My Life Across the Table (14 page)

They immediately went looking for the caretaker, only to find that he had cleared out while they were taking me to the airport. They went to their files to check his record, and discovered he was from a small town named Burnt Chimney, Virginia.
Carol, not one to believe in coincidence, decided something was very strange about all of this and called Lori’s brother. She asked him to do a background check on this guy. What they got back, unnerved them beyond words. He’d had a police record in Virginia, and was in Houston after having escaped from jail.
The charges against him were attempted murder.
I sat frozen on the other end of the line. Her next words chilled my heart, “The woman he tried to murder was a psychic.”
Through my tears I whispered, “With his hands.”
She quietly replied, “Yes, he tried to strangle her.”
Carol confirmed that his Houston address was a phony, and that he had virtually vanished into thin air.
I cried and cried. What could I do but wonder if he was on his way to California?
I don’t know if they ever caught the serial killer in Houston, but the Karen Page stalker haunted me for many, many years. It took almost a year for me to feel safe again. I don’t look over my shoulder, or carry a .357 magnum in my purse anymore, but as I sit here many years after the facts, the terror is still too easy to recall.
And I wonder if maybe someday, I will have another dream.

On a sunny afternoon in 1972 I inched up the narrow driveway on Fountain Avenue. I stepped out, walking across the lawn to get a better view of the house my friend Wally had moved into the week before.

It was a lovely Craftsman-style home, set back from the street and featuring large windows on either side of the entrance. Large round columns anchored a wide porch, running the width of the house. We had lunch plans, but Wally wanted to give me the twenty-five-cent tour before we took off.

I was drawn into the energy, and instantly loved this house. It was obvious to me that it had been lovingly cared for, and though it wasn’t a glamorous house, it really felt like “Old Hollywood.” Before taking another step I said, “Wally, if you ever decide to move out of here, please call me first. I would love to rent this house.”

Surprised by my comment, he smiled nervously, muttering, “Don’t think I’m movin’ any time soon, Karen,” and turned to finish giving me the tour.

To the right was a beautiful sunroom filled with natural light from the surrounding windows. I followed Wally’s lead along gleaming wood floors, passing through a formal dining room with six tall French windows, lining the outer wall.

We entered a big, old-fashioned kitchen. Without a word, Wally crossed over to lean against the counter as I moved to stand in the center of the marble linoleum floor. Wally covered his mouth, smiling, watching as I slowly turned around to take it all in.

The more I looked around, the more I realized how sophisticated this old-fashioned kitchen really was. It was wonderful, but in a really odd sort of way. In spite of this being an old craftsman home in the heart of Hollywood, the kitchen just “looked” old, and was the size of a catering kitchen in a hotel. It had everything my cook’s heart could ever want: double ovens, a professional six-burner Wolf range, an oversized sink, wrap-around counters and cabinets, and a huge refrigerator and freezer.

I have always believed that “love lives” in the kitchen of a house, and this kitchen spoke directly to my heart. From the time I moved into my first apartment, I have entertained in my home, and had always done all the cooking myself, no matter how many people were coming. For more than twenty five years I have enjoyed hosting large Thanksgiving, holiday and birthday celebrations with twenty-five to sixty-five people, as well as random dinner parties for ten or fifteen friends throughout the year, so this kitchen was a dream.

As I wandered from appliance to cabinet, looking at everything, Wally never moved from his perch. I stepped through a doorway at the far end of the kitchen to find another hidden jewel, a totally equipped service porch with a full-sized washer and dryer, shelving, more cabinets and a large, very deep sink.

During all of my “Wow!”s, and ongoing proclamations of, “What a great house!” Wally just watched me, never uttering a word.

He had spent a lot of time in my kitchen over the years, and knew how much I love to cook, so when we finally left this funny, odd, and amazing kitchen, he reminded me once again, “You know I just moved in, Karen, so please don’t start packing yet. I’m planning to be here awhile.”

I didn’t know what had come over me since I walked in the front door. I had no connection to this house, nor did I have any intention or interest in moving anywhere at that time, and I had never even considered living in this area. All of it was a bit surreal and completely out of character for me. My logic had apparently flown right out the window, when it came to anything about this peculiar little house on Fountain.

