Costume Jewelry II

That was not knocking on the front door upstairs, it was outright banging. Three young women stood frozen in place for what seemed an hour, expecting gunfire. Standing there in fear and dread, Barb replayed the moments they spent in that other dimension. Her mind could not process what they had just experienced. It seemed to her they had spent the best part of a lazy, carefree afternoon in that lovely, sunny meadow. She asked herself silently, “Why did my watch record only a minute of lapsed time?” The more she pondered the question, the more questions presented themselves. The banging on the door persisted, alternated with a heavy hand on the buzzer. The banging sounded like a hammer on wood. As suddenly as it began, the noise from upstairs abated.

Hank stopped banging the stock of his AK 47 forcefully against the hardwood door when the notion of an accidental discharge occurred to him. He envisioned a stray bullet racing through Billy’s skull. He smiled to himself. Their “de-facto” leader held his hand up to signal them to remain silent. It was the same gesture he used for his every unspoken command.

Billy, the youngest, was never sure what Hank meant to say with his raised hand signal. Terry, the skinny one, imagined Hank saluting Hitler every time he did that. The three young men in para-military gear and red baseball caps, stood perfectly still, breathlessly straining to hear the slightest sound coming from inside the house on a cul-de-sac in Tucson.

Another minute passed in silence except for the plaintive howling of a coyote, somewhere down in the arroyo, saluting the moon. The heat was stifling even though the sun had set hours earlier. Air hung still and oppressive on a moonlit night as they listened intently. Hank finally lowered his hand, pointing his weapon menacingly at Billy’s head.

Three young women had cautiously ascended the spiral staircase, climbing only high enough to peer over the floor of the upstairs level, giving them as clear aview of the men standing in front of the bay window as the stacks of Aunt Mary’s hoarding helped to conceal them. Single pane glass did nothing to muffle the men’s exchange.

“Are you sure you saw a red light in that room?” said Hank accusingly.

“Maybe it was a fire-fly or a reflection off the glass, but I saw something red out of the corner of my eye as we were marching by on the road,” Billy protested.

“We are a hundred yards off the road on a cul-de-sac,” observed Terry. “You some kind of eagle eye or something?”

Hank plotted his next move. He looked in every direction. He considered that his ringing the buzzer and rapping on the door with the stock of his rifle might have scared anyone inside to go into hiding. Had anyone yet used a flashlight to look inside? No. As he lit his pocket Maglite, the others followed suit. All three proceeded to shine their flashlights into the room.

Three women ducked to remain unseen as three flashlights lit up the interior like so many searchlights piercing the sky at a Hollywood premiere.

“Spiral staircase goes down to a lower level. But what’s with all the junk? Still, a nice layout,” said Billy, approvingly.

Hank slapped the back of Billy’s head saying, “So glad you like the home show, dickhead. It’s a hoarders’ house, stupid.

Anyone can see that. Shit. Get your ass in gear and check out the garage while I look for a side door. Terry, go that way around the house, we’ll meet in the back.”

Terry moved to the left, along the south side of the structure. A block wall blocked him eight feet from the rear of the house. He looked over the wall to find a sharp incline down to an arroyo. He could see a small yard a level below. A deck on stilts extended the living space of the upper/ground level. There was no access to the deck from the south side, and no doors or windows on the south face either. A pair of chimneys indicated two fireplaces on that wall.

Hank followed the flagstone path on the north side between the house and garage. Sure enough, a side door led to a laundry/utility room; locked, of course, dead bolted undoubtedly. The path led on to a wooden gate, padlocked from the other side. His beam of light passed through a wrap-around corner bank of windows, revealing the deck the wooden gate opened to. Boxes covered the table and chairs and every inch of floor in that room.

Billy found a windowless folding garage door. Following Hank between the two buildings, he peered through the side door window of the garage. Locked, of course. His flashlight illuminated something covered by a tarp. He guessed it might be a motor bike. A work bench filled the west wall and storage cabinets lined the south wall. Three mountain bikes hung from hooks in the ceiling.

Using the detritus of more than a decade of hoarding as cover, Barb led her sisters toward the fireplaces on the south wall, one in the living room and the other in the great room, She hoped fireplace tools would still be there behind whatever was packed in around them. She and Sue each armed themselves with iron pokers. Bev had already secured a Louisville slugger from a box of sports equipment near the bottom of the staircase. Barb knew the protective value of a bat or poker versus an assault rifle was the equivalent of taking a knife to a gun fight. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Still, they crouched behind the kitchen island in the center of what should be the wide-open space of a well-designed home. With her hoarding over many years, Aunt Mary had inadvertently produced life-saving piles of stuff to conceal their movement. Great planning, Mary, she thought. The only areas of the house not stacked floor to ceiling were by the bay window and front door. Why not? Barb remembered her Aunt once telling her, “Never clutter the outside of your house. It destroys the curb appeal.” From the pavement of the cu-de-sac, one can only see what appears to be a modest one-story ranch house with separate garage.

