The Tears of Pelican Bay

The Tears of Pelican Bay (1-4)

             The warm glow of the harvest moon seeped through the
Spanish moss that hung from the oaks, its cast of dreadful
shadows dancing and swaying in unison against the wall of the
rocky bluffs and the sand below. It was all but quiet and the
brackish bay was calm as always, rare was the sound of a frog or
a bird or even the wind to cause a ripple. Standing at his feet,
he imagined a stranger, he thought, or perhaps a spirit, dark
and blank though vaguely familiar. The strangers face and form
masked what little light filtered through the moss yet never
revealed a shadow. A bitter chill pierced his body and that
which he imagined now seemed so real. He lay perfectly still,
unable to move as if still trapped in a paradoxical state of
altered consciousness. Frightened and confused he wondered why
the strange man watched over him with such patient allegiance as
if waiting for him to speak.
"Who are you?" he asked, and the man replied, "I am the
messenger."
             As sure as the words were cast the wind began to howl and
the sky turned black as coal. He braced himself against the
rocks and closed his eyes as a cold and wet sensation clutched
his now weightless body. He found himself unable to breath and
opened his eyes to growing fathoms of water between him and
the surface of the bay. The harder he kicked the deeper he was
sucked into the blackness of the deep. He tossed away his coat,
but his boots still drug him down and the coldness of the deep
dark water began to take its toll. As the unforgiving water
seeped into his pharynx, his muscles began to seize and a final
violent burst filled his burning lungs diminishing the futile
attempts at struggle. His body twisted and heaved and within
seconds, he was still, drifting ever downward to the keeper of
his watery grave. There was darkness...silence.
He was standing in the house at 3109 Scenic Highway, exactly
where he had been standing moments before. His watch read seven
o'clock in the evening but the clock on the floor ticked away at
nine thirty. Still short of breath, he tried to make sense of it
all, unsure of what had happened and relieved that it must have
been a dream...a daydream no less. A familiar chill passed though
his body as he made his way to the door and though the mid
autumn evening was unseasonably stifling, Chad shivered.
***
             O'Reillys Pub was a popular stop for the thirty something
rush hour crowd in Pelican Bay. It was a chance to part from the
normal bayside club life that everyone else seemed to adore. It
was more a matter of simple geography though, as the pub was
hidden in the corner of a strip mall 5 miles from the water. It
was less obvious to tourist looking for nightlife and usually
the only people who found the place were those who were looking
for it. Still, the regular crowd was a healthy one, more than
enough to keep the Pub in business and the lack of tourist
patrons was fine with the management and the locals. Most of the
staff of Pelican Bay Realty spent a fair amount of time and hard
earned money at O'Reillys, the informal place of gathering where
everybody knows your name.
              Max Meyers sat in a booth watching the game on the monitor
over the bar. He sipped his drink and occasionally glanced back
at the door as though he were waiting for someone. After all, it
was Chad Harper who had called him that afternoon and asked him
to meet him there. After a longer than expected wait, Chad
finally walked in and spotted Max waving at him
from across the room.
"I'm sorry I'm late Max. I was held up. I should have called to
let you know," said Chad.
"It's no problem. I was enjoying the atmosphere here. Do you
come here often?"
"I'm here almost every day. Except Sunday of course...morning that
is. There's always a game crowd here after church."
"I'll have to keep that in mind," said Max.
"I looked at the house and it does need to be updated a bit...the
carpet will have to be replaced and I would get all of the
furniture out of there. A few other repairs need to be made to
bring it up to its value potential. I'll get with the movers and
get it cleared out...just let me know where you want everything to
go. There's quite a few boxes lying around. There was an old
windup clock on the floor right by the door...the time was wrong
but the strangest thing was that it was ticking. I thought maybe
someone had been in the house packing things up or something and
left it," said Chad.
"My aunt tried packing some things up a few years back...she
couldn't handle it, but nobody's been there since as far as I
know. No one in my family wants to be there if they don't have
to," said Max.
"That's strange. That clock was ticking like it was just wound
up...the time was wrong but it worked," said Chad.
"That is strange. Anyway, most of that stuff in that house will
go to Goodwill or something. I don't want any of it, just the
pictures and paintings on the walls," said Max.
"It must have been very hard for you," said Chad.
"We were little kids, just watching movies in the bed room like
kids do. I came out to get something to eat. I don't think
either of us understood what was happening, at least I didn't.
My mom and dad weren't moving and that guy in the coat... just
standing there looking at me...it still gives me the creeps."
Max's stare was miles...years away... back in the beach house the
night his parents died.
"Eddie Irving," said Chad.
"Yeah, I guess. I was six... it could have been the Easter Bunny
for all I knew."
"Now that would have really been traumatic," said Chad, trying
to break the tenseness of the moment. Max smiled and the two
chuckled.
             Chad never told Max that he knew what brought Eddie to
their house that fall night, sixteen years before. For a while
