| General Fiction posted July 14, 2009 | Chapters: |
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Her eyes haunted me. Something was terribly wrong.
A chapter in the book Short Stories
Those Sad Brown Eyes
by Begin Again
"Stan, I am telling you something strange is going on in that house." I knew I was wasting my breath trying to make him understand, but I couldn't help myself. Her face haunted me even in my dreams. Those dark brown puppy eyes peering from behind that red curtain were pleading for my help. I was sure of it!
"Jake, you've been watching too many of those hero flicks." Stan was doubled up with laughter. "Trust me; the girl's not interested in your scrawny body. Besides, nothing exciting ever happens in this town."
Stan was right about that. Wheaton, population 900, consisted of Mr. Taylor's grocery store, the Ace hardware, and Tony's gas station. Even our one-man police force was stationed in nearby Jacksonville. The last excitement this town had seen was when Mr. Taylor had a gallbladder attack. The ambulance raced through town in a matter of thirty seconds, sirens blaring, and raced back out of town before most townsfolk even knew it was there. Mrs. Peterson, the town's news flash, was knocking on our door with all the gossip by the time the ambulance reached the town limits. She'd been buying her groceries and was eager to share the details while the ice cream was melting all over our table. Gossip reigns! My dog, Charlie, was overjoyed with Mrs. Peterson's visit and proceeded to lick the kitchen floor clean.
"Shut up and listen for a minute, will ya?" I was beginning to regret having told Stan, my best friend, and co-worker, anything about the mysterious brown eyes. But if I couldn't tell my best friend, who could I tell? "Why wouldn't she answer the door? When she sees me with their groceries, why would she hide behind the curtain so I can only see her eyes?" I'd been delivering groceries to the house on Martin Street for five weeks. Every Friday, Mr. Taylor would find an envelope slipped under the door when he arrived for work. Inside was a hundred dollars and a grocery list. It was my job to deliver the groceries and leave them on the porch. Simple, except for the girl. She would always be standing behind those "movie theater" curtains, hidden except for those sad eyes. I know it sounds like I'm missing a few screws, but I can't explain the feeling I get, as if she's talking to me with those eyes. Mr. Taylor said some folks just like their privacy, but it just didn't feel right to me.
Before Stan and I could continue our friendly fire, Mr. Taylor's baritone voice sounded across the storage room. "Jake, get a move on. I'm not paying you two to stand back here and yak. These groceries need to be delivered."
"Yes, sir. I was getting ready to leave." Stan was still snickering, so I shot him the bird and grabbed the van keys. That was another perk with this job; I got to drive Mr. Taylor's van around town. None of us had our own cars because, as my father so aptly put it, "There's nothing to drive to around here that you can't walk to, so why have a car."
Approaching 321 Martin Street, I was anxious, like on a first date. I didn't know why I felt this way, but I did. I parked the van and jumped out to open the van doors. My eyes shifted immediately toward the window where she was always waiting. I took a double-take. She wasn't there. The sun was in my eyes, so I grabbed the groceries and walked closer to the house. I still couldn't see her.
Sitting the groceries on the porch, my eyes darted toward the door and back to the window again. My heart was racing. Wild thoughts were running through my mind. A sense of fear sent a chill up my spine. Where was she? Why wasn't she at the window? Had something happened to her? Or was my teenage brain shifting into overdrive?
Without giving it much constructive thought, I stepped off the porch and walked directly toward the window. The red curtains were closed, and I couldn't see inside. My heart was pounding against my chest. I could taste fear in my mouth. I knew I should get in the van and leave, but something kept drawing me to the window.
Suddenly, the curtain opened. Through the narrow opening, those mysterious brown eyes were staring directly into mine. It was the first time I had been so close to them, and I could see they were brimming with tears. Her lips moved. She was saying something. What was it? Before she could say another thing, she was gone! The pain and sorrow I had seen in her eyes still caused my heart to ache. I didn't even know this girl, but I connected with her fear. She had been pleading with me!
A dog barked, and I jumped. My instinct told me to get out of there. I ran to the van, started it, and took off down the street. Checking my rearview mirror, I slowed the van down. Nobody was following me.
My body was shaking. All I could see were those dark brown eyes. What had she been trying to say? As if a bolt of lightning had struck me, goosebumps covered my arms, and my terrified brain registered...HELP ME! Oh my God, she was begging me to help her. What could I do? If my best friend thought I was crazy, how would I get anyone else to believe me? She'd asked for my help. I had to do something, but what?
"Jake, listen, man, this is crazy." I had rushed back to the store with Mr. Taylor's van, certain that something was wrong at that house. My fears had tumbled out of my mouth, but Stan refused to believe anything I said.
"You didn't see her; I did. Trust me, man; the girl needs help. We got to do something!" My voice was rising to hysteria level, and Mr. Taylor must have heard me.