Fond memories flooded back of happier times in that house before the hoarding began, when Uncle Dave was still alive. She recalled many happy gatherings of family from all over the country at Christmas or Thanksgiving holidays, long gone now. At Christmas, a gaily decorated, potted fir tree was always framed by that bay window. The twinkling lights sent a festive glow onto the desert landscaping before it. All that was missing was snow to conjure up an image of a Rockwell painting. Her reverie was cut short by the heated argument outside.

“I don’t care if the fucking doors are locked, I think we should break in and take whatever we can use.”

“Shut up Terry. I’m in charge and I say we move on. Like I said, this is obviously a hoarder’s house. We won’t find anything of any value in there, just piles and piles of rotting trash. Besides, we travel light. We’re on security patrol not scavenger duty.

“Yes sir, el capitan.” Terry could hardly conceal his contempt for the older man.

“Isn’t it odd that the garage is so uncluttered? There’s room for two cars in there. Did I mention the mountain bikes I found?”

“What? No,” barked Hank. “Show me.”

They crowded the window of the side door, three flashlights revealing the bikes hanging just inside.

Without warning, Terry smashed the window with a brief spray of bullets. The sound echoed loudly between the two buildings causing Bev to let out a cry of surprise. Barb quickly covered her mouth to silence her. Sue tensed for the inevitable barrage of firepower causing similar damage to the laundry room door. Thankfully, she hadn’t been heard.

Hank, at full voice, yelled, “What the fuck, Terry!”

Reaching through the open window, Terry unlocked the door. Smiling, he said sarcastically, “Door’s not locked anymore.”

Hank pushed him out of the way as he entered the garage and began freeing a bike from its perch. In less than two minutes gunfire shooting into the air and shouts of “YeeHaw” receded as they peddled away.

“They gone?” asked Sue.

“Shh. Let’s lay low for a few minutes, Sue.” Barb slowly loosed her grip on Bev but still held her close to calm her down. Her petite body was wracked with shivers of fear.

“What if they come back?” Bev was scared, almost to tears.

“We’ll use Aunt Mary’s heart-shaped locket again to escape to that better place.” Barb’s voice was soothing and reassuring.

“Without our bikes, how will we get the others to come here to the portal?’ Asked Sue.

Barb replied, “I’m not sure the portal is here in this house, I think it’s in the locket.”

“I want to go back to that sunny meadow now.”

“We’ll go back there when we need to, Bev. I figured out how it works.” Barb said it but she didn’t mean it. She hadn’t a clue how it worked.

Barb looked at her watch. Ninety minutes had passed since they reappeared downstairs, teleported from wherever they had been. She tried to rationalize the event, but her mind boggled from lack of comprehension.

“It’s late. I don’t think they’ll come back tonight but since they have our bikes, what will we do for transportation? We can’t ride three on the Indian Motorcycle. They will probably come back for that too. Let’s try to sleep. Tomorrow will be another scorcher I’m sure.”

“You’re right Barb. They will come back for that,” Said Bev, yawning.

Sue gently inspected the locket still hanging on Barbs neck. “How did you get it to glow?” She asked.

Barb thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, but Aunt Mary told me it might save my life one day. I was so frightened when I saw all those men with rifles marching on the street. I grabbed it for good luck. I saw the glow before I noticed the light came from within. That’s when I clamored down the stairs to warn you all. I was like in a trance by the time I reached the lower floor. Next thing I knew we were all standing under that tree.”

Bev posed a question. “Remember how you made it work to get us back here? Didn’t you just sent us an image of the lower level telepathically?”

“That’s right.” Sue agreed. “I saw the base of the spiral stairs and then, poof, we were standing there.”

“Barb,” Bev offered meekly, “what if that’s all it really takes? If we all think about standing in the living room at home, and you hold the locket or stroke it or pet it or something…”

Sue excitedly agreed. “Yes. Barb, it’s worth a chance.”

Her hand around the heart-shaped locket, Barb closed her eyes. She almost giggled as she heard an inner voice saying, “There’s no place like home.” She pictured Mom and Dad welcoming them home at the front door.

Sue and Bev closed their eyes at the same moment Barb did. They both opened themselves to receiving the image Barb was sending. Neither saw a visual image of their house or their parents. Feeling that something was awry, they opened their eyes, and both screamed.

“Howard, Barb is home.” Her mother’s voice forced her eyes wide open. There she was, standing on the porch of her family home, the front door ajar. Mother, looking apprehensive asked, “Barb, where are your sisters?”

(To be continued)

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