Chapter 5

I managed to carry both banker boxes up the stairs without dropping them. Pausing for breath, I decided I might as well go down and get a few more rather than wait to have them brought up. After several solitary trips from the bottom to the top of the house, I had gathered six boxes. They lay in a row against the back wall, like I was doing a forensic analysis or trial preparation for a big case. I was glad I was having a chance to organize the search at the outset. If ever there was an example of the difference between Johnny and me, it was in what I was doing now.

I believed in results based on meticulous preparation, while Johnny was inclined to avoid what he considered unnecessary work. Johnny did put in the required effort when needed, but his greatness lay elsewhere. His strengths were in the performance, the presentation, his passion, and his ability to get others to do what they would consider either beneath them or beyond them. He was a master of persuasion. Growing up, I had admired him, but I had been jealous too.

Life for him had seemed so easy, while I stumbled a lot. When things got unbearable, I had fled. Of course, life is never easy for anyone, even Johnny Dodge, but it had taken me years to understand that.

I sat down heavily. My thoughts had drifted down into what I considered to be my dark place. Months had passed since I had last wallowed in self-pity and depression. As usual, the reason was the crash.

Johnny and I had been so close growing up, only to go our separate ways. The split had happened years ago and had been completely my fault.

We had both graduated from college and then grad school — he in economics and me in financial analysis. Over a round of drinks, Johnny and I had decided to create a partnership. Our rise had been spectacular. I did the analysis. Johnny executed the trades and handled investors. We leveraged everything and anything, and after five years we were on easy street. We had made a fortune — not a large one, but impressive nonetheless.

That next summer, I traveled to Europe on a whim, while Johnny held the fort.

I was in France when I saw a chateau by a lake, complete with gardens and a small vineyard. It was for sale, cheap, and I wanted it. I realized then that I had the chance to own something comparable to the splendors that surrounded me growing up. I flew back the next day determined to make that dream a reality.

In truth, I had the money to buy the property right then and there in my portion of the partnership, but Johnny and I had made a rule: don’t take money out of the business. If we needed cash, we made it. I was just a few good trades away from my dream. I got to work and came up with a foolproof plan. Soybeans were the commodity that was poised for greatness, and we would be too.

I convinced Johnny that beans would rise dramatically. He agreed, and he executed the trades, but just after our buy orders filled, soybeans started to collapse. I told Johnny that something was wrong, and that we should get out of the position immediately. Johnny entered the sell orders, but before they could process, soybeans had reached a price so low that the commodity could no longer trade per the rules of the exchange.

Soybeans did not trade the next day, or the next, or the next. Each day the price dropped to the limit, and our sell orders remained unfilled.

Each day, 15 percent of our net worth disappeared. I was at fault. I knew this. I was paying the price for wanting something just for me.

By the fourth day, I found myself drunk in a bar. I told my tale of woe to anyone who would listen. I was eventually asked to leave. On the way back to my apartment that afternoon, I made a deal with God that if soybeans traded that day, I would quit the business. But beans did not trade that day.

On the fifth day, I decided that I was getting out of the business, God or no God. The moment I announced my decision to Johnny in his office, soybeans traded. All our sell orders filled in an instant, and we were out of soybeans altogether. We had experienced a catastrophic decrease in our equity.

Perversely, soybeans reversed like a scalded dog shortly thereafter, only we were no longer in the market. The train to riches left without us on board. Our trades had marked the top of the market and the very bottom. To me, the timing was a sign. All that was left for me to do was pack up my office.

Johnny tried to console me. He said I just needed to get back on the horse. He said these things, but I could tell his confidence in me was shaken. I told him I didn’t have any fight left and that our business was over for me. I had dropped ten pounds in five days.

In my mind, I had had my chance, and I had blown my opportunity utterly.

There was a clause in our partnership agreement that if we experienced a decrease of over 50 percent in a single quarter, we would return all funds to investors and dissolve the partnership. Luckily, the investors were just Johnny, a few clients, and me. I used the remaining part of my equity to return them the value per their last statement, avoiding any possibility of legal entanglements. I had a little left over but not that much.

I shook Johnny’s hand, mumbled my sincerest apologies, and took the first flight I could get out of New York, which happened to be to Los Angeles.

Months passed before I pulled myself together. My money, what was left of it, was disappearing fast. I decided to resurrect myself in a new field: forensic accounting. I started from my rented apartment. Little by little, I began to make ends meet, and within a few years, I had several clients in the form of legal firms that needed my services. I leased a proper office. I kept raising prices to get rid of the few clients who were bothersome, but they kept offering to pay me what I asked and more. I stuck with it.

I would read about Johnny in the papers from time to time. He had joined with his dad at Dodge Capital.

Johnny and I had not met since the disaster until a year ago. I had flown to New York to see a client and ran into him at the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis. Nothing had changed. He was the same — flamboyant, brilliant, and persuasive.