he harbored a lot of guilt, but had long since forgiven himself.
Everyone always said of Eddie, it wasn't a matter of if, but
when he would snap. For many years he was a possible suspect in
every murder and disappearance on the coast, but there were no
confirmed sightings of Eddie Irving in Pelican Bay or anywhere
else since the night of the Meyers murders. He simply vanished.
***
             Chad almost fell asleep at the pump. He felt more
comfortable there leaning against the car than he had felt in
his own bed the night before. He noticed a man standing at the
pump on the next island over. Something was familiar about him
but he resisted the urge to walk over until after he pulled
away. As expected, like most people in rush, the man hadn't
taken his credit card receipt from the pump. The name on it was
Raymond J. Prater. Jack. He hurried back to his car hoping to
get on the road and catch up with him. He hadn't seen him in
years though he thought about him often and not always with fond
memories. Chad cruised the road and just before giving up he
spotted the navy blue pickup truck that Jack was driving parked
at Wharf House. It was a regular's type of diner, much like
O'Reillys pub. There was an all day crowd of old men who spent
their days drinking cup after cup of coffee and telling tales of
the sea and of wars and women. As he walked in the door he saw
the man sitting at a table with several of the old story
tellers. Their eyes met at the same time and he knew for sure it
was Jack. He looked different though, his face mangled and
distorted and though Chad didn't realize it right away, his hand
was gone. Everything that made Jack look like Jack was gone,
lost in a war that most folks watched on television like another
episode of some over rated reality show. As far as anyone in the
diner was concerned though, Jack was a hero. When he had come
back to Pelican Bay the previous winter, the Herald had told the
story of how he had fought hard with his unit and went well
above and beyond the call of duty to rescue his team from a
burning vehicle. His face all but melted, leg broken and the
mangled mess that was once a hand bleeding profusely, he pulled
them all out, one by one as they screamed in excruciating pain
from the burns and the open wounds. His guilt from saving them
was more powerful than if he had let them die in place. They all
died anyway and as far as he was concerned all he did was
prolong their suffering. His reward was a Silver Star and a
Purple Heart to go with his medical retirement and months of
painful physical and psychological therapy. Barely recognizable,
which he seemed to prefer, he came back to Pelican Bay to
something familiar, though he carefully avoided those who knew
him the best, including Chad Harper.
"Hello, Jack."
"Chad! Was that you at the gas station? I though you looked
familiar."
"Yeah...that was me. I was thinking the same."
"Sorry I didn't recognize you right off," said Jack.
"It's ok. I read about you in the paper a while back. That's an
incredible thing you did over there."
One of the older men at the table, clearly a veteran of the big
war, spoke up, proudly tipping his pin covered VFW ball cap.
"It sure was. They should have given him the Congressional."
It was a sentiment echoed by the others at the table. Jack
appeared embarrassed and didn't say a word, but he was clearly
uncomfortable.
"Maybe so," said Chad, "Anyway, its good to see you again,
Jack."
             Chad started toward the door and then turned around and
looked back at Jack, remembering why he wanted to see him in the
first place. There was a lingering bitterness in his stare. He
had to be sure that Jack hadn't forgot what happened all those
years before. It was as important now as it ever was, especially
now that he had met Max Meyers and had been in the house. Chad
had forgiven himself but had never been able to bring himself
to forgive Jack.
"By the way Jack...you remember that night that Eddie Irving
killed those folks at that beach house near the bluffs?"
Jacks glare turned bitter too.
"That's been a long time ago Chad, what about it?"
"I'm selling the Meyers house," Chad said, as he walked over and
handed Jack one of his business cards. "I just wondered if you
had forgotten, that's all."
"Chad, whatever you think about me, I probably deserve. But I'm
not the same guy I was back in High School," said Jack.
"Well, that is good news Jack. Give me a call sometime."
***
              He laid in bed staring at the ceiling unable to rest. For
more than an hour he was in and out before finally drifting off
to sleep. It was three o'clock in the morning when a strange
noise brought him out of his belated, peaceful slumber. It was
monotonous, like a windup clock, its seconds ticking away in a
steady metronomic scale. The clock next to his bed was digital,
always set for seven AM. He hadn't even seen a windup clock for
years, except of course for the one had seen at the beach house.
He climbed out of bed and walked into the living room where it
was louder and even more so as he turned toward the kitchen. He
was hardly surprised to see that it wasn't a windup clock at
all, rather the steady sound of water from the faucet tapping
the stainless steel sink with each falling drop. He was able to
smile at himself and as he looked up to the kitchen window
behind the sink where he would normally see his own reflection,
he instead saw that of another man, looking back at him through
the window his evil eyes illuminated by the glare of the moon.
Chad screamed so loud that he woke himself, the hair on the back
of his neck erect and the chill bumps obvious on the surface of
his flesh. He was in his bed, the alarm clock was buzzing and
there was sunlight in the room. It was seven o'clock.

(Next The Tears of Pelican Bay (5-7)