From the moment I walked through the front door, I felt like I had been hypnotized by the energy in this house. I knew it didn’t make any sense, but I felt that I was supposed to be in this house. I could “see” myself living there, not in some sort of wishful thinking way, but in a “certain” and “knowing” way.

Though I had no idea how my living in this house would ever come about, I knew in my heart that I would, even though Wally had just moved in. I couldn’t seem to stop myself “Oh, I didn’t mean now, but when and if you do, please, call me. I would rent this house in a heartbeat.”

We were done with the tour, and out the front door we went, chattering all through lunch. Wally was a lovely, soft spoken guy, and we had been friends for the better part of ten years. We saw each other socially throughout the years, but when a sweep of life changing events started blowing through his life, we started seeing each other more frequently.

The gale force winds of change lasted almost a year for Wally, and during that difficult period we started having, what I called “therapy lunches” around Los Angeles. He was finally ready to begin putting his life back together, and moving into the house on Fountain Avenue was the first step.

He had been married to a well known actress for several years. Though she was many years older than Wally, it never appeared to be an issue, and their marriage seemed loving and close. Everything was fine between them. Until one day it wasn’t, and suddenly, without warning, their outwardly happy marriage was simply over.

Wally was like a brother to me, and though his marriage “appeared” to be fine to the outside world, I had looked at it through very different eyes. I had always felt that she “cared” about him, but in their life together, she treated him like a pet, or her “boy toy.” It was also clear to me from the beginning that he never knew that, because he had truly loved her.

The rapid disintegration of their life together hadn’t surprised me, but it turned Wally’s life upside down. From one day to the next, it was over. There was no conversation, no healing possible. Out of nowhere, she slammed the door shut on their marriage. Overnight he was pushed out of her life, and out of the life they had shared. He had been lost, and this move was a beginning.

Wally was in a playful mood over lunch, teasing me about my funny reaction to his house, and my special love affair with the kitchen. He reminded me that he never got around to showing me the layout of the bedrooms, or the old-fashioned pedestal sink in the bathroom.

I laughed and said that I thought the kitchen was the whole house. I talked about how drawn I was to the house, and how unusual the energy in it felt. I told him that as far as I was concerned, after visiting the kitchen, I didn’t need to see the rest of the house.

For several weeks, even though we continued to meet occasionally for one of Wally’s “therapy lunches,” I hadn’t been back to house. On one of our planned lunch days, Wally called to say he “Had something to do and couldn’t make it today,” casually adding, “By the way, Karen were you serious about wanting to rent the house?”

My heart started racing, sure that he was kidding, “You mean your house? Absolutely! Why, are you moving?”

He was trying to sound casual, like what he was about to tell me was an everyday occurrence. “Well, yeah, I’m moving into one of the apartments next door. Actually, I’m moving this afternoon that’s why I can’t make lunch today.” He paused to take a deep breath, “So were you serious? Do you want to rent the house?”

All of a sudden a mixture of shock, and that weird hypnotic feeling I had experienced in the house, overcame me. My logical mind refusing to believe him, I still needed to be convinced, or at least have him laugh and tell me he was setting me up, just to see my reaction.

The tone in his voice was serious, so I was completely confused, and more than a little freaked out. He was so matter-of-fact about moving again that I still wasn’t sure if he was telling me the truth.

My internal freak out continued, “What do you mean today?!?Are you kidding? You just moved in six weeks ago! I mean, I love the house, so yes, I was serious, but you’re not really moving today, are you?”

He didn’t laugh, “Yup, I am. Pretty funny, huh? I can hardly believe it myself, but I am, and Karen, it’s not like I’m going anywhere, I’ll be right next door. So do you want the house?” I finally believed him.

I completely ignored my gut feelings, the incessant screaming in my mind, along with every other obvious sign to run in the other direction, foolishly leaving my freaked out suspicions about his sudden move unchecked, never even bothering to ask him, “Why.”

I went running, skipping and leaping headlong into the move, “Wow! Okay, if you’re really moving? I’d love to rent the house, but have you talked to the landlord yet? And, please, if he says okay, don’t forget to tell him that my mother will be living with me.”

His voice was calmer now, saying he wanted to ask me if I was serious first, but would speak with the landlord and call me later that afternoon. His “later,” wound up being less than ten minutes.

It appeared to be so easy, as though it was “meant to be.” He said the landlord was delighted that I wanted the house, and told Wally to just give me the keys. He would stop by to meet my mother and I, after we moved in.

