Uncollected Blood (14 page)

“But the thing is, it’s not just when I work on the project anymore. It’s anytime I attend mass or even go in a church. I feel like it’s saying the challenge stands.” I sighed. “I’m afraid to go to church.”

I believe Father Crosby grunted but he might’ve made no sound at all, just simply shifted in his seat before shuffling his papers neatly in his hands and setting them back down on the table.

He stood gently and said, “Come, let’s go pray.” I knew he meant to step outside and go to the Church and pray.  I knew I’d be in there on my wedding day. I knew there was no stopping that and it worried me what horrible things would befall me on that day. Maybe Father Crosby was right. I needed to go to church. I needed to face it now before something like the ruining of my wedding day happens. I love my fiancé too much to drag her into this mess. Maybe this will be the time when there are no coincidental bad things to follow and I’ll finally realize it is my stupid mind playing stupid tricks on my stupid self.

I entered the church I had not been in for three years. It had changed some of the pews and I remember seeing the old ones tossed outside the church several months ago during the renovation. There was also navy blue carpet around the altar instead of the bright red that I’d grown up with. It was ten o’clock and the sun was high enough not to really be lighting up the stained glass windows.

Father Crosby turned on the lights and we walked up towards the altar. I thought I should genuflect, but didn’t. I actually couldn’t remember what the rule was anymore. Since Father Crosby did not I stood and waited until he directed me to kneel down in the first pew.

We prayed silently, then he started the Rosary, and then we went back to our own prayers. I begged God as I did the Sunday after I had made that stupid challenge. Please just let this be over, I’m not strong enough to take up that foolish challenge, protect me. Protect me from him.

Father Crosby and I talked a little more and things seemed peaceful and cordial between us. He reminded me to go to mass on Sunday with my fiancé. I made no promises but smiled as if I were.

I glanced back up at the rectory before finishing my goodbye. I swear I saw some one standing in the window smile at me. It wasn’t a friendly smile. I glanced back down at Father Crosby then back at the window and the person was gone.

“Is there anyone else at the rectory this morning?” I asked wearily.

“No.” Father Crosby smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ll treat this as I would a Confession.” He patted my shoulder and his smile was warm and proud and everything God intended a smile to be. Nothing like the smile I’d seen in the window. The fact that no one else was there made my heart sink. I said my good bye and promised to tell my fiancé ‘hello’ for him.

I had to drive back to Richmond, when the stormy clouds rolled in I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Was this supposed to be another scary omen? The light rain started and was easily displaced by my windshield wipers.

A pleasant thunder rumbled and I smirked. “You’d have to do better than that.” I spoke aloud in the safety of my Corolla. Then I thought I saw her—my fiancé walking along the side of I-95. I jerked my wheel and went off the road, the rumble of the end of the asphalt shook my grip and I felt the wet grass tugging my wheels in every direction. The steering wheel yanked around and I heard the car grinding something it shouldn’t. And finally came to a halt facing the wooded median. My heart racing, I watched as cars whizzed by, completely embarrassed.

“It’s all your imagination, idiot.”

I noticed my radio was on suddenly. I must’ve bumped the button when I had gone off road. I listened for anything sinister, but there was nothing. I accidently grinded the starter, thinking I had to restart the engine, but it was still running quietly. I drove through the grass and tried to gain speed before I merged back into the left lane.  I was glad a cop hadn’t seen me and decided I’d better pull off and have lunch or something.

I picked exit 86 because I knew it lead back to plenty of options near Virginia Center Commons Mall.  My head jerked back the feeling was real. There was some one in my back seat. I twisted and was so grateful it was empty, but I kept my eyes in the rearview mirror, waiting for them to return. I could almost hear the click of the door opening and someone stepping in. I started to cry.

I worked back to my senses and arrived back at my apartment. The rest of the day went on into night without a hitch and I’d soon lost any discomfort from remembering my challenge.  It was late when I felt it. That feeling that the door was open to the porch and cool night air was working its way from the back of the apartment through the kitchen down the hall and finally gently touching my bedroom door.  I looked at the time and it was almost four in the morning, plenty of time to go back to sleep.

But there was a silent stirring. Was I imagining it?  No, I couldn’t be. The door did seem to be open; it did seem to be a draft coming into the apartment. Even the late night or early morning travelers could be heard at uneven intervals passing by at a clearer decibel than normal. Another car passed and I was more positive that it was the way it sounded when the door was open.

