Unseen. Part 1

UNSEEN.

by John Michael Hileman.

A special thanks to author Dianna Young.

for inspiring this book.

Chapter 1.

There was a disorientation in not knowing where or who she was, but Abigail At.w.a.ter waited patiently for it to sort itself out; it was her nature to be forgiving. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a wrinkled hand, and squinted at the sun glinting off the windows of the tan brick building across the street. It had been a high school in years past, but now was an apartment building for the lower to middle cla.s.s. This was her destination. She was sure of it. But the reason had not yet solidified in her mind. She shrugged internally and wiped more sweat from her upper lip. Though it was early, the temperature had already reached a blistering eighty-eight degrees, but a smile stretched out on Abigail's face. She didn't mind the heat. In fact, she quite enjoyed the feeling of warmth enveloping her body.

She gripped her cane and put weight on it as she looked back at the building looming behind her. It was shiny black, and covered in scaffolding. Construction workers crawled like ants upon the rigging and the noise of heavy machinery filled the air of downtown Sunbury.

Sunbury. The name instantly gave birth to images and feelings. She knew this place with its normally quiet streets and friendly people, but it looked different than she remembered it, more cluttered and busy.

It had not yet grown into an adult city with all the troubles that come along with it. Not that it was absent of troubles, but Sunbury was mostly country folk turned city folk. Therefore, its residents had not yet learned the dangers of smiling and saying h.e.l.lo when pa.s.sing each other on the sidewalks.

Abigail looked down at the shriveled hand resting on the simple wooden cane; she lifted the other to touch her face. The ridges of skin felt soft as silk-and droopy around the chin. By all indications she was old, but she didn't feel old.

A car door slammed, and she looked up like a startled cat. Across the street a pot-bellied cab driver walked around the side of his cab to meet a beautiful red-headed women at the trunk. He flipped the trunk open and hauled three suitcases out onto the sidewalk. There was confusion for a moment, followed by an exchange of words. Abigail could not make out what they were saying, but, whatever it was, it was fiery-and exciting! The woman shook her head furiously. The man's arms raised into the air. And boisterous shouts were heard above the noise of the construction. There was so much heated emotion and pa.s.sion that Abigail wanted to wave her hands around too, and shout loudly with great conviction. What fun it would be to well up with emotion and energy. What rapture to allow it to explode into sharp words and demonstrative motions.

But as she stood smiling, her mission began to take shape in her memory.

She had not come to this particular street and this particular building by chance; she had been sent to deliver an important message.

Inside the old high school, beyond the angry woman and the fat-bellied cab driver, was a door with a 203 on it. Behind that door was a handsome young man who needed to hear the message she had been sent to deliver. But was it time yet?

She craned her neck and looked up the street. A dump truck had stopped in the middle of the road as a man with a sign stood holding back traffic. She turned carefully and looked down the street. A group of men in orange vests were directing cars to take a detour up the hill. The downtown street, which was normally streaming with traffic, now sat barren and devoid of life, save for the cabby and his regrettable cargo.

By all indications, it was time.

Abigail stepped off the curb, adjusted her sapphire flowered dress, and made her way across the hot pavement. The woman and the cabby paid no attention to her as she pa.s.sed. They were having far too much fun talking loudly and waving their hands about. Well, mostly the woman. A look of apathy had settled on the man's face. The right corner of his mouth was stuck in a pinched expression, as if to communicate his boredom and lack of interest in the matter.

Abigail climbed the granite steps, but before she reached the double wooden doors, they flew open, and an attractive brown-skinned woman stepped out. Abigail froze mid-step.

"Girl! You coming in or are you gonna ha.s.sle that poor man all day?" Her tone was playful; Abigail immediately liked her.

The redhead looked up flabbergasted. "He only grabbed three of my bags and won't go back unless I pay the extra fair!" She stabbed her finger at him. "Which I'm NOT gonna do!"

He remained silent, and crossed his arms.

"Let him go! We'll go get it later," she called, holding the door open farther.

Abigail took advantage of the extra s.p.a.ce and shuffled past the woman into the building. The entrance room was s.p.a.cious, with a wall of metal mailboxes to the left, and to the right, a brushed metal communication box with buzzer b.u.t.tons. Abigail scanned down the slightly crinkled list taped to the inside of the gla.s.s compartment next to the b.u.t.tons. There it was: 203. And the name: Jake Paris.

