Vincent Zandri - The remains

Retrieving his empty beer bottle, Michael went back into the kitchen. He got a Pepsi, popped the top, and came back out into the living room with it. The difference between the new Michael and the old Michael was that now he could stop drinking after one beer.

Scratching his head, he said, “How can you be sure about any of this, Bec? Sounds like science fiction to me. Isaac Asimov Magazine.”

I pointed to the first painting on the left. “Listen.”

“Only a few hours after he gave me this painting, I dreamed of a field with a thick wood on its far side. Molly was walking ahead of me, leading us into the woods that my father forbade us to enter.”

“That’s no dream,” Michael said. “That really happened.”

“I was woken up from that dream to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I also thought I heard a voice.”

“Now you’re scaring me.”

“It was his voice. I swear it was Whalen’s voice.”

“Do you remember Whalen’s voice?”

I shook my head.

“No. But I knew it belonged to him.”

“You must have been dreaming. He’s dead after all. Isn’t he?”

“Yeah, I was dreaming. But my eyes were open. I couldn’t move. I felt like I was glued to the bed.”

Now pointing his index finger at me to further stress his point, he said, “But that doesn’t mean you weren’t dreaming?”

“I agree. It’s not unusual to have your eyes open and be caught up in a dream state.”

“So who was calling you at that hour?”

“In the morning I checked the phone. There was no record of anyone having called.”

Michael smiled. But I knew he wasn’t happy about anything. “Then it all must have been a bad dream.”

“True, but…” My voice trailed off, as if it had a mind of its own.

“But what, Bec?”

“Then this afternoon Franny gives me another painting. This one matches precisely the scene of my dream-the landscape-almost precisely. He calls it ‘See’ of all things as if he wants me to see what’s about to happen.”

“Yesterday he wanted you to listen. The squiggly Sharpie lines. Maybe they represent sound waves.” He said it half joking, half serious.

I giggled. But it was a nervous giggle. Sound Waves… Listen… Michael had a point. He crossed his arms, rolled his eyes. I was freaking him out.

“What else, Bec?” he pushed. “I know you’re not done.”

“And tonight, in the parking garage as I was heading for home, I saw the shadow of a man.”

“Becca.”

I wasn’t talking now so much as ranting. Michael was staring at me, shaking his head. Not like he didn’t believe me. More like things were moving too fast for him.

My lungs were working overtime, my heart was pounding and there was a buzzing inside my skull.

“There’s one more thing,” I said. “Over the past few months I’ve received more than a few odd texts.”

“How odd?”

“Some contained only my name. Rebecca. More recently I started getting the word, ‘remember.’”

“Who forwarded them?”

“When I try to find out the sender’s information, all I get is ‘Unknown Caller.’”

“Then whoever is doing this knows how to block it. Did you know that if we had a number, we could cross-reference it on the web for a home address?”

I told him I had no idea. But then, what difference did it make? At least Michael knew everything now. At least I had finally been able to free the secret.

Silence draped over us for what seemed forever. Until my ex-husband escaped into the bathroom and washed his face. When he returned to the living room, some of the color had returned to his cheeks.

“I thought you told me Whalen was dead?” he said. “Isn’t that exactly what you told me a few minutes ago when you revealed the secret?”

“I’ve always assumed he was dead. That he died an old man in prison.”

“So Whalen didn’t just disappear,” he posed. “He was arrested and put in lock up?”

“Arrested and convicted in the abduction and attempted rape of an Albany woman if I remember correctly. Happened not six months after his attack on me and my twin sister. They put him away forever. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. When you’re twelve years old, thirty years sounds like a lifetime. Or in this case, a death sentence.”

Michael exhaled and once more crossed his arms.

“It’s been thirty years, Rebecca,” he said. “The lifetime is over, death sentence commuted.”

I felt a brick lodge itself in my stomach. The brick turned into nausea.

“You think it’s possible Whalen has been released from prison?” I said, voice trembling. “Michael, do you believe he could be alive? That maybe he’s stalking me? Texting me? Do you think Franny’s hyper-sensitive brain has somehow picked up on it, and the only way he knows how to warn me is through his paintings?”

He never said a word. Because just like Franny, I believe he already knew the answer.

“There’s one quick method to find out if Whalen is still alive,” Michael said. “Google search.”

We were standing inside my bedroom just off the kitchen. My heart was pumping wildly. It also felt entirely odd doing something like this with my ex. Doing something this important, this life altering. In a word, this messed up.

While on one hand, I felt about fifty pounds lighter, having been able to talk out the events of thirty years ago, I also felt as though the wood floor was about to be pulled out from under me. In just a minute or two I would find out if the man who attacked me and my sister was still alive. If he had been released from prison.

Michael sat at the computer desk in my bedroom with both hands positioned on the keyboard. I watched over his shoulder while he typed in the URL for Google. When it came up he entered the word “Sexual Predators, New York State” into the empty search box. Fingering the ENTER key the search came up with several pages of sites and URLs that would list the registry of documented sexual predators, deviants and offenders, the most prominent of which was a site called www.childsafenetwork.com.

Michael clicked onto the site, brought it up.

It was then I took an instinctive step back, sat down on the edge of the bed. My heart was thumping so fast I thought I might have a heart attack. I was having trouble breathing, swallowing.

Turning to me in alarm, Michael said, “We can stop if you want, Rebecca. If you’re not ready.”

I put my head in my hands, rubbed the feeling back into my face. “What if it’s true?” I said. “What if after all these years we find out Whalen is alive? What if he’s out of prison?”

“Then at least we know what we’re up against,” Michael said. “We can defend ourselves if we know what’s out there. I can defend you. If we choose to ignore it, it might come back to haunt you.”

My hands were shaking. Adrenalin was pouring into my brain so rapidly, it sounded like a brass band warming up inside my head. Michael turned back to the computer screen, then back to me again. I could tell by the look on his face that he was brainstorming.

“You never told a soul about what happened in the woods.”

I nodded.

“If we find Whalen’s name on this list… if we find out he’s alive, it won’t matter.”

Swallowing, I looked in his eyes.

“How can it not matter?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, wrong choice of words. What I’m trying to say is this: finding his name on the state registry doesn’t mean you’re in any kind of danger. You never ratted him out, so to speak. You weren’t directly responsible for sending him to prison. If you’re worried about the revenge factor, there’s no reason for Whalen to seek you out.”