I grabbed the baseball bat I kept by my bed, and walked as quietly as I could, hoping not to let the person in my apartment know I was awake.  That would give me an advantage if it were a robber, right?

I wished I were still asleep.  The impending confrontation was almost unfathomable; I didn’t know how it would go.  I thought about the bat, thought about the only words I felt my father had taught me, “Don’t bring nothing into a fight you don’t want used against you.”

I was a foot from my door.  Praying the floor wouldn’t creak and give me away.  I didn’t want a confrontation. I just wanted to be ready if they did try and come in here.  Let them take the crappy television, the Nintendo, my food, have a few beers while you’re at it!  I could buy all that back, and maybe I wouldn’t even bother buying it again.

I had the feeling they were out there, examining their loot, but unsatisfied. They wanted to harm me instead. No I couldn’t hear them. No one is there. I can open this door and maybe the porch door is open, maybe I’ve just been so stressed I am imagining all this again.

Man up.

I reached out for the doorknob and carefully, no, artfully turned the knob without letting it jiggle. The slowest movement as not even an eye trained on it could notice its turning; like the revolution of the Earth itself.  I felt a tug. The door slammed hard in the frame. Some one had pulled it closed and held it tight. There was some one there. My heart raced, my mind split. I could feel their smile. I knew they wanted to do me harm. And they were taunting me.

I had let go of the doorknob and wanted to pretend they could still think I was asleep, that I had never gotten out of bed and tried to open the door.  I tried to move back to my bed, as I reached my bed I could swear I heard the knob released. They were just standing there, staring at my door, staring through the door.

I had never felt this helpless before, could never have imagined, a thief daring enough to shut you in a room and tell you there was nothing you could do about. 

I knew it was out there and it knew I knew. It was promising me it was going to destroy everything I owned out in that room. That it would leave me with nothing. It was challenging me.

I was the boy who had always attended mass, always believed and I’d somehow ended up as the man who could never go to mass again. It felt unfair. I didn’t know how to call off the wedding.

THE END.

“You don’t think I know why you’re applying here?”

“You know I’m psychic,” Marvin said even though he had never told anyone in his entire life. Psychics were people with crystal balls or turbans. Marvin was a twenty-two year old college drop-out who wore a Cleveland Indians’ ‘C’ on his cap and had tucked in his shirt for the first time today since he was a little boy when he was dragged to church with his Aunt.

“You better be,” the fat unshaven and mustached man said.  The nameplate on his desk said ‘Manager,’ but Marvin had to scan the wall for a certificate to match the name he found in the fat man’s head:
Art Steinberg.

“I was told you could use people like me.”

Art scoffed and leaned back in his chair. He thought for a while until Martin realized the man had wanted him to read his mind and then report back what he found.

“You use us to pick out the least risky loans.”

“Bingo!” Art smacked his hands down on the desk. “When can you start?”

Marvin received minimum wage. But it was more than he would make with a little shop in a strip mall or trying to work out of some battered home. On top of the salary for the tax people to see, Steinberg promised twenty percent of the interest paid back on all loans Marvin had lined up into a company backed 401k loan or if one’s future was short he’d pay cash less 3%.

“No one’s ever been a hundred percent accurate, Art knows this,” said Judy the short woman with curly dyed red hair. She had been the nicest of all the other employees. Only one other employee was a psychic and that as Carl. But he had only bothered to raise three fingers in a wave when Marvin was introduced. His attention was buried in a pair of headphones and a game of solitaire.

“Are there always three of us on duty?” Marvin asked.

“Oh no, usually just two, but since you’re new here I will train you on the duties not pertaining to our special gift.” Judy smiled like the Easter Bunny and started to instruct Marvin on the computer set up and how to phrase things to customers. It was a long and tedious process. Marvin had no idea the number of background and credit checks awaiting him.

Afterwards Judy forced Carl to walk him through the three checks they must make on every person who asks for a cash advance.

Carl barely looked up from his game. But he did remove his headphones.

“Ninety percent will pay back their loan.” Carl said. “That sounds like a fact to you? Ninety percent is the fictitious number I’ve made up to make a point that most people who take a cash advance have every intention of repaying it. When they come in here they’ll be trying to sell you on it and in the process they are selling themselves on the idea. You need to be in there head at this moment, digging through to see if they are really do have a reasonable amount of income coming where they can pay it off. Interest is good we want to earn a little extra back on top of the surcharges, so don’t just throwaway somebody who might take one extra month. Got it?”

