Part 4: Hidden in an undiscovered land
There was silence -- no breath, no voice, it was a void. The phone was a dead weight in my hand as it nestled against my ear.
"Hello?" I asked for the second time. No response.
Once more I surveyed the field, and found nothing but the faded glow of a set sun. The trees swayed in indolent waves and my car appeared as a faint speck next to a gravel road. I was abysmally alone.
As I removed the phone from my face, a loud crack whistled through the speakers.
"Do you understand?" It was tepid and even, "Do. You. Understand?"
"I...don't? Who is this?"
After a pause, the voice shed its cadence.
"Come on Jacobi. You can't be this thick. Think. It is one of the few faculties which separate man from beast. Lets start from the heart of the matter as they say. You were outside of the bar, the name of the establishment being the Retinue. That is your first hint. Retinue, a term even those with limited education can grasp. But if that does not satisfy the low bar of your intellect, then perhaps a step further..."
"The Ambassador."
"There! Perhaps there is hope for you yet. Now, and perhaps the most important question, why would I be calling, at this moment?"
I was hesitant to respond. None of this seemed real as if this experience was shade in between the chasm of reality and the unknown, and I was a merely a spectator.
"Enough, how about you tell me? Because I have a thousand thoughts going through my mind and I'm not sure what to believe, or what to think?"
"You're beginning to understand," the Ambassador responded. "It is often said in order to become wise, one must first admit he is a fool. But Ill stop talking in clichés and riddles. I often forget that the first time one visits The Gathering it can be...jolting. How about a drink? I think you can guess the location. Will 15 minutes give you enough time?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Of course," he laughed, "my dear boy we all have a choice, but with each decision, the field narrows until there is only one. But what I'm trying to say is, if you want out just say the words. You still have plenty of time to write this off and justify it as though it was some strange dream or coincidence, but that time is running out. Here is the choice I am giving you: I will be at the Retinue in 15 and will stay for the term of one martini. When the glass empties, so does the offer. But if you come before that point, I will gladly share all."
The line went dead.
Having been in continual operation since Prohibition, the Retinue is held together by a lacquer of spilt beer and ashes. The bar encloses the left wall, and is adorned with cracked plush stools, bolted to a raised platform, and accented by the pale gleam of covered lights enclosed in stained glass. Light rarely reaches the burgundy walls, and dissipates when a ray escapes the thick shades.
The bartender and owner, Reynolds, stands at his post behind the bar and remains its fulcrum. Always leaning and laconic, it is often with a simple two finger salute he greets his regulars while gathering the strength to issue an introduction.
"Usual?"
I nod and find the Ambassador with a half finished martini, and a silver cigarette case which a brass lighter lay crossed. Next to the case rests an open note pad in which tight lines of indecipherable text smash against the preceding line. His writing is succinct, and stops only intermittently, as he would take a thoughtful pull from his cigarette, never removing his eye from the page. I take the seat to his right, leaving the buffer of a stool. It is only with Reynolds, setting a chilled mug of rust colored beer on the bar, which created a ripple against the flowing stream of the Ambassador's thoughts. Resting the pen in the spine, the Ambassador exhales, "I would be speaking falsely if I didn't prelude with the fact that I gave your arrival a 50-50 chance."
"You underestimate curiosity."
"A quality little regarded today."
The Ambassador returns to his pen and scribbled a line on a page, tears it out, and pushed it towards me.
515 County Road 300 North
"Is there any point in asking?"
"I said I would explain all, and I intent to fulfill my obligation."
I run my fingers against the sharp edges of the page. Returning my gaze to the Ambassador, I study his features. What appeared last night as nondescript now are illuminated -- a soft stubble highlights his chin and his green eyes perpetually remain transfixed on its intended subject. Knowing this may have been one of my only chances to hear it truthfully, I said, "From the beginning."
"Last night? Okay, but first, what are your thoughts on destiny?"
"I don't believe in it."
"Neither do I," he replies dryly and lights another cigarette from the cherry of the former, "Things happen, situations are presented and either by our action or inaction, a result occurs. Last night, you chose to come to the bar on your own volition, a choice you might now regret. But it is the choices we often neglect which form more of our lives than the so-called big decisions."
I was taken aback, mostly by the esoteric nature of his response and by the fact he thought that was an acceptable answer to my question.
"Okay. The theater?"
A smile came across his face, "What did you see?"
"A girl without a face."
"Good, and does this girl have a name?"
Exhaling deeply, I think back to the countless headlines and the exasperated voice of Dick Pearl. Then it appears again -- the field, the white dress and a girl walking towards the tree line. But in this moment, something is changed. I see her turning her head before she enters, and this time, the black hair which covered her face exposes the delicacy of her features, where there is no mistaking it.
"Laura Spencer."
Slapping his hands on the bar, the Ambassador greets me with a wide grin. "Yes, that is exactly it."
"But she has been missing for more than five years."
Gravely, the Ambassador points his finger towards the piece of paper, "Yes, but some people never lose hope."
Author's note: I have been rather delinquent as of late to submit these installments in a timely fashion. I'm sorry about that. It is often hard to jump back into a story without writing it in the last three months, but I hope you enjoy it as much I have had writing it. If you feel you need to catch up, just visit gcdailyworld.com and, under my blog, will have the first three installments. I hope to once more make this a weekly tradition, so hopefully the next installment will be featured in the July 23 edition of the GCDW. Thanks for reading.
Grant is a staff writer for the Greene County Daily World. He can be reached by telephone at (812) 847-4487, ext. 19. He can also be reached via email at gkarazsia@gmail.com.
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