Digital Magic - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It takes over an hour to get back home.  Street lights blaze as I walk to my apartment building.  I can't believe how late it is.  Lance and I talked longer than I expected.  Not a bad way to end the day, really.  It means that I'm off on my assignments, though.  Good thing I give myself an extra day to waste somehow when I do my homework.

I unlock the apartment door and step in.  The place is dark; Trish isn't home yet.  I turn on the main light.  There's a couple of newspapers on the floor that weren't there when I left.  Trish must have bought them on her way home this afternoon.  I pick them up and take them to the dining room table.  She'll find them there eventually.  I set my backpack down in my bedroom then return to the living room.  I think about going back to the game, then decide against it.  I don't feel like getting the gloves to work with my computer tonight.

Instead, I flop on to the easy chair and turn on the TV.  Mindless entertainment sounds good right now.  I flip through the channels, trying to find something decent.  The networks are still trying out their new shows, but nothing interests me tonight.  I set the channel to CBC Newsworld to act as background noise for now.

I get up and go over to the bookcase.  Reading sounds better than watching TV right now.  I scan past Trish's fantasy novels and my murder mysteries.  I settle for a Rita Mae Brown book here.  I've read it enough times that the spine is worn, but it has always worked as a comfort read when I need to unwind.

I return to the easy chair and curl up in it.  The heat comes on, hot air blowing noisily through the vents.  Within a few moments, I'm warmer and engrossed in my novel.

The door rattles.  I look up from my book, waiting for the sound of Trish's key going into the lock.  The rattling continues.  I set down the novel.  The sound of voices comes through the door, but I can't make out what they're saying.  It's two people, though, both men.  I uncurl myself and lean forward in my chair, ready to dash into my bedroom if I have to.  The door handle rattles again, more violently this time.  As soft as I can, I get out of the chair and pad in sock feet to the phone.

The rattling stops.  I wait, not wanting to breathe, hoping that whoever it was has left.  I pick up the phone receiver, and hold my hand over the buttons, ready to dial 911 if I have to.  After a number of minutes, I let go of my breath and move my hand away from the phone dial.  I'm hoping that it was friends of a neighbour getting the apartment number wrong.  Still, I punch my mom's phone number.  She answers during the first ring.  "Hello?"

"Mom, hi, it's me," I say, the words escaping in a jumble.  "Can you send Dad here?"

"What's wrong, honey?  You sound scared."

"I am, Mom.  Someone was at the door and tried to come in."

"You should call the police!"

I roll my eyes.  "I think they're gone, Mom, or I would have.  Can you send Dad over anyway, just in case?"  I feel ridiculous, needing my Daddy.

"We'll be right over.  I'll call you from my cell phone."

"No, Mom, I'll call you.  I don't want anyone to hear a sound from here."

"Okay.  Give me five minutes to find it, then call.  We'll be right over."

"Thanks, Mom."  I hang up.  I hate this.  I hate feeling like I'm being stalked.  I'm getting paranoid.  Maybe Mom was right; I should call the police.

Mom should have found her cell phone by now.  I quickly dial the number from memory.    Mom answers it during the third ring.  "Hello, Jackie?"

"Yeah, Mom, hi.  You and Dad are still coming?"

"We are, honey.  Are you okay?"

I nod, then realize she can't see me.  "I am.  I'll be better when you get here, though."

"We're getting our coats on now."  I can hear my parents' front door opening.  "We'll be in the car soon.  How was your day, Jackie?"

"Besides being scared witless right now?"

"Besides that, yes."  My mom's tone turns condescending.  "Anything interesting happen?"

"School was okay.  Got another assignment."

Car doors slam in the background from Mom's end.  "I'm sure you can get it done."

"Already started it.  I should be able to finish it by the weekend."

"Oh, speaking of the weekend, your cousin Hannah is going to be in town Saturday with her fiance.  We're having dinner with her and you're invited."

Mom's invitations are mandatory when family is involved.  "I'll be there for five at the latest."

"Oh, good."  Mom's next few words are muffled by Dad starting the car.  "—and they're so excited about it."

I grunt noncommittally.  Hannah's engagement is big news for Mom's generation, not so much mine.  My cousin is four years older than I am and has been seeing this guy since she first went to Queen's in Kingston.  I've met her fiance.  He's not too bright and misses half the jokes anyone makes.  Hannah's happy, but only because she hasn't gone out with anyone else.  Her siblings have tried to tell her this, I've tried to tell her, even my cousins on the West Coast have tried, but Hannah the stubbornest cousin in my family.