“Yeah,’ Marvin said.

“So side step those thoughts. Dig for what’s happening in their life. Are there any distractions that could cause them not to pay it back? Gambling is a red flag right away, alcoholics, drug addicts, alimony. I’ve got a list of keywords the provoke thoughts. Memorize them, through them out if you can’t find any red flags. While you’re in there you won’t like what you find, but I’m sure you know that already.  You’re black, so that’s nice, but even you will be called a racist a lot of the time. It comes with the territory. We’re
the man.
”

Marvin dug into Carl’s mind to search for threads of racism and found none.

“You’ve got to use common sense. Most people you can look at and make the assessment. That’s not racism, it is prejudice and it is the one true special ability God gave every man, woman, and child on this planet. Use it. Use it to look for things in their life. They are wearing a lot of jewelry—is that jewelry real or fake? How did they come of it? You’ll get your life threatened. If there is a real threat in their head you come to me or Art, we can work things out so you’ll be safe. Don’t do anything crazy.” Carl’s eyes shot up and met Marvin’s. He held them there until Marvin was uncomfortably sure that Carl was trying to read his thoughts.

Marvin blocked his mind. His thoughts belonged only to him.

“You look like you don’t want me to read your mind?” Carl smirked. “I hate it too. Sometimes you can’t help it. All I hear all day long are other people’s thoughts.”

“I use headphones, too.”

“They mostly work.” Carl stopped talking and looked away from Marvin for a while.

“What else do I need to do?”

There was no response from Carl.

“Carl? Yo? Anything else?”

“Don’t talk to me, don’t even think next to me,” Carl said. “I don’t care about your business, got it? Keep your darkness away from me.” Carl flipped his headphones back over his ears.

Marvin looked back to Judy and shrugged. He tried to dig into Carl’s mind but all he heard was Cher. It was a song he didn’t want stuck in his head.

“Mr. Grumpy,” Judy said. “Don’t mind him.”

Marvin wondered what Carl had seen inside his mind.  He’d met a few psychics in his life but he’d always been able to keep certain things from them. Marvin had read enough minds to know there were things better kept private. Most thoughts were accidental, as grotesque as they were, they were just accidents, things that had no real meaning. Everyone has an awful thought, and everyone’s mind corrects it no a tenth of a second later. Everyone thinks they are good.

Even the sickos.

“Everybody has a little darkness,” Judy playfully smacked Marvin’s hand. “I was a young girl once after all and you have no right to judge your elders. These boobs didn’t always sit on my hips.”

Marvin laughed.

“I make it a rule not to go digging on people I have to work with, things can get awkward real fast. I could tell you this one story,” she paused, “have you ever traded stories with a psychic?”

Marvin shook his head.

“Some stories are better straight from the source, being that my talent doesn’t lie in storytelling, but in guessing who is going to pay us back.”

The bell on the door rang as someone entered.

“Oops, here’s a customer. Watch me for a few and then I’ll let you start on your own.”

After a week, Marvin was left on his own. A month later and he had been successful so far. Art wasn’t stingy on paying out the interest earned. The shifts went back down to just two psychics on duty. Though Carl had apparently requested he not be scheduled with Marvin. Marvin had found that nugget in Judy’s mind, though she apologized for not burying it down deeper.

“Carl’s old school. A racist by birth. He tries his best,” Judy assured him. “I won’t pry, but is that hard for you? Being psychic and all? I don’t mean to offend.”

Marvin shook his head and smiled, “Most racists are either trying not to be or trying real hard to be.”

Judy smiled. “Image is everything in this world. All our thoughts are wasted trying to be something versus just being. Remember that, I’ve felt a few of your residual thoughts. You can be yourself around me. Got it, Mister?”

Marvin nodded. He wished that were true.

Then Jake Pierce walked in. Marvin knew the man’s name because he was thinking it over and over again as if it were a cover name.

“Hi, I’d like to take out a loan, I guess.” The man wore a pair of new khakis and a brand new maroon polo shirt, tucked in like he worked somewhere and it was required. Even his face was newly shaved. The aftershave stunk up the air around him.

Judy touched Marvin’s shoulder. “You’ve got this one. I need a smoke break.”

There was no panic in Marvin. In fact, he relaxed. He was tired of people looking over his shoulder and judging him—tired of protecting his thoughts.