"Jake, what's all the yelling about? We could hear you all the way upfront." Standing beside Mr. Taylor was Officer Keaton.
"We gotta help her. We're wasting time." I'd worked myself into such a frenzy that my words were coming out choppy and most likely incoherent. Everyone was staring at me as if I had lost my mind.
"Slow down, son. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on." Officer Keaton stepped closer and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Nobody can help you unless you calm down and tell us your story." He waited while I tried to control my emotions. When I started to breathe a little slower, he continued, "Okay, Jake, what's got you so riled up?"
He listened intently as I described in detail the last five weeks how the brown eyes had watched me when I made each delivery. When I reached the point about seeing her face today and how I was positive she'd asked for help, Officer Keaton took out his notebook and asked me to describe her. I was beginning to panic again as he slowly jotted down every word. I was certain she was in trouble, and we were wasting time.
"Okay, Jake, now I need you to remain calm for a few more minutes. I'm going out to my car and radio dispatch. See if they are having anything going on. I'll give them your description."
I didn't even recognize my own voice when I grabbed his arm and screamed, "We're wasting time. Can't you drive over there and bust down the door? She's in trouble! She needs our help."
Mr. Taylor pulled me aside, and Officer Keaton left. "Jake, you are not helping matters. Let him do his job." I stepped away from Mr. Taylor. My anger was obviously apparent to everyone. "Jake, I've known you for a long time. I trust your instinct, and so does Officer Keaton, but there are laws we have to follow. We can't just break someone's door down on a hunch."
Before I could spit out my opinion about laws, Officer Keaton joined us again. "Pauly, you got a fax machine in this place?"
''Sure do." Mr. Taylor directed him toward the office. Stan and I followed close behind. "Want me to call the station and give them the number?" Officer Keaton nodded, and Paul Taylor immediately dialed the phone.
The hands on the clock ticked off the seconds. The sound exploded like fireworks in my head. Tick...Tick...Tick...Each second seemed like an eternity. I had no idea what we were waiting for, and I was about to go crazy... again. I was even frightening myself. Never had I shown so much passion about anything. Truth be known, I usually never offered more than a "Yes, ma'am" or a "No, sir" to any adult. That's why I knew this was different. I couldn't explain it, but I was sure this was the right thing to do.
Moments later, a fax started to print. We stood with our eyes glued on the paper as it slid from the machine. My heart started pounding wildly. I recognized those eyes staring back at me. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in my mind.
"That's her. That's her. I know it." My adrenalin was going crazy, and I couldn't stand still. "Who is she? Why do you have a picture of her?"
Instead of answering my questions, Officer Keaton quickly walked out of the office and headed for his car. Stan and I were almost trampling on his heels. Words started to explode from my mouth again, but he raised his hand to silence me before talking into his radio. Unwillingly, I listened as he talked.
"I have an affirmative on the missing person. Requesting backup before approaching."
"We have three squads within fifteen minutes of you. They are alerted and should be arriving shortly."
"Roger that. Will wait at Taylor's grocery before proceeding."
Forty-five minutes later, Stan and I were standing behind crime scene tape watching the biggest story in Wheaton unfold. Three squad cars and an unmarked car lined the curb outside of 321 Martin St., and uniformed officers stood on the lawn. Two men in handcuffs walked out of the house with officers by their side.
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe what was happening right before our eyes. Stan kept pounding my back, telling me what a hero I was. My mind could only think about those dark brown eyes and how they had pleaded for my help. I was glad I'd believed in my instincts.
While waiting for the other squad cars to arrive, Officer Keaton had told us the girl was Mandy Harper, a runaway. The last time anyone saw her, she was walking the streets of Jacksonville. Two men had tried to grab Mandy and another girl, but the other girl escaped. Terrified, she had gone to the police. No one had any more information on Mandy's whereabouts until today.
Officer Keaton came out of the house with a teenage girl by his side. Someone had draped a blanket over her shoulders in an attempt to cover her tattered nightgown. Her fragile body and sagging shoulders spoke volumes of the terror she had been living. Before she slid into the back of the squad car, she stopped and looked in my direction. Our eyes connected, and I thought my heart was going to explode. She moved her lips and mouthed the words, "Thank you," and a fleeting smile crossed her face, and then she disappeared from my sight.
I never got the chance to talk to her, but Officer Keaton said she had returned home and was extremely thankful for my intervention. Wheaton held a town picnic, and I received a Civil Merit Badge for my heroic actions. My parents couldn't stop talking about how proud they were of me. Mr. Taylor even gave me a raise.
Though I appreciated everyone's congratulations, nothing meant as much to me as that fleeting smile and her "thank you." Sometimes late at night, I lie awake, thinking about her. I close my eyes and see those dark brown eyes smiling at me. Feeling at peace, I drift away to dream.