"Oh, try to dress up a little.  Your aunt and uncle will be joining us, too, and it'd be nice to have a dinner without where you weren't wearing grubby jeans."

"Yes, Mom.  Can you ask Dad how much longer you'll be?"

I hear Mom covering the cell phone's mouthpiece.  I switch the phone from my ear to the other while waiting for her to return.  The background noise from Mom's end returns.  "He says another ten minutes.  Are you still okay, dear?"

I glance over at the door.  The handle isn't moving and I don't hear anyone on the other side.  "I'm good.  Tell me when you're at the door so I can let you in."

"Of course, dear.  How's Trish doing?  Is she scared, too?"

"She's at work, Mom.  She'll be home in about an hour."

"Maybe we should take you home with us.  We can get your bed ready."

"Mom, I . . .."  I think about the offer.  After the other oddities happening to me, being home with my parents sounds good.  "Sure, Mom.  I'll pack when you get here."

"I'll help.  Oh, wait, we're turning on your street."

"Okay.  I'm going to hang up so you can buzz me."  I can feel relief starting to build in me.  I'll feel more once my folks are here.

"All right, dear.  Bye."  Mom hangs up.

I set the phone back down and fumble with the ringer's volume.  I should be able to hear it, but it won't carry far.  I grab a piece of paper and write a note for Trish letting her know where I'll be and what happened.  I'll call her when I get to Mom's, too, to give her a head's up.

I can barely hear the phone when it rings again.  I answer it with a whispered, "Hello?"

From the apartment entrance, I hear Mom saying, "Jackie, it's me."  I press the button to let her in then hang up.  I sit down on the arm of the easy chair and wait.

The knock at the door startles me.  Dad calls, "Jackie, it's us, your Mom and Dad," from the other side of the door.

I dash over to unlock and open it.  Mom and Dad stand there.  I have never been so happy to see them.  Tears well in my eyes.  I hug Mom.  "Thanks."  I sniffle a little.

Mom returns my embrace.  "It's okay, dear," she soothes.  "It's okay."

I try to regain my composure and show Mom and Dad into the apartment.  Dad prowls around the apartment to make sure there's no one else in while Mom heads to the kitchen to put water on for tea.  I follow her.  "Mom, you don't need to do that," I say as she sets the kettle on the stove.

"There's always time for tea."

"I'm going to be packed before the water's ready."

Mom turns away from the stove to face me.  "Not if you argue in here with me."

"Mom . . .."  Faced with that logic, I leave for my room.  I pass in Dad in the living room.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod.  "I'll be better when I'm out of here tonight."

"Need help, Jacqueline?"

"I just need my things for tomorrow.  Want to come in with me?"

I lead Dad into my room.  He sits down on my bed while I grab my night things and some clothes for tomorrow.  I stuff everything into my backpack.  "There."

Dad picks up my pack with a grunt.  "What do you have in here?"

"Laptop, text books, spare battery, my clothes, the usual.  Why?"

He slings the pack on his shoulder.  "And you carry this every day?"

"Not all the time.  It's easier when I drive."

Dad lets me leave my room first.  At the door, I take a backward glance at the mirror.  The reflection is just of Dad with my stuff.

In the living room, Mom's already waiting at the door.  She opens it and lets Dad and me leave.  We all walk down to the street and to my parents' black Dodge Charger.  Dad got rid of the station wagon after I moved out.  Mom's been patient with him driving it around the city, though I can tell she's not entirely happy with his choice of car.

The drive to my parents' home is uneventful.  Mom has Y105, the country station, playing.  Dad has learned to tune out Mom's musical tastes.  I don't mind it.  It's soothing right now, not because of the music but because of its familiarity.  Mom always had country music playing whenever we drove anywhere.  My back and shoulders relax, the tension fading.

We pulling into my parents' driveway in Kanata, a suburb whose delusions of being a city got crushed in the massive merger into Ottawa a few years ago.  Dad gets my backpack out of the truck while Mom opens the front door.  I wait for Dad before going inside.  He sets my stuff down in the vestibule while Mom gets water boiling.  Tea sounds like a good idea now.