Any jealousy or resentment I had harbored toward him had evaporated by that time. I had grown to accept my own limitations, but more importantly, I had accepted that others struggled similarly, albeit on different issues. He still considered me his friend, and that was a relief. He never blamed me for what happened, and for that I would forever hold him in high esteem.

I sighed and looked around the common room. I was back on the top floor, sitting on the couch. The dark clouds in my mind had moved off, and the sun appeared to be shining again. I was filled with wonder to be here at Rhinebeck. I had been so certain that I would never see this place again, but here I was. Johnny and I had started a new chapter, and that was a good thing.

I looked at all the boxes in front of me. I needed to do some work. My dark thoughts could return just as quickly as they had dissipated unless I kept my mind busy on other matters.

I grabbed a legal pad out of my briefcase and began to catalogue and separate the hundreds of pieces of correspondence from periodicals, auction house brochures, and what looked like manuscripts from colleagues that had been forwarded to Alice to be checked.

I had gone through three boxes when I found something that I thought might be of use — a manila envelope addressed to an M. Thoreau, care of the Carlyle Hotel, from Alice in her personal hand. The envelope had been returned marked unable to forward and postmarked close to the date of her death. I debated opening it but thought Johnny should be present. Johnny was taking a long time with Stanley, and in this house, I knew from experience that to remain alone for long was not a good idea.

Much of this feeling was probably the result of an overactive imagination growing up. Just the same, Johnny and I often felt there was more going on around us than we could see. I would often have nightmares sleeping here.

My nameless fears and troubled sleep followed me to the West Coast. I decided to master fear in general by swimming alone in the ocean after dark. In deep water off the coast of California, I would occasionally feel myself lifted by the displaced mass of something large passing beneath me in the darkness. It would take all my self-control and effort to continue to count my strokes and keep a measured pace, lest my imagination take over and I scream and flail in panic at the thought of what hunted below.

Such attempts at mental toughness had proved only partially successful. Darkness and the same nameless fears remained and were still my foes that stalked me just outside my vision, like the unknown predators of the deep that made their presence known, even if indirectly. Routine and a measured pace were my only anchors and salvation as I tried to quell my unruly imagination. I endured each day through discipline and effort rather than simply vanquishing my terrors to the nameless abyss from which they issued.

I shuddered. The envelope I held in my hand was definitely from Alice. It could mean something or nothing. I couldn’t tell.

Alice and I had shared a bond, but that was long ago. In my attempt to put my life back together, I had put on hold many memories and debts owed to those who had helped me in the past, not the least of which was to Alice. Without her sixth sense, I would be dead. It had slipped my mind completely.

Alice had been a watchful presence while we were growing up, but in spite of her vigilance, strange things had a way of happening.

The game of hide-and-seek was a house favorite in which adults as well as Johnny and I participated. Alice would play when she was there, along with Johnny’s parents. It was mandatory entertainment for houseguests.

The rules were simple. There was one seeker, and all the rest were hiders. The seeker was chosen by lot.

After one hour, announced by the striking of the hall clock, the game was over. Any hiders not found were declared winners. The field of play was the entire house other than the servants’ quarters. Adult winners were awarded the beverage of their choice, while Johnny and I received cups of hot cocoa. The game was held after our dinner and before the adult cocktail hour.

The seeker was to remain in the drawing room until the clock in the reception area chimed, at which point he, or she, was free to hunt. I remember Alice always cautioning the field that no hider was to remain hidden for over sixty minutes and had to report back to the drawing room shortly thereafter or be disqualified.

As we grew older, the game devolved to only Johnny and myself with no set starting time, although after dark was preferred because the house was creepiest at night. We added rules and subtracted them, but the one-hour rule we always retained.

In one round that occurred shortly before the arrival of Miss Ponchikov, I was the hider and had managed to get into the trunk room that was located at the top of the servants’ wing. Although not exactly off limits, it was not precisely inside the established rules of the game either. Usually the room was locked. The rules stated unequivocally that the servants’ quarters were out of bounds, but the trunk room, although in the servants’ wing, was not technically part of the servants’ quarters, since no servant lived there. At least that was my logic at the time.

Was I cheating? No, I had thought. Besides, I wanted to get one over on Johnny, and this hiding place I felt pretty certain would do just that. In addition, I could scare the pants off him if I opened a trunk from inside and screamed as he approached.

The trunk room contained more luggage than a luggage store. There were dozens of suitcases and dozens of trunks in all shapes and sizes. Lighting was by means of two bulbs in metal cages suspended from the ceiling.

One large trunk, set apart from the others, looked particularly promising. It was almost six feet long, three to four feet wide, and two to three feet deep. The sides were of black leather over a hard wood of some sort. There were brass fittings on all the corners, but they had grown dark with age. There were dull brass strips along each edge and brass bands that circled the trunk both lengthwise and crosswise.