Strong Character contest entry
"Stan, I am telling you something strange is going on in that house." I knew I was wasting my breath trying to make him understand, but I couldn't help myself. Her face haunted me even in my dreams. Those dark brown puppy eyes peering from behind that red curtain were pleading for my help. I was sure of it!
"Jake, you've been watching too many of those hero flicks." Stan was doubled up with laughter. "Trust me; the girl's not interested in your scrawny body. Besides, nothing exciting ever happens in this town."
Stan was right about that. Wheaton, population 900, consisted of Mr. Taylor's grocery store, the Ace hardware, and Tony's gas station. Even our one-man police force was stationed in nearby Jacksonville. The last excitement this town had seen was when Mr. Taylor had a gallbladder attack. The ambulance raced through town in a matter of thirty seconds, sirens blaring, and raced back out of town before most townsfolk even knew it was there. Mrs. Peterson, the town's news flash, was knocking on our door with all the gossip by the time the ambulance reached the town limits. She'd been buying her groceries and was eager to share the details while the ice cream was melting all over our table. Gossip reigns! My dog, Charlie, was overjoyed with Mrs. Peterson's visit and proceeded to lick the kitchen floor clean.
"Shut up and listen for a minute, will ya?" I was beginning to regret having told Stan, my best friend, and co-worker, anything about the mysterious brown eyes. But if I couldn't tell my best friend, who could I tell? "Why wouldn't she answer the door? When she sees me with their groceries, why would she hide behind the curtain so I can only see her eyes?" I'd been delivering groceries to the house on Martin Street for five weeks. Every Friday, Mr. Taylor would find an envelope slipped under the door when he arrived for work. Inside was a hundred dollars and a grocery list. It was my job to deliver the groceries and leave them on the porch. Simple, except for the girl. She would always be standing behind those "movie theater" curtains, hidden except for those sad eyes. I know it sounds like I'm missing a few screws, but I can't explain the feeling I get, as if she's talking to me with those eyes. Mr. Taylor said some folks just like their privacy, but it just didn't feel right to me.
Before Stan and I could continue our friendly fire, Mr. Taylor's baritone voice sounded across the storage room. "Jake, get a move on. I'm not paying you two to stand back here and yak. These groceries need to be delivered."
"Yes, sir. I was getting ready to leave." Stan was still snickering, so I shot him the bird and grabbed the van keys. That was another perk with this job; I got to drive Mr. Taylor's van around town. None of us had our own cars because, as my father so aptly put it, "There's nothing to drive to around here that you can't walk to, so why have a car."
Approaching 321 Martin Street, I was anxious, like on a first date. I didn't know why I felt this way, but I did. I parked the van and jumped out to open the van doors. My eyes shifted immediately toward the window where she was always waiting. I took a double-take. She wasn't there. The sun was in my eyes, so I grabbed the groceries and walked closer to the house. I still couldn't see her.
Sitting the groceries on the porch, my eyes darted toward the door and back to the window again. My heart was racing. Wild thoughts were running through my mind. A sense of fear sent a chill up my spine. Where was she? Why wasn't she at the window? Had something happened to her? Or was my teenage brain shifting into overdrive?
Without giving it much constructive thought, I stepped off the porch and walked directly toward the window. The red curtains were closed, and I couldn't see inside. My heart was pounding against my chest. I could taste fear in my mouth. I knew I should get in the van and leave, but something kept drawing me to the window.
Suddenly, the curtain opened. Through the narrow opening, those mysterious brown eyes were staring directly into mine. It was the first time I had been so close to them, and I could see they were brimming with tears. Her lips moved. She was saying something. What was it? Before she could say another thing, she was gone! The pain and sorrow I had seen in her eyes still caused my heart to ache. I didn't even know this girl, but I connected with her fear. She had been pleading with me!
A dog barked, and I jumped. My instinct told me to get out of there. I ran to the van, started it, and took off down the street. Checking my rearview mirror, I slowed the van down. Nobody was following me.
My body was shaking. All I could see were those dark brown eyes. What had she been trying to say? As if a bolt of lightning had struck me, goosebumps covered my arms, and my terrified brain registered...HELP ME! Oh my God, she was begging me to help her. What could I do? If my best friend thought I was crazy, how would I get anyone else to believe me? She'd asked for my help. I had to do something, but what?
"Jake, listen, man, this is crazy." I had rushed back to the store with Mr. Taylor's van, certain that something was wrong at that house. My fears had tumbled out of my mouth, but Stan refused to believe anything I said.
"You didn't see her; I did. Trust me, man; the girl needs help. We got to do something!" My voice was rising to hysteria level, and Mr. Taylor must have heard me.