Abigail stiffened slightly as the two women fumbled through the door behind her, banging the luggage and making enough racket to wake the whole building.

"I told him there were four," said the redhead.

The brown-skinned lady dug a key card out of her pocket and swiped it on the door. "We'll call the airport when we get upstairs and make sure they still have it."

"They better, Jackie. If my bag gets stolen, I'm suing that cab company!"

The ladies pushed into the hallway beyond, and Abigail slid through behind them.

"So-how was your trip?" Jackie said, as Abigail tagged along, unnoticed behind them.

"It could have gone worse, I guess. It was the red eye, but at least I didn't have to sit next to a fat guy or some chatter box."

"No, I mean the trip to Houston, you know... Everything?" She emphasized the last word.

"Oh. Did I see Blake?" Her voice sparkled when she said his name. "He came up from Galveston; we spent some time together."

They stopped in the T-shaped intersection at the end of the short hall, and the redhead pressed a glossy white-tipped thumbnail to the elevator b.u.t.ton.

"And?" said her friend with a brilliant white smile.

"I don't think it is going to work out."

Precisely when the ding of the elevator sounded, a frown flashed on Jackie's lips. "Why? What happened? Is he another dirtbag?"

"No. It's just that-he loves his job traveling around Texas. He doesn't want to move to Maine."

They filed into the elevator and leaned against the back wall. Abigail stepped on and turned to face out. Neither woman paid any attention to her.

"Why don't you move there?"

The redhead shook her head. "My family's here. You're here. I can't move to the other side of the country. I- I just don't know him well enough."

Jackie put her hand on her hip. "Is he worth holding on to?"

"Well... I... Yeah. I mean, he's really sweet, he's gorgeous..." She shook her head. "But-it's complicated."

"Girl, you need to call him and set something up."

"I can't impose on Sarah again. She has enough mouths to feed."

"I don't mean go to Houston, ask him to come here, you know, for a visit."

Ding.

Abigail stepped out. The ladies brushed past her and headed up the hall. Now it was Abigail's turn to frown; she wanted to hear the rest of the story, how they'd met and fallen madly in love. But it was time.

Each floor in the old high school looked the same, with the main hallways shaped like a T and ending with a bank of tall windows or double doors. Carpeting helped to make it feel more like an apartment building and less like a school-but not much less.

She gripped her cane and waddled forward down the hall. The ladies conversation grew fainter behind her, but, before they were completely out of earshot, Abigail heard something that made her stop and listen intently.

"I think I'm pregnant, Jackie," said the redhead.

"What?"

There was a sound of a door opening. "And it's his..." Then the door shut.

Abigail smiled.

She continued on to the end of the hall where a paint-chipped bank of windows let light in through double-paned gla.s.s. There were two doors, one on each side of the wide hallway. Abigail tapped her cane on the one marked 203.

Chapter 2.

Jake Paris stood by the kitchen table his girlfriend Jenna had considerately placed near the large bank of windows in their apartment. They afforded him a view of the beautiful courtyard in front of the building as well as the network of streets that threaded through the hillsides of Sunbury. She knew he enjoyed watching the city come to life, so it only made sense that the table should live there. Just like the nightstand needed to be on his side of the bed, because he liked to empty his pockets into the drawer after a long day. He didn't ask her to cater to him, it was just her nature to bring harmony into everything around her. Not just harmony in her relationship with him, but in every aspect of her life.

When she'd decided to buy a carpet for the living room, she had taken snap shots of the brown sectional couch, the tannish-red wallpaper, and the slightly cherry colored table upon which their television was perched, so she'd be able to find a carpet that matched perfectly. He loved that about her. His life before her was a chaotic mess. Jenna offered him a harmony his heart desperately yearned for.

This harmony was only mildly disrupted by Jenna's emotional temperament, which by some was considered a little volatile, but he didn't mind. He understood that it was a trade off. Her hyper-emotional sensitivity was the reason why she felt so strongly connected to everything, and why she always worked so hard to bring unity. He could deal with the occasional outburst of tears, both happy and sad, if it meant stability in every other aspect of his life.

He sipped his orange juice and looked at her sitting on the couch, her blue eyes fixed on a couch cushion. She slid her fingers down a long strand of chestnut hair, listening intently to whoever was on the other end of her cell phone, oblivious to his contented stare. Her naturally red lips were curled into a smirk, and her soft brown cheeks lifted as she smiled in response to what was probably a joke. She had no idea how beautiful she was, or how much he loved her, and needed her.

