Read an Excerpt
fruition
a novel