INVISIBILA

Ready to put this day behind her a bewildered Jordan Stevenson lays her keys with the day’s mail on the kitchen bar next to the bowl of fresh fruit. Seeing the time is already 7:30pm she drinks the last of her Starbucks coffee she purchased while in the supermarket before tossing the empty cup into the trash, hoping it will calm her nerves. With a cup of Starbucks costing over $5.00 who could honestly afford not to drink every drop? The company should consider paying Maxwell House a royalty fee to use their trademark slogan “good to the last drop.”

Glancing through the stack of mail, she notices a sealed 8x10 cream color envelope with no return address or stamp on it, as if someone had purposely placed it in the mailbox. Flipping the mysterious envelope front to back, checking for a postmark of where it may have originated from or by whom? Seeing none and being curious, she opens it. What she held in her hand and read was hard for her to put her bewildered mind around. Typed on a half torn piece of parchment paper the message took her breath away “Your parents’ deaths were no accident Jordan, but cold blooded murder.” The message frightens Jordan and confirms her instinct the man who was in the supermarket earlier, was really watching her and was not her mind playing games again with hallucinations. Jordan cannot get the dark face she saw while in the local grocery market earlier out of her mind. Something about the fact a six foot, well built, dark eyed, bald & black bearded Caucasian man dressed in black fatigues who seem to be in every isle she was in, watching her every move; gave her a sense of uneasiness. However, when she noticed him walking out of the supermarket nothing in hand while she placed her groceries in the trunk of the car she became more than uneasy, she became alarmed.

Suddenly aware of noises all around her, one in which is coming from the next room and the other a distance sound of a dog barking. Jordan cautiously walks toward and enters the study to see where the annoying sound is coming from suddenly her attention is drawn toward the ceiling fan. It is wobbling and needs tightened or better yet needs replaced given all the noise it is making. It has been circulating the air within this room for many years. She does not remember leaving it on when she left this morning. She realized a smile appears on her face remembering when her father first installed it. In the public sector, Samuel Stevenson, was remembered for being a man of wealth and power, in the privacy of his family, he displayed a humbleness that she remembers most about him. He always did most of the minor handy work around the house. He always believed longevity derived from healthy hard work and just because you can afford to hire someone else to do it, he would say having money does not excuse you from the responsibility of working hard and learning new trades, thus doing it yourself. Looking up, Jordan remembers when there used to be a chandelier hanging there and she remembers vividly as if it were yesterday; the sparkles it would produce over the walls and ceiling when the sun would shine through the window in the early morning of each new day. “Daddy, why are you taking down the colorful chandelier to replace it with a brown ceiling fan?” asked a very young Jordan. Closing her eyes, she could hear his deep voice as if he were in the room this very moment. He had shared, he enjoyed the sound the ceiling fan made which helped him to relax and think when writing or working in his study. “It is important for a writer to be able to concentrate on their work, drowning out all outside noises. One day Jordan, when you are older you will understand and appreciate better the importance of creating a work space for your personal liking.”

Jordan knows this particular room was her father’s favorite place to find solitude it has served as the Stevenson study for two generations. Jordan’s grandfather, Samuel Patrick Stevenson I, started his career writing in this very room as an editor for the County Republican Newspaper that garnered attention locally when he began writing and publishing his liberal opinions regarding World War II. Her father Samuel Patrick Stevenson II not only followed in his father’s footsteps, but made a name for himself as the conservative political nemesis when he out smarted the local conservative commissioners who sought to silence his liberal writings from being published by attempting to put the paper out of business. Sam Stevenson II made his own headlines when word spread throughout the Southern Georgia Counties he had bought the County Republican Newspaper and changed the name to The Stevenson Daily Post, in which he owned and remained senior editor along with owning other businesses all around the southern tri-state area, up until his sudden death two years ago. Would she make them proud following in their steps as a third generation Stevenson liberal writer or will Jordan be silenced; like her father for reasons she does not understand? Jordan now wonders what dark secret her father or parents stumbled upon that cost them their lives the summer of 2020. Troubled by today's events Jordan walks toward her deceased father’s 1930 writing desk inherited from his father, and grabs a pen and sticky note, writing a reminder to search local stores for the brand of parchment paper. The type she now holds in her hand that says her parent's car crash two years ago to the day was not an accident, but murder.

Jordan being reminded how much she misses her parents as tears begin escaping from her eyes and the memories take her back two years when she had to identify their mangled bodies. How much more her sisters must be hurting, she thinks back to the last conversation she had with Samantha, what has she done to her relationship with her sister? Picking up the telephone to call Samantha in an attempt to make things right between them, no, the hurtful words she had said to Sam were unforgivable, even for her. Remembering if she had not been under the influence of drugs at the time she would have never said those things to her sister, she suddenly releases her grip from the phone and decides she cannot call her. Instead, she reaches for the bottom left desk drawer, pulling it open to find what will calm her. Laying her prized possession on the desk and unlocking it, Jordan opens the black journal toward the back where she had cut out the center of pages to make a secret hiding place, retrieving the tiny clear bag with the quarter size white substance, pouring just enough onto the desk with the razor blade to smooth out the cocaine. She takes a dollar bill from her jean pocket, rolls it tight to take two hits, one in each nostril, rubbing the remainder of the white residue on her teeth and gums she then places the baggie back into the journal and desk drawer for another time.