Jake glanced at the clock and quickly finished his orange juice. But as he turned to leave, the television caught his attention. The local news anchor was running down the news for the day. "Local authorities warn residents to keep close watch on their children, on this, the fifth anniversary of the Cape murderer, named for the location of his first murder in Cape Cod, Ma.s.sachusetts four years ago. Officials say the killer could strike anywhere and that residents should be vigilant to watch for any suspicious..."

A loud cracking knock startled him. He set the gla.s.s on the bar between the kitchen and the living room and looked over at Jenna. She continued to twirl her hair and stare at a couch cushion. It must have been a good conversation for her to have missed that knock.

Jake went down the short hallway and looked through the peep hole in the door. In the distortion of the gla.s.s, he could see a tiny old woman with bright green eyes, horn-rimmed gla.s.ses, a festive flowered hat, and a broad smile encased in wrinkles.

Who on earth?

He opened the door to reveal the rest of his odd guest. "Can I help you?"

She continued to smile as she gazed at his face.

Jake looked up the hall. "Do you live in the building?"

"She was right, you are very handsome," said the woman, her words jiggling out of her throat.

Jake's eyebrows rose. "Ah, I'm sorry-who are we talking about?"

"Shorter than I thought." She c.o.c.ked her head and looked him up and down. "But not much."

"Look," said Jake, checking his watch, "I have to get to work, is there something I can help you with?"

Her pretty green eyes lit up. "Oh, yes! There is indeed. I was so excited about being here I almost forgot."

Jake flinched slightly as she shoved her hand into her crocheted pocket book. He wasn't sure if he thought she had a gun, or mace... but the action made him uneasy. He was relieved when she pulled out a single white rose.

"I'm supposed to give this to you," she said, holding it out.

"I think you have the wrong..."

"Here," she said, clutching his wrist. She spoke gently. "Take it, take it. You're supposed to take it." She placed the stem in his palm and closed his fingers around it. Her soft cold hands enveloped his, and she looked up with such compa.s.sion he could almost feel it pouring from her eyes into his heart.

"Don't let the flower die, Jake." Her voice cracked. "Don't let the flower die."

He looked at his big hand encased in hers.

"Right," he said with an incredulous grin. "Don't let the flower die." He gave a knowing nod, as if this was a secret they alone shared. And followed it with a wink.

She reached up with her right hand, gripped his tie, and slowly tugged him down. Her face scrunched into a wrinkled smile, and her eyes struggled to focus on him. "Be nice to the children, Jake." She closed her eyes and nodded gently.

"Yeah," he said knowingly. "Got it." He pulled gently on his hand, but she wasn't ready to let go.

Her eyes opened as if she had just been awakened. Still holding the tie, her left hand reached up and patted him lightly on the cheek. "You're such a nice boy." The grin stretched out on her face; she let out a soft sigh. Her grip loosened, and Jake stood upright, nonchalantly fixing his tie. The old woman pointed to the flower. "You're going to want to put that in water."

"Yeah. I'll do that right now," he said, hoping she would be satisfied and scurry off on her merry way. But instead, she stood in the hallway, smiling her wrinkled smile and gripping her wooden cane.

"Is-there anything else I can help you with?" he said, slowly.

"Oh, no. I'm done." She stood with stiff confidence, her head wobbling ever so slightly.

"Then, ah, I'll just go and put this in some water, like you said?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Okay. Well, have a nice day." He backed up into his apartment, closed the door softly, and set his eye to the peep hole. The old woman still stood in the hallway, smiling, apparently oblivious to his departure.

"Is she blind?" he muttered. No, just crazy, he decided.

He hung his head, his hands still straddling the tiny gla.s.s portal. He could feel the stem of the rose pressed between his palm and the door. This was all he needed today. It wasn't enough to have a day of boring sales calls. He had to add to it the annoyance of some crazy old woman making him late to work.

He tilted his head back up and peered through the hole; his heart skipped a beat. Though he could see quite a distance down the hall, the old woman was nowhere in sight. His hand snapped to the doork.n.o.b, but he didn't twist it. His desire to avoid talking to the old woman was stronger than his curiosity. He pushed off the door and went back to the living room, tossing the flower onto the kitchen counter as he pa.s.sed.

Jenna pulled the phone from her ear. "Was someone at the door?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

She shrugged. "I didn't hear the buzzer."