CHAPTER TWO
The familiar tinkle of ice cubes striking glass made Peanut’s right eyebrow rise almost in accusation. She sat exhausted, her head draped over the edge of her chair but had made her point. Mitchell laughed and was reminded of his mother for the first time in god knows how long. Despite the implied disapproval, he poured three fingers of whiskey over the cubes causing them to fracture.
A quick splash of water and the cocktail was complete.
Settling on the back verandah to watch the afternoon sun make its way to a western slumber, in little time he recalled the odd events of the afternoon; the strange red car appearing and then disappearing from seemingly nowhere. Was it real or indeed a phantom? Had the recent stress finally taken its toll and he’d imagined it entirely? Like the ice cubes in his tumbler cracking under the warmer weight of alcohol, Mitchell wondered if he was succumbing to equal pressures.
He grabbed his laptop; the only thing afforded after fourteen years of service and Goggled ‘stress disorders’. Before the search engine revealed its findings, he slammed the screen shut and whispered to himself,
“Don’t be stupid, it was nothing. It was a hot day and you skipped lunch. That’s all…. what are you thinking?” The slap of screen on keyboard startled Peanut and she raised another concerned eyebrow which made Mitchell laugh for the second time in as many minutes.
The strained laughter though didn’t stop him from reliving the day’s events well into his fourth scotch.
≈
Another routine began for the umpteenth time the next morning. While Peanut slept, Mitch slipped on his running gear. He religiously begun the day with a short run through the nearby parklands, ending it to coincide with his favourite café opening for the day.
Today was no different and he set off slowly before building his tempo over the next fifty minutes. Running was something Mitchell adopted later in life and found it not only cleansing, but a perfect way to start the day. Years ago, while living in Shanghai, a work colleague convinced Mitchell of its’ virtues and encouraged him to roll out of bed before the thick smoke and humid air made the trek less enjoyable than it already was. Over time, he actually came to enjoy running and now began most days with a healthy jog to get his body and mind active.
He arrived at the café just as the staff finished warming up the machines. Without ordering he was handed his regular morning coffee then made the journey home slowly savoring the caffeine.
Peanut barked on his arrival and Mitch poured the last of his latte into a bowl for her. Coffee couldn’t be all that good for a dog, but Peanut seemed to enjoy it and the act had become a routine in itself. Before she’d finished, Mitch settled himself with his laptop intent on checking emails and more unlikely, searching for a job. It didn’t take him long to again enter the words ‘stress disorders’ into the flashing space in the middle of the screen.
Dozens of links appeared. Mitchell opened each of them to read what he could about stress and stress related activity. He learnt much of the condition but nothing specifically explaining what he saw, or thought he saw yesterday. The closest was Acute Stress Disorder. An infirmity rendering an individual with decreased emotional responsiveness and frequent guilt of pursuing life’s usual tasks. ASD made it difficult to experience pleasure in previously enjoyable activities. That certainly described Mitchell, but ASD was often onset by a traumatic life experience. The ‘lunch gone wrong’ could hardly be deemed a traumatic life experience, so Mitch dismissed the notion and closed the browser to check his emails.
Nothing of importance today.
He remained uneasy though. He was always uncomfortable not understating things and believed it showed vulnerability and ignorance. Of course, he was being hard on himself, but that’s who he was. It was how he’d become successful, questioning and striving to understand why. Only when he failed to understand and take action did he lose. And failure had happened too often recently.
So earlier than usual, and through pig headed stubbornness, Mitch sat on the bottom tread of the stairs to put on his walking shoes. The laces weren’t tied when he heard a familiar voice beyond the back fence.
“Going for a walk Mitchell?”.
Ethel Bartholomew was the elderly neighbour, perhaps in her mid-eighties, who lived immediately behind Mitchell’s house. She was extremely spritely for her age; a benefit no doubt derived from a lifetime of clean living and regular pray. Ethel was typical of anyone often at home and always looked out for the neighborhood. The quintessential busybody taking care of her neighbours when needed, but pretty much keeping to herself when nothing exciting was happening. She was widowed almost two decades ago after her husband Lyle lost a short fight with intestinal cancer leaving Ethel just when they should have been enjoying life.
Now there’s an authentic reason to suffer posttraumatic stress Mitchell thought for the first time.
Lyle Bartholomew passed before Mitch bought his house much less moved in, and consequently they never met. But he’d heard many stories from Mrs. Bartholomew chatting over their shared fence, and in many ways, Mitch wished he had met him. The way Ethel spoke of him; the undying love carried for a man lost so long ago spoke volumes of his character.
The day was noticeably hotter than yesterday, the evening news said to expect thirty-five degrees by mid-afternoon and this morning Ethel watered her garden before the heat of the sun drained away what life she had breathed back into her prized Gardenias. When Mitchell was away for extended periods, she would similarly water his garden. She also fed Peanut when occasion called. But there had not been much call for that of late.
“Good Morning Mrs. Bartholomew,” Mitchell called back, “and how can you tell?” he added sarcastically.
“Peanut’s barking of course! You’re both off unusually early today.”
“Yeah we are. Trying to beat the worst of the expected heat. Poor old Nut has to carry around that fur coat of hers, and she refuses to get out running with me in the morning,” Mitch offered politely. “Seems you’re getting a head start today too.”
“I am indeed. And if I don’t, todays temperatures will turn my gardenias that God awful brown before days end.”
