I picked her up early inthe evening and we went to a steak house for dinner. There was a great Italianplace in town, but it would never live up to her mother’s cooking. Thingsstarted out slow but we fell back into our groove after a while and laughed alot. We went to the movies, some chick flick that I barely stayed awake for,then back to my place.
As soon as we entered theapartment, she saw the Victrola. “Wow, Mark, where did you get this?” She ranher hands around the lip of the horn. I shivered.
“Picked it up at a yardsale,” I said as I fetched us a couple of beers from the fridge.
“Does it work?”
I stopped halfway back tothe living room, almost dropping the beers. Sweat broke out on my forehead. Whatis wrong with me? “Yeah, Jason and I had it working last night.”
Angie didn’t get alongwith Jason. In fact, she couldn’t stand him. It was part of the reason wefought a lot. I knew better than to even mention his name, and by the look onAngie’s face, I probably just sent the date into a tailspin.
“Can we play a record?”
I handed her a beer, happyto have avoided the subject of Jason. “Sure, pick something out.” I said itcasually despite my dry mouth and beating-way-too-fast heart.
She handed me Strangerin Town, one of my favorites. Maybe the night was salvageable after all. Iset it on the turntable and dropped the tone arm. I wound the crank and let goof the turntable. The hiss of static lasted just a few seconds before thefamiliar opening of “Hollywood Nights” blasted from the horn.
I took a long draw from mybeer, almost coughing it up when Angie’s hand slid up my thigh. Her eyes werefull of mischief and longing. I leaned in and kissed her. I wanted nothing morethan to get lost in her body...but something was distracting me. The lights inthe room dimmed and I got a sudden chill. But that wasn’t the problem; it wasthe whispers. Just like last night, I heard something between the words andmusic of the song. Or maybe behind it.
“What’s wrong, Mark?”
I heard Angie speak buther voice was miles away. And so meaningless. All that mattered was the othervoice. It spoke softly but it knew. It had all the truths and it promised toshare them with me. The voice’s name was Julian Black. He had so much to teachme. Angie’s voice faded as Julian whispered to me.
* * *
Sunday morning was likeGroundhog’s Day of Saturday. The sun was too bright, my tongue felt like agiant wad of cotton, and my head throbbed to the beat of my heart. “What thefuck.” I was on the couch, Angie was gone, and so was my memory of anythingthat happened after “Hollywood Nights.” Saturday, I was annoyed. Sunday, I wasscared.
Julian Black. The nameexploded in my head. It did nothing to assuage my fear. Fragments of memories,of conversations, teased me from behind a thick blanket of haze. Did I speakto someone last night? I fumbled around for my cell and called Angie.Straight to voicemail. Same for Jason. My fear was taking steroids, pumpingitself up to terror. I took a ragged deep breath and tried to calm myself down.
My eyes found the Victrolaand any sense of calm abandoned me. There was still a record on the turntable.I knew it would be Seger before I got there to see it. Side one. Whateverhappened, happened fast. I reached for the disk, but my hand ended up on thecrank. I started to turn it, then yanked my hand away.
I ran out to my car andpeeled out of the driveway. I knew if I got away from that...thing, Juliancouldn’t reach me. At least, I hoped so. I drove aimlessly, trying to clear mymind. It was hard with the radio off, but I was too afraid that I’d start tohear him, or it. I had to find a way to stop this, whatever thiswas. Maybe you’re going crazy. Of course, the thought had occurred tome, but I dismissed it, there was too much pointing at something else going on.Isn’t that what all the crazies say? I shook my head. “No, there’sdefinitely—” I stopped myself, trying to focus on a rational plan.
“I have to find the house,talk to the people I bought the Victrola from.” I nodded my head. “Shit.” Theself-talk had to end. I thought back to last weekend; what was I doing before Istumbled on the yard sale? I had volunteered at the library book sale, thengrabbed a bagel and a large coffee, and started driving. The day was warm andsunny, I had the windows down and the music on. “Raven’s Point!” I lookedaround to get my bearings, then headed toward West Drumlin.
There had been a lot ofdown time at the library book sale. One of the books I flipped through to passthe time was a New England points of interest guide. There was a “hidden gem”section – most of the places weren’t that hidden and weren’t really gems – butRaven’s Point caught my attention. The article said it was the highest point inWest Drumlin with “breathtaking views” and “abundant wildlife.” What reallygrabbed me was the waterfall - “just a short hike from the trailhead.”
I had been trying to findthe trailhead when I ran into the roadblock and stopped at the yard sale. Afterthat, I’d completely forgotten about Raven’s Point. Even though I’d been lost,at least I’d be able to put myself in the general area. I had an unusually goodmemory for roads and knew I could find my way back to the house. Whether I’dget any answers there was another story. The old couple was creepy and seemedscared. They knew. They knew about Julian Black and sold me that fuckingthing anyway.
My thoughts were clearerthe farther away from home I traveled. You mean the farther away from thatthing. I’d considered just trashing the Victrola, driving somewhere andtossing it off a cliff, but my gut told me it wouldn’t