“How much would you like?”

“Ten grand? I’ve got the pink slip for my truck.”

Marvin knew the pink slip was for a company vehicle that this man didn’t actually own, but he also knew it would read Pierce Construction.

“It’s a company vehicle,” the man said right on cue. “My boss said I could use it as collateral since they can’t afford to give me a raise right now.”

The admission threw Marvin off.

“You can call him if you like. I figured you’d probably have to call, but he said just go in and do it myself.”

It would be part of the procedure.  Marvin dug deeper into the man’s thoughts as he pretended to be analyzing the pink slip.

“We’ll have to compare it to Kelly Blue Book value.”

“It should be enough,” said the man calling himself Jake Pierce.

Marvin danced deeper into the man’s thoughts until finally he found something he liked. Something very few of the people he had encountered had.

The rest was paper work.

The bell rang on the door as Jake Pierce left. It was only then that Judy came dashing back inside, having flicked her still burning cigarette down the sidewalk.

“Did you just approve him?”

“Huh? Yeah.” Marvin nodded.

“Oh honey, I got a very bad vibe from him. I don’t think he’s going to repay.” She shook her head and showed sympathy for Marvin. She caressed his shoulder as she bit back her lips.

“He seemed fine to me,” Marvin said.

“Shoot, Art is going to wonder why I wasn’t sitting in with you on this one.”

“Sorry,” Marvin said. He focused all he had on feeling sorry, hoping Judy wouldn’t read any deeper.

“Well, maybe I read him wrong.”

The rest of the shift was standard paycheck cashing.

Judy made sure to walk out with Marvin at the end of the day. She tried to reassure him. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“I know, I had a good feeling about him.”

“You didn’t think he was using a false identity?”

“No. All the paperwork checked out. I think he was nervous that we would think that. He needed the money real bad.”

Judy didn’t know if Marvin was lying, but she did know that Jake Pierce was not who he said he was. She had double-checked it from the sidewalk. Smoking allowed her mind to reach out further and read minds that she couldn’t see.

“You’re right. But I can tell you don’t feel like you’re right. This stuff happens we make mistakes. So don’t get worked up about it. Just let it be. I once had the nicest looking mother of two come in. I didn’t pick up that she was skipping town to avoid an abusive husband. Her mind just kept thinking about little Joey’s soccer camp money.”

Marvin shrugged and produced a smile that read false. Her comparison was for only $2,300. Marvin’s was for ten grand.

“Are you going to try and get the money back from him? Oh, Marvin don’t do that. It’s not worth it. You can get into a lot of trouble. Please don’t. Art will ream you but he’ll get over it. Being a psychic isn’t an exact science yet. I’m pretty sure it’s not in any textbooks these days, but look at me I’m an old lady, I have no clue what they teach children nowadays.”

“I won’t.”

“Go have that beer you’ve been craving all day and kill some of them brain cells. It’s a well-deserved weekend.”

They said good-bye and Marvin took off towards the bus stop.

Jake Pierce existed, though he wasn’t the man who came into the loan office that day. But the man who wanted to be called Jake Pierce for the loan’s sake was one of those migrant scammers who roamed from city to city, stealing an identity that was local and making the most of it in cash before moving on.

Deep in the back of this man’s mind was a memory he had not tried to hide. This man had always wanted to be football player. But he was too small and never gained any mass when he reached high school, still he always treasured his picture on a fake football card he’d had done when he played pee-wee football. On that card was his name.

Rodolfo Lofaro.

The man had blocked out other key details and memorized and thought nonstop about everything he knew about Jake Pierce. It was almost as if he knew he was up against psychics.

But one thing a psychic could do to get around that was to search recent memories.

The pillows were a dead giveaway.

Rodolfo had stayed at a motel with the stiff white pillowcases over the almost plastic non-allergenic pillows. From there all the other details spilled forth and Marvin had two ways of finding out which room the man was staying at.

The first was to stand outside each room and try and find the voice of Rodolfo’s mind. The other was more old school and just required Marvin to sit outside the hotel and wait to spot him. But that might take hours. On top of that he would also draw suspicion and that wasn’t what Marvin wanted.

The hardest thing left was to get into Rodolfo’s room.

“Pizza,” Marvin said as he knocked on the door. Marvin had worked as a pizza delivery guy. But hadn’t enjoyed being looked down upon. He kept the uniform and all he had to do was order a pizza and deliver it to Rodolfo.