"Jake, what's all the yelling about? We could hear you all the way upfront." Standing beside Mr. Taylor was Officer Keaton.
"We gotta help her. We're wasting time." I'd worked myself into such a frenzy that my words were coming out choppy and most likely incoherent. Everyone was staring at me as if I had lost my mind.
"Slow down, son. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on." Officer Keaton stepped closer and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Nobody can help you unless you calm down and tell us your story." He waited while I tried to control my emotions. When I started to breathe a little slower, he continued, "Okay, Jake, what's got you so riled up?"
He listened intently as I described in detail the last five weeks how the brown eyes had watched me when I made each delivery. When I reached the point about seeing her face today and how I was positive she'd asked for help, Officer Keaton took out his notebook and asked me to describe her. I was beginning to panic again as he slowly jotted down every word. I was certain she was in trouble, and we were wasting time.
"Okay, Jake, now I need you to remain calm for a few more minutes. I'm going out to my car and radio dispatch. See if they are having anything going on. I'll give them your description."
I didn't even recognize my own voice when I grabbed his arm and screamed, "We're wasting time. Can't you drive over there and bust down the door? She's in trouble! She needs our help."
Mr. Taylor pulled me aside, and Officer Keaton left. "Jake, you are not helping matters. Let him do his job." I stepped away from Mr. Taylor. My anger was obviously apparent to everyone. "Jake, I've known you for a long time. I trust your instinct, and so does Officer Keaton, but there are laws we have to follow. We can't just break someone's door down on a hunch."
Before I could spit out my opinion about laws, Officer Keaton joined us again. "Pauly, you got a fax machine in this place?"
''Sure do." Mr. Taylor directed him toward the office. Stan and I followed close behind. "Want me to call the station and give them the number?" Officer Keaton nodded, and Paul Taylor immediately dialed the phone.
The hands on the clock ticked off the seconds. The sound exploded like fireworks in my head. Tick...Tick...Tick...Each second seemed like an eternity. I had no idea what we were waiting for, and I was about to go crazy... again. I was even frightening myself. Never had I shown so much passion about anything. Truth be known, I usually never offered more than a "Yes, ma'am" or a "No, sir" to any adult. That's why I knew this was different. I couldn't explain it, but I was sure this was the right thing to do.
Moments later, a fax started to print. We stood with our eyes glued on the paper as it slid from the machine. My heart started pounding wildly. I recognized those eyes staring back at me. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in my mind.
"That's her. That's her. I know it." My adrenalin was going crazy, and I couldn't stand still. "Who is she? Why do you have a picture of her?"
Instead of answering my questions, Officer Keaton quickly walked out of the office and headed for his car. Stan and I were almost trampling on his heels. Words started to explode from my mouth again, but he raised his hand to silence me before talking into his radio. Unwillingly, I listened as he talked.
"I have an affirmative on the missing person. Requesting backup before approaching."
"We have three squads within fifteen minutes of you. They are alerted and should be arriving shortly."
"Roger that. Will wait at Taylor's grocery before proceeding."
Forty-five minutes later, Stan and I were standing behind crime scene tape watching the biggest story in Wheaton unfold. Three squad cars and an unmarked car lined the curb outside of 321 Martin St., and uniformed officers stood on the lawn. Two men in handcuffs walked out of the house with officers by their side.
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe what was happening right before our eyes. Stan kept pounding my back, telling me what a hero I was. My mind could only think about those dark brown eyes and how they had pleaded for my help. I was glad I'd believed in my instincts.
While waiting for the other squad cars to arrive, Officer Keaton had told us the girl was Mandy Harper, a runaway. The last time anyone saw her, she was walking the streets of Jacksonville. Two men had tried to grab Mandy and another girl, but the other girl escaped. Terrified, she had gone to the police. No one had any more information on Mandy's whereabouts until today.
Officer Keaton came out of the house with a teenage girl by his side. Someone had draped a blanket over her shoulders in an attempt to cover her tattered nightgown. Her fragile body and sagging shoulders spoke volumes of the terror she had been living. Before she slid into the back of the squad car, she stopped and looked in my direction. Our eyes connected, and I thought my heart was going to explode. She moved her lips and mouthed the words, "Thank you," and a fleeting smile crossed her face, and then she disappeared from my sight.
I never got the chance to talk to her, but Officer Keaton said she had returned home and was extremely thankful for my intervention. Wheaton held a town picnic, and I received a Civil Merit Badge for my heroic actions. My parents couldn't stop talking about how proud they were of me. Mr. Taylor even gave me a raise.
Though I appreciated everyone's congratulations, nothing meant as much to me as that fleeting smile and her "thank you." Sometimes late at night, I lie awake, thinking about her. I close my eyes and see those dark brown eyes smiling at me. Feeling at peace, I drift away to dream.
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