Wiping the moistness from her eyes, Jordan walks over to the fireplace reaching above the mantle to swing back the 11x14 portrait of herself, her sister, Samantha Roosevelt Stevenson and their deceased parents, Sam and Millie Stevenson and proceeds to open the hidden safe where she places the letter along with the envelope inside for safekeeping. She then closes the safe and turning the knob then swings the family portrait back to its original position as if never being disturbed.

Heading back toward the kitchen the effect of the white substance is beginning to make her alert and Jordan suddenly realizes her neighbor’s dog is still barking from across the field. Sage must have poor old Bernice Caldwell’s cat trapped in the tree once again. Trying to get her mind on something more positive, Jordan is startled and jumps when the phone rings. “Damn it! My own shadow distracts me,” she says aloud to herself as she leans over reading the name and number that appears on the caller ID, Jackson Reynolds. Jordan sighs and hesitates letting the answering machine take the call. “Hey Jordan, its Jackson, just checking on you,” hearing his sexy voice she picks up the phone. “Hey Jackson, are you coming over?” “I will be over within the hour, if you will have me? I am leaving the gym now and will need to take a quick shower when I arrive, care to join me?” Jackson asked. Jordan looks around the study really feeling the effects of the coke, “well now that you mention it I do need to preoccupy my mind from this day, and I am feeling a bit frisky,” Jordan replies. “You’re getting me excited already,” says Jackson. “I am undressing now,” hoping to give him a tease, “see you when you get here then, don’t drive too fast,” she hangs up the phone. “Everything is better with a snort of coke, especially a night of sex with Jackson.” She thinks while walking into the kitchen, she will not be up for talking, but is up for an overnight sexual rendezvous that will last into the wee hours of the early morning, and she is certain Jackson will want the same.

Placing the rest of her groceries into the pantry, she thinks she hears footsteps outside the patio doors. Expecting a knock, Jordan quickly glances at the clock on the kitchen wall to see the time was 8:34pm. Jackson must of have already been closer than he admitted to being. Walking toward the door, she is surprised there is no knock. She hesitates but brushes off the strange feeling and opens the door anyway.

Pete Harris stepped out onto his porch to see what was causing his chocolate lab to bark continuously. He hopes it is not a skunk that got the best of his old faithful friend, seems the skunk population along with their infamous odor was taking over the countryside and if his dog was a victim of such an attack, come morning he planned to take action to kill off the pesky culprits. While Pete stood quietly in the eerily coolness of the night, he thought he heard what sounded like a high-pitched scream coming from the west of him. It was hard to be certain with Sage barking in the same direction of the rustling of the tree limbs. While holding his gaze across the road toward the Stevenson home, he could see the dim porch light piercing through the trees, which is not out of the norm. Pete hollered to his dog “Sage, get up here and quiet down!” A second or two passes and Pete bellows out “SAGE! come on now and get up here on the porch!” Sage with his fanged teeth protruding and growling fiercely at the unseen evil presence that his animal instinct knows has quietly taken up residence in the rural country neighborhood; obeys his owner by reluctantly turning from the evil that resides on the opposite side of the chained linked fence, runs and finds his place on the porch beside his owner. “What is the ruckus about out here?” Lily asks, opening the door. Pete turns toward his wife Lily, while petting his dog on his head for obeying his command. “Not sure, but something has Sage on edge over by the fence. Let us get back inside. Probably a varmint he could not catch, or he had Mrs. Caldwell’s cat pinned in the tree again. Those two are worse than the Hatfield’s and the McCoy’s when it comes to claiming marked territory,” Pete explains while holding the door open as Lily turns to go inside. Pete takes one last glance to the West of him before closing and locking door. He noticed the porch light is now off at the Stevenson house and head toward the dining room window. “Jordan needs to seriously think about having some security lights placed around her house and yard. It is not right for a beautiful young woman to be living alone without proper lighting for security purposes these days. A man can’t see a damn thing over there.” Pete explains. “Well, maybe she likes it that way for privacy purposes, not wanting peeping toms or nosy neighbors such as yourself spying on her?” replies Lily, with a smile. She had poured herself and Pete a cup of hot tea. “Here maybe this will ease your concerns for Jordan. I made it just the way you like it, with two lumps of sugar with a touch of lemon.” She hands her husband of 40 years a cup. Politely accepting the tea, Pete shrugged at her comment, while peering through the blinds of the west side dining room window still startled with what he thought might be a scream coming from Jordan’s house. Lily gently places her hand on center of his back to get his attention. “Old man why don’t you bring your cup of tea into the living room and join me for our evening show.” states Lily. “Is it time for Pawn Stars on The History Channel already?” “Yes, it is.” Lily says, as she follows her husband into the living room. “Do you know what today is?” asked Pete. Sitting his cup on the end table, he waits for Lily to answer him before sitting in his recliner. “Yes, dear I do. Which is why you are probably overly concerned for Jordan.” Pausing before nodding his grey head in acceptance of his wife’s answer, he looks toward her, “Yeah, maybe you are right for once old lady.” He gives her a smile and takes his place in his matching recliner next to hers.