I couldn’t have known that from the moment the word “Yes” fell from my lips in response to Wally’s question, my life would be forever changed. That one simple word set in motion a series of events with life altering consequences, and profound lessons. For my mother and I, nothing would ever be the same again.

As I switched into “autopilot” mode my days became consumed with packing, utility companies and movers, and the most important part for me, making sure that my clients could find me. I still marvel at the fact that my mother and I were 100 percent organized, packed, and being moved, in only two weeks!

I think moving day for everyone can be pretty crazy, no matter how organized and prepared you are. This moving day brought the usual crazy energy, along with a few really strange surprises by the end of the day.

I wanted my mother to be happy in our new home, though I was sure she would love the kitchen, the rest of the house was a total mystery for both of us. By getting there before the movers and utility technicians arrived, we could take the rest of the house tour together, the one that I had missed the first time around.

As the move unfolded, I realized that I was completely incapable of, and unable to stop, my illogical connection to this house. I could hardly believe that Wally was standing here in front of me, very nervously handing me the keys to my new home. The home I was moving my mother in to, the home that I had rented over the phone, without really seeing.

It was surprising, but we were definitely here, the keys were definitely real, and we definitely were, about to move in to a house that, as far as I knew, stopped at the kitchen. I had no idea what the bathroom looked like, or if the bedrooms were even big enough for our furniture, and as crazy as it sounds, none of that seemed to matter, as my hand closed around the keys.

Wally’s behavior that day was just weird, like he was going to jump out of his skin. I invited him in, but he turned and was sprinting up the stairs to his apartment, by the time the words “No thanks” came out of his mouth.

At any other time, I would have asked him what was wrong, why he had been behaving so strangely. The truth is, he never told me anything, nor did I ever ask. I don’t think I was supposed to know, because if I had known the source of Wally’s irrational behavior, I promise you, I would have made a very different choice.

It was a perfect day to move, the sun was shining and the air was crisp. We were both in a very happy mood, looking forward to this move. God Bless the spirit of my wonderful mother, she didn’t give it a second thought that I had only seen the front rooms of the house. She thought it was great, whatever it was, and looked at it as us embarking on a shared adventure.

My mother stood behind me as I slipped the key in the lock, crossing the threshold of our lovely home, without the slightest idea of the terrifying world we were stepping into.

I stepped aside as my mother checked out the front rooms, and as I had hoped, she loved it. Moving across to the doorway into the first bedroom, the real adventure was about to begin.

We were grateful to find that there was plenty of room for my bedroom furniture, and a very large closet. My mother decided this would be my room, and she would take the bedroom at the back of the house.

We continued into a square shaped hallway between the two bedrooms. All of the doors in the hallway were open, except one. I peeked around one to discover a floor to ceiling linen closet, tucked away next to a connecting door leading back into the kitchen. The remaining open door led into a pristine, white and black tiled bathroom.

While exploring the bathroom, my mother joked about what secrets we might find hidden behind the closed door to her “boudoir.” We turned left out of the bathroom standing in front of the closed door. Taking a deep breath, I gripped the doorknob, slowly pushing open the “boudoir” door.

I took one step and knew that my mother was never sleeping a night in this room. I couldn’t move. Though the window shades were up to welcome this bright sunny day, not a sliver of light, or warmth, came through the windows of this room.

Unknowingly, I had stepped into the icy, gray haze that filled every corner of the space, and with a deep sense of dread, realized that nothing could penetrate the “dead cold” enveloping this room.

Poking her head around, my mother attempted to get past me, only to instinctively jerk back from the shocking cold. Visibly shaken, she practically jumped back into the hallway, as I tried to catch my breath.

Someone had died in that room, and their energy was still there, hanging in the air. Forcing myself, I slowly backed out, firmly closing the door to this “room of death,” for one last time. I stood silent trying to gather my thoughts, staring at the door in front of me. I needed to be calm for my mother.

As I didn’t know who had died, or the history of the house, I couldn’t help them leave, or help my mother understand what had just happened in that room. In an instant I knew, why I felt hypnotized from the moment I stepped in the house.

I turned around smiling, cheerfully leading my mother into the kitchen, “Well, you’re definitely never sleeping in that room! Let’s go look at the kitchen.”