“Well, we are both on the same train of thought then. Enjoy the rest of your day and get inside soon, you need to look after yourself too,” was all Mitchell could muster, his mind elsewhere.
Mrs. Bartholomew’s observation of the early barking was correct, but not because of the offered ruse regarding the heat. Mitchell wanted to take another look at the manhole cover causing him unrest during the night. He’d convinced himself the red 4WD was only an illusion. But it was a forced conviction made for simplicity. Mitch had been questioning his decisions lately. He was less trusting of his once reliable intuition and wasn’t sure of anything anymore. The further he pondered things, the more ambiguous they became.
Out on their walk Peanut struggled in the heat due to her heavy coat, but more because she was vastly overweight for a dog of her stature. A direct result of living with Mitch who’d spoilt her at any chance. Regardless, she never failed to find something of interest and despite her regular visits to the same places every day, she would always stop at a familiar pole to see what had transpired since her last visit. Mitchell learnt his lesson the day before and allowed Peanut her indulgence. He took the time to ‘stop and smell the roses’. Looking to a sky devoid of cloud and moving air, momentarily removed from his preoccupation of the metal plate, he bathed in the early rays of temperate sun, noticing the elongated shadow his walking stick protracted along the ground. The cicadas were in song, but the birds unusually quiet, perhaps stifled by the heat. Or was it the endless procession of cars that drowned their sound?
“Hey. There you are,” Mitchell said to Peanut, presumably finished with what smell previously took her interest and now standing by his side. Mitch was elsewhere and hadn’t even noticed her awaiting his next command.
“Gee it’s getting hot mate, best we keep going.”
With the rap of his stick and a short whistle, they continued walking and Mitchell’s attention soon moved to the manhole cover and red 4WD.
What the hell was that?
Mitch had been around construction sites for most of his working life. He’d seen all manner of metal fabrications and construction materials used throughout the years, but the rusty set of plates with checker plate design had him bewildered. Engineering principles call for precise and assured decision making to maintain safety and longevity of a project. Accordingly, Mitch trained himself to think the same way in everyday life. He was inherently analytical, well read, and very lateral in his thinking. But stubbornly he needed an answer to any problem before moving forward. An attribute his university lecturers instilled in the fledging engineers early in their studies. The metal plate posed a question he didn’t have an answer to. Yet.
As they started to climb the hill like the day before, and every day before that, Mitchell’s eyes shifted to the ground as he leant on the walking stick per its purpose. Peanut lagged behind as Mitch quickened his pace, his strides purposeful and long, his head bowed slightly to better notice the stretched shadow of his frame joined to his feet as if marking the direction. Mitch was anxious to get to the plate and entirely focused on yesterday’s vision, recalling everything leading up to the strange sighting.
Had I imagined it?
He thought of nothing but yesterday’s walk then impulsively of ‘that’ lunch. That damned lunch. If only he could have that time again he wondered, and uncontrollably thought of the day with Juliana and the unexplained ending to an otherwise perfect afternoon.
Mitch rounded a slight bend in the path and like a beacon guiding his way, saw the metal cover in the cement path ahead. He’d never paid any attention to it prior, but today it was of paramount importance. Peanut was still far behind him and Mitchell grew impatient. He thought of yesterday, then again of the lunch, and walked uncontrollably faster toward the plate now only meters in front of him. Then he reached it. Without fully understanding why, he took a deep breath and a controlled step and stood motionless on the centre of the plate.
Instantaneously the sky darkened.
What the?
He looked up much the same as the day before and spotted the red 4WD coming down the road as it had eighteen hours prior. Mitchell maintained his stance and turned his head to follow the car as it took a slight bend and disappeared down the hill. It took only seconds, but he was transfixed the entire time. The car moved on as quickly as yesterday, but today he saw it longer and now certain it existed. He remained stationary, comforted by knowing he hadn’t imagined things, sweating both from the climb and relief. Mitch saw the damp patches on his shirt before noticing something odd.
Where was Peanut?
In his haste to reach the plate, Mitchell left the Nut behind as she struggled up the hill on the unbearably hot day. She was right behind him during the climb but nowhere to be seen. Still standing his ground and not stepping from the plate, Mitch pivoted in all directions calling out her name and whistling for her to respond.
But she didn’t
That’s when he observed a second and third oddity.
Looking down at his feet Mitch saw no shadow. Minutes before he’d noted the distinct silhouette cast by the morning sun, but it had gone. The sky was filled with cloud and nothing like the one he or Ethel Bartholomew discussed less than an hour before.
The third was on the opposite side of the road. The side of the road the 4WD travelled. There were very few parked cars and plenty of room that minutes before he remembered being full. In a panic, more for the loss of Peanut, Mitchell stepped forward a few paces and was blinded by the sunshine and heat returning to his forehead. Disturbed by the sudden change, he almost tripped over Peanut who was sitting right in front of him panting.
Mitch sweated heavier now, though he suspected not from the sun. He dropped to his knees and hugged Peanut who was still panting and oblivious to what he’d experienced. Mitch felt himself shaking and clipped the leash he always carried onto the Nuts collar and slowly walked away from the plate; glancing backward occasionally, more bemused than the day before.
“I don’t care what time of the day it is, I need a bloody drink,” he said loudly without thinking.
The ice cubes were less accusing and even Peanut refrained from raising her eyebrow. Something very peculiar happened today, even more peculiar than yesterday. The red 4WD was no phantom and now Mitch firmly knew it existed.