First, though, Trish.  I get my cell phone out of my bad and dial Trish's number from memory.  After three rings, I'm sent to her vocie mail.  "Trish, it's Jackie.  You better check your messages before going home.  Okay, when you leave work, come straight to my parents' place.  Don't go to the apartment.  I'll explain later.  Okay?  Okay.  Bye."  I hate leaving messages.

I hang up and put my phone in my pocket.  The smell of brewing tea comes from the kitchen.  I join Dad in the den and wait for Mom to bring the pot of tea.  I settle on the couch.  Of course, I now realize that I forgot my book back on the table.  I think the TV is still on unless Mom got it.  My mind was in too much of a rush to think about those things.

Mom sets the tea down on the coffee table.  I let Dad get his first, then I pour mine.  The smell of the English breakfast tea warms me.  Mom sits down finally to get her cuppa.  She looks over at me expectantly.  When I don't say anything, she asks, "Well?"

Under her relentless gaze, I answer, "Thanks for the tea?"

"Jackie."  Her tone is serious; she wants an explanation.

"Mom, I don't know.  It could have been a neighbour.  It could have been kids.  I never looked."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

I sigh.  "I was scared, Mom.  It never occurred to me.  Besides, what if I was overreacting?"

"What if it was someone looking for a girl on her own to do with as he wished?  Next time, you call the police, okay?"

I give in.  "I will, Mom."  Something vibrates on my thigh.  I shriek and slap at whatever it.  That's when I realize it's just my phone.  My parents look at me like I've gone insane.  I pull out my phone.  "Yes, what?" I snap.

"Hello to you, too, Jackie," Trish says at the other end.

"Sorry."

"What's up?  Why your parents' place?"

I fill Trish in on the evening's fun, slightly censored for my parents' benefit.  "Just come straight here, okay?"

"Give me a half hour, okay?  I'll stop somewhere to get underwear.  I'll call if I get stuck."

"All right," I say.  "Just, don't take too long, okay?"

"Don't worry, Jackie.  I'll be there.  See you soon."  She hangs up.

I put my phone down on the end table beside me.  I let my parents know that Trish is on her way.  "I should get my stuff unpacked.  Is my old room still good?"

"It is," Dad says.  He gets out of his chair to get my backpack.

I head upstairs ahead of him and to my bedroom.  Mom's changed things since I left home.  She's bought new bedspreads for the double-sized bed I used to sleep in when I lived with my parents.  I left the bed behind when I moved out; it was going to be a bitch to just get out of the house let alone into the apartment.  My posters have been replaced by paintings and framed photos.

Dad sets down my pack just inside the door.  "You're welcome to stay anytime you want, you know."

I kiss Dad on the cheek.  "I know.  Thanks, Dad."

He leaves, not closing the door behind him.  I flop on the bed and stare at the ceiling.  I try to remember the last time I had a chance to just relax today.  Too much weirdness happened.  Maybe the eyes aren't just a figment of my imagination.  Don't ask me how, though.

I remain on the bed to just daydream.  A car pulls up outside, interrupting my fantasies about James Marsters and David Boreanaz.  I pull aside the curtain a little.  Trish gets out of my Honda, shopping bags in her hand.  I run down to the front door and open it for her.  She gives me the hairy eyeball as she walks.  "What?" I ask.

Trish looks over at Mom and Dad.  "Later."  She sets down her bags.

"Would you like anything?" Mom offers.

"I couldn't," Trish answers.

"It's no problem, really."

Trish has been through this song and dance before and knows to give up.  "I could use a sandwich.  I had to rush through dinner tonight.  Work was a bear."

Mom beams.  "We have ham, bologna, salami, I think there's turkey unless Marty ate it."  Marty's my Dad, Martin Hart.  "There's also lettuce and tomatoes if you want those, and mustard."

"Can I get a turkey sandwich with lettuce and mayo?"  Once Mom has disappeared into the kitchen, Trish pulls me aside.  In a harsh whisper, she asks, "What is going on with you?"

I glance around the front hall.  "Upstairs once Mom's done feeding you, okay?"

"I expect the full story."

"You'll get it.  Promise."

Trish leaves me to get her late dinner from Mom.  I slump back upstairs to my bedroom.  This day has to end soon.  I'd ask what else could go wrong, but I'd find out.  Probably the roof collapsing or my mattress springs all going at once.  Once more bizarre happening and I'll scream.

