you do with him?
Don’t you worry. We’re working on that, and you may be the one to help us out.
That would be my pleasure, D.
Good girl. Oh, and your numbers are through the roof! We’ve tripled your viewing stats, something no one else has accomplished. We’re all quite proud of you. You’re doing an excellent job.
Thanks for the accolades. I like it when I do the right thing and help others; it makes me feel good.
There’s a pause in our conversation. I wonder if D has left without saying good night.
No, we’re conversing offline. We’ve agreed to send you a $50,000 bonus to thank you for your loyalty and persistence. It’ll pop up in your bank account in the morning.
Wow, 50K? I didn’t expect that. Thank you! It’s so nice to be appreciated! You guys rock!
No, you deserve it. It’s all about you and what you’re accomplishing—for us. Thank you.
Good night, D of Numen.
Good night, Sarah Alexandria Colton with the handle of ValleyGirl.
I smile. You know everything. No one uses my middle name, not even my parents.
After I take a couple more Motrin, I crawl into my makeshift bed, realizing what a long, emotional day it’s been.
Tossing, turning, and not able to sleep, I text Jeremy, telling him to enjoy his cat Eyes and to not come over until after noon because this girl is sleeping in for once.