Second Sight ....Part 1 of 4
― Amanda Quick
“I’ve got a freelance assignment for you, Newson—and it will pay very well.”
I figured Ward Pendleton had an ulterior motive in inviting me to lunch—I had hoped for Sassafraz, or at the very least, The Arts and Letters Club—but The Dancing Skeleton Pub was an accurate gauge of where he saw me relative to his society.
I was famished though, and the prime rib sandwich on a nicely toasted crispy roll was excellent, as well as the hot beef au jus for dipping it in. I was sipping a large Alexander Keith’s India Pale Ale but Pendleton was imbibing a liquid lunch consisting of whisky sours—he had already downed two and a third was on its way.
“Those were Hemingway’s favorite drinks,” I smiled, pointing to the two empty glasses on the table. He seemed unimpressed.
“It’s just booze, Zach—it all goes down the same way.”
I grinned at him genially, trying to size him up and anticipate what he might have in mind.
His eyes were glassy and his breathing heavy. I figured he was savoring that fleeting glow that’s impossible to sustain—much like life on its happiest days.
“Mind you, speaking of Hemingway,” he continued, “ I see you more like that type journalist than a reporter—if you get my drift. I’ve been reading your features on Haunted Toronto and I’ve got a mystery for you that might be right up your alley.”
That soupcon of flattery made me wary, but I had to admit I was intrigued. Why would a hard-as-nails real estate developer like Pendleton give a damn about a mystery, much less pay well to investigate it?
The waiter dropped the third whiskey sour and Pendleton’s swollen right mitt grasped it possessively. He was a huge intimidating man with a bulldog face and a pug nose that he breathed through noisily. I winced at the thought of being dealt a blow by one of those gnarled fists.
The whisky sour was downed in an instant. He leaned back in the tooled leather tub chair, one hand still firmly grasping his glass, and his eyes bore into me.
“I’m going to tell you something confidential, and when I get through, you can make up your mind whether you want to take the assignment or not. All I ask is you never disclose to anybody what I’m about to tell you—whether you take the job or not. Fair?”
“Fair,” I replied, and sat forward to listen.
“I’m concerned about Tara, my wife—she’s been acting very strange lately, saying and doing things totally out of character for her, and frankly, she’s worrying me.”
“It sounds like an emotional problem. Have you considered consulting a psychiatrist?”
“No, no,” Pendleton grumbled irritably, “when I tell you what I’ve been observing you’ll probably be thinking I should consult a medium or spiritist—but frankly, they’re all con artists and would be after my money. Anyway, that’s why I chose you—you’ve investigated a lot of supernatural phenomena and I trust you.”
“Thank you,” I nodded, wondering what on earth I was getting involved with.
He gave me that hard stare again just to let me know his guard was still up, and then continued his tale.
“Tara has moments when she seems to transform into a totally different person—she used to be bright and vivacious, but lately she’s become dark and moody. She spends hours staring at the lake and poring over picture books of fine art paintings. She disappears for hours and comes home late and won’t tell me where she’s been.”
“Hmm, it still could be some sort of mood disorder, or neurosis—I’m no expert in that area, but I think she should at least be assessed by a psychiatric specialist, if only to rule that out.”
“I don’t think you get it, Newson—I’m a pretty practical man—there’s a helluva lot more to it than just some sort of mental condition.”
I had to ask. “But how can you be sure?”
“Do mentally ill people suddenly begin speaking fluently in a foreign language—or disappearing into thin air?”
I felt a sudden chill.
Pendleton’s eyes were boring into me, waiting for an answer. I shook my head slowly, “Well, I’ve got no explanation for strange happenings like that” I confessed.
“If I didn’t know from touching her that my wife was flesh and bone, I’d think she was a ghost.”
I was perplexed. Pendleton didn’t strike me as a man easily deluded, but what he was saying defied common sense.
“Where do I come in?” I asked him.
“I don’t want you shadowing her like a gumshoe. I could hire a private detective to do that. I was hoping you might try to befriend her. My wife reads your feature articles in The Telegraph, so I was thinking if I invited you to one of our parties, she’d naturally be drawn to you and might even open up about her experiences.”
I didn’t want to probe into indelicate matters, but my curiosity was piqued.
“Doesn’t your wife confide in you?”
A cynical smile swept across Pendleton’s features. “We don’t have that kind of relationship, Newson.”
“I see.”
“So, would you be willing to take the assignment and see what you can find out?”
Part of me wanted to run, but something about the business intrigued me.
“I’ll try my best, Mr. Pendleton, but I don’t offer any guarantees.”
“Your best is good enough for me,” he smiled.
great work! :)
Thank you, @mars9
I wish I had been on yesterday to read this when it came out. I stepped into the paranormal and it is just like this, rarely, but sometimes it is worse. thanks my friend @johnjgeddes for a good read
yes, it's sudden and more concrete than most people think
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thank you!
Another intriguing Start , As usual looking forward to the rest. Thank You.
thanks awgbibb :)