The locking mechanism was made of a metal other than brass, perhaps hardened steel, and looked particularly robust.

The lock was made up of two parts. A hinged portion that lay flat when closed but connected to a bottom part that contained the lock. The key was in it and attached by a chain to an eyelet. The key could be removed and the chain clipped to a ring for safekeeping when traveling. The key, too, was unusual. I unclipped the chain and examined the key closely. It was a work of art, complicated, finely cut, and intricate. One would not be able to pick this lock easily. This trunk would keep out all but the most determined thief, even if he had all the time in the world to open it.

After I inserted the key again and turned it, the lid opened smoothly on hinges hidden from view. The top and sides were lined with cushioned white satin held in place by hundreds of small brass studs in a regular pattern. The bottom was of the same white satin but with no cushioning.

Stepping inside, I felt like I was climbing into a coffin. I hesitated as I sat down before lowering the lid. What if the lid somehow locked? I decided to be very careful in how I lowered the lid, and just before I did, I remembered I still held the key in my hand and that the lights were on — a dead giveaway. I was pondering this when I heard a sound that might have come from the hallway outside. Quickly I got out of the trunk, tiptoed to the light switch, and turned off the lights. I felt my way back in the darkness and got back in.

I reached up and pulled the lid down. It shut faster than I expected and closed with a mild thump followed by a click, the sound of which was quickly absorbed by the trunk’s lining. Was that the lock clicking into place? I was astounded at how truly dark it was. I opened my eyes and closed them. I could not tell the difference. What about the key? I tried to remember whether I had left the key in the lock before I got in. I pushed the lid. It did not budge. I searched for the key in what little room I had. In spite of my rising panic, I was able to think clearly enough that not having the key was more promising than if I had found it. Just the same, I had moved in a fraction of a second from experiencing a childish game to deadly peril.

I would like to think that I behaved admirably, but I did not. It was when it seemed hard to breathe that I started to become truly frightened; then I panicked in earnest. I screamed. I screamed over and over, but my cries were muffled in the confined space and only seemed to make my predicament worse. In time, I knew I would run out of oxygen and suffocate to death — my mummified corpse to be found years later, or maybe never. All I could do after that realization was whimper.

What started then was a peculiar dialogue inside my mind of cold logic on one side and panic on the other. I would observe myself crying and screaming. In a calm voice, I would think, This is what it’s like to die. I thought death was supposed to be extremely painful and awful. It doesn’t seem that way. I’m too young to die, but that’s what’s going to happen — such a waste.

While part of my mind remained calm, the other part went through endless loops of hope, fear, tears, and angry desperation at my approaching death. I don’t know how long I had been in the trunk, when suddenly the lid was flung open, and there were Alice and Johnny looking at me. I wasn’t sure how they had found me, or even if they were real, but there they were.

I was led away barely alive, given some brandy, and put to bed.

Later, I had to explain exactly how I managed to get into such a dangerous position. I told them I really had no idea, but I promised not to be so stupid in the future. I had never seen Alice upset, but she was then. She said she should have locked that trunk and taken the key. Johnny’s parents as well as the entire household were beside themselves. My escape had been a close call.

Afterward, I lay in my bed and Johnny came into the room and sat down next to me. He looked a little pale.

“That was close. I had no idea where you were.” He breathed out heavily.

“Leave it to me to both win and lose at the same time. I locked myself in a trunk. How stupid can you get?”

“Pretty damn stupid,” he said and laughed. I did too.

“How did you know I was in there?”

“It was Alice. I was searching upstairs when I turned around, and there she was. She asked me what I was doing. I told her we were playing hide-and-seek. It was pretty weird. She looked upset and proceeded to go through the house room by room really fast and then headed for the servant’s quarters. I followed her as she zeroed in on the trunk room. She opened the door and saw the trunk. She actually said the F word, as well as a few more. The key was in the lock, so she opened it, and there you were. You looked rather awful.”

“Yeah, I felt rather awful, and I was pretty sure that was the end for me. I really thought I was going to die. I mean, really.”

“You had that look that said your rescue was a near thing. I would’ve been so pissed at you. You’ve no idea. By the way, Aunt Alice said something else under her breath. She said that wasn’t the first time that trunk had locked someone inside, whatever that means. The moment was very creepy. I had no idea what to say, so I just shut up.”

“You didn’t ask her what she meant?”

“Are you kidding?”

“No, no. You did the right thing. Better to have let that slide.”

We sat there happy to be in each other’s company. Finally, I said, “I guess we won’t be playing a lot of hide-and-seek for a while.”

“Looks that way.”

After I recovered the next day, our hide-and-seek activities were severely curtailed and replaced by a great deal more household chores for the duration of that vacation.

That was a long time ago, but the incident could have been yesterday. I remembered what happened so clearly after having forgotten all about it for so long. I got up and went downstairs.