Jonas Saul - Bound

Copyright © 2012 by Jonas Saul

Kramer Kay stood among shelves upon shelves of glass figurines. Someone was dead. She could feel it, but she couldn’t see them yet. As she walked around the display cases that held a variety of glass statues, the store clerk approached and asked if she needed any help. The store’s lights were bright, the air stale and dry. She turned, licked her lips, and judged the woman to be at least sixty years of age. Her name tag read “Beatrice”.

“I’m just looking,” Kramer responded. Beatrice probably heard that all day.

“Just holler if you need anything.”

Kramer politely nodded and turned away.

Every sort of figure was done up in glass in front of her. Dolphins, wolves, deer, even elephants. She reached out to pick up a glass rabbit and felt someone standing beside her.

I thought I told the clerk I was just looking.

Kramer glanced to her right where a teenage girl stood, holding a glass deer with its head down in the grazing position. It appeared to Kramer that the girl, roughly eighteen years of age, worked here. Her name tag read, “Kelly”.

“I’ve always liked this one. It was my favorite.”

Kramer caught the use of past tense: was my favorite . Could Kelly be dead, or did she simply have a new favorite? It could be seriously hard for Kramer to tell the difference at times. The dead appeared so real before her.

“Which one is your favorite now?” Kramer asked.

“It’s still this one.”

Odd.

“But I thought you said it ‘ was ’ your favorite?”

“I did.”

The girl reached out and placed the deer in Kramer’s palm. Their eyes locked as the young girl spoke again.

“Help me. I lay where the deer play.”

Her voice sent a shiver through Kramer’s shoulders.

“What did you say?”

“I lay where the deer play. Help me, find me. Let me find peace.”

Kramer blinked and then she was standing alone. Kelly had been there one moment, gone the next.

Kramer turned and looked toward the counter.

“Are you all right ma’am?” Beatrice asked.

“Yes, yes of course.” Kramer approached the counter, the figure of the deer still clutched in her palm. “I’ll take this one,” she said, and handed the figurine to Beatrice.

“Oh my, nice choice. My former clerk, Kelly, just adored this one.”

Kramer’s head shot up at the mention of the girl she was just talking to. “Former clerk? What happened to her?”

“No one knows. She disappeared about a year ago. Not a word since. You must have heard about it. It was all over the news.”

Kramer avoided the news for this particular reason. Too many people screamed for help once she knew about them. She reached in her purse, yanked out a twenty and dropped it on the counter. “You mean that eighteen-year-old girl with long blond hair,” she said, now armed with what Kelly looked like.

“Yes. So you did hear about it. Tragic for the parents,” Beatrice said as she handed back Kramer’s change.

“I could only imagine. A tragedy.”

Kramer gathered her things up and left in a hurry, without saying another word. One question frustrated her to no end: why a riddle?

‘ I lay where the deer play ’.

What could it mean?

That’s the main problem with earth-bound entities who are stuck; they have access to vast amounts of information, but they forget I don’t.

She exited the mall and headed for her car, knowing she’d have to contact the lead-investigating officer to see what she could find out about Kelly. Her contacts at the police department were pretty good, given that she’d helped them many times in the past on missing persons cases.

Bruce Wellington would help. Mostly because he kept asking her to dinner, but Kramer didn’t date cops. She couldn’t romance the very people she worked with. Wouldn’t work.

From past experience, when someone from the Other Side contacted her for something, they rarely left her alone until that something was completed.

She reached Bruce with her first call into the station after she got home. He promised to tell her everything he had on the case…if she would agree to have dinner with him.

After ten minutes she finally agreed to meet him at The Keg for nine that night. What would it hurt? She could use a good meal after what she was about to do.

He looked up the case on the computer on his desk, and explained to her that the case had gone cold eight months ago. Not a single lead had turned up as to the whereabouts of Kelly Walsh, eighteen. The parents had been interviewed extensively, even threatened with being charged in the hopes they’d break down and confess, as they were prime suspects in the missing persons case. But nothing came of it. They had no one in custody and no idea where to look next.

Bruce asked Kramer why she was interested. Did she know something new? According to the file, Kramer’s call had been the first about Kelly in over eight months. All Kramer said was that she would get back to him and hung up the phone after confirming the time for dinner again.

This venture to help Kelly seemed fruitless. Maybe she could talk to the parents? After that, if nothing led her to what ‘ I lay where the deer play’ meant, she’d drop it, until Kelly came back with more for her to go on.

When Kramer started looking into the archives of the local newspaper, via its website, she found excerpts about the missing girl, and interviews with the parents. Wendy Walsh and Mark Walsh still lived on Somerset Boulevard.

Two hours later, at 3:00pm, she parked down the street and walked up to knock on the Walsh’s door. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds that threatened rain. It reflected Kramer’s mood, and caused her to question why she was wasting time at the Walsh house. After losing their daughter and going through however-many sleepless nights, and grueling interviews with police and media, the last thing they needed was Kramer asking the same questions, re-opening old wounds. She had turned to step off their porch, when the door opened a crack. A single eye peeked through the gap.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Mrs. Walsh?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Kramer.” Now what was she supposed to say? She didn’t want to make up a lie or scare Mrs. Walsh by saying the wrong thing, yet she had to get her talking about Kelly. She decided to try the truth. “I came here because I saw your daughter, Kelly, today.”

There was a moment of silence. The awkwardness made Kramer feel fidgety. She adjusted her coat and stepped back on the porch a little. Then the door opened far enough for the woman’s face to be exposed.

“That’s impossible. No one has seen Kelly for over a year.”

“I know, but I’m different. Let me explain. People who have unfinished business, come to me after they pass away. Earlier today, I was shopping in the mall and met Kelly where she used to work.”

Mrs. Walsh made an audible gasp, raising her hand to her chest. “Are you playing games with me? Is this about money? What kind of person are you?”

Kramer was surprised by Mrs. Walsh’s response. Usually when she told people that she was psychic, they either asked questions of a psychic nature or stated that they didn’t believe in the Other Side. It was rare that she would be accused of trying to cheat someone out of money.

Kramer stood on the porch and described Kelly to Mrs. Walsh. “I read her name tag at the figurine store. I called the police, and found out the case had been cold for eight months. After meeting Kelly, I thought maybe we could talk. Maybe something will click for me.”