In my room, I fall on my bed, face first.  The top blanket smells like it was washed not long ago, the scent of lemon detergent still lingering.  It's relaxing.  I inhale the aroma a few more times before I roll over on my side.  The mattress is still soft and feeling overstuffed.  This might be the best night's sleep I'll have this semester.

Trish knocks on the door before she enters.  "Jackie?"

I wave without turning.  "Yeah, I'm here.  How was the sandwich?"

"It hit the spot."  She closes the door behind her.  "You've been acting strange lately.  Do you want me to take you to the doctor?"

"I don't know, Trish."  I roll over to face her.  "All this week, I've felt like I'm being followed.  You know I'm not normally paranoid.  Today, though . . . Someone's after me, Trish."

Trish sits down beside me at the foot of the bed.  "Who'd do that, though?  It's not like you have lunatic ex-boyfriends.  Hey, what happened to Zach?"

"He's in Toronto at York University."  Zach was my boyfriend through the end of high school.  We drifted together, more or less, during the summer between grades eleven and twelve and did the prom thing as a couple.  In fact, and Trish only suspects this, he was my first lover.  We drifted apart when we chose different universities to attend.  "Zach wouldn't stalk me.  We didn't have the type of break up that involves stalking and boiled bunnies."

"Anyone else you might have pissed off?"

"I don't know, Trish.  Really.  If anything, I'd be stalking the guy from work last summer, not the other way around."

Trish lays down on her back.  "What about that guy you met this weekend at Shattered?"

"Steve?"

"If that's his name."

"I never gave him my phone number or my address.  He was fun to be with, but getting sick."

"What about the eyes?"

I close mine.  "What about them?  You never saw them.  No one did, even at school this morning."

"No wonder you're feeling paranoid."  Trish rolls to her side so she can face me.  "Did you get a look at them?"

"I saw them, yes."

"But could you recognize them?"

I shrug, then I try to remember what the eyes looked like.  "They weren't Steve's."  A memory resurfaces.  "Besides, when I left the club with him, I felt like I was being watched."

"Not Steve, then.  Okay, were the eyes from a man or a woman?"

Again, I shrug.  "I'm not sure.  Might . . . might have been a woman's.  Don't quote me on it, though."

Trish smiles.  "That solves it, then.  Steve has a jealous ex-lover."  She giggles.

"It's not funny, Trish."  I slap her shoulder.

"I'm just picturing you fighting for your man."

"Oh, please."  I fold my arms across my chest.  "And it was two guys at our door this evening, not a woman."

Trish manages to compose herself.  "Are you sure?"

"I heard them talking, but I couldn't make out what they were saying."

"Maybe they were her brothers?"

"Maybe."  I'm not convinced.  If the appearing eyes are for real, they don't look like an insane stalker's.  They're not wild.  More calculating, cool, appraising, even.  Oh, what do I know about crazy other than I'm starting to feel I'm out of my mind.  "How was work?" I ask, changing the topic.

"Hectic.  The truck was late arriving yet again, so several of were pulled off the floor during a rush to get things out."  Trish shakes her head.  "Jason, the acting manager, is getting tired of it.  On the plus side, I could be moved up to assistant manager when Jason's acting is made permanent.  Oh, and Simon stopped by tonight.  He invited us, you and me, to dinner at his place Saturday night."

"I can't make it," I say.  "Hannah's in town and Mom's having a 'Meet the Fiance' dinner for her and her boyfriend."

Trish narrows her eyes.  "You're just saying that so you can stay home and game all night long online."

I shake my head.  "Ask Mom.  I found out about it tonight.  I'd rather be with you and Simon."

"You're off the hook for now."  Trish checks the time on her watch.  "We better get to sleep soon.  The extra commute is going to be a killer tomorrow morning."  She gets up and heads to the door.  "I'll just grab my stuff from downstairs.  Towels are where they're usually kept?"

I nod.  "And thanks for listening to my demented ramblings.  I'm really sorry for snapping at you on the phone."

"Don't worry."  Trish leaves, closing the door.

I get changed then turn down the blankets.  I slip under the covers, taking comfort in the familiar feel.  From the bathroom I hear the sound of the shower.  I turn over on my side and fluff the pillow to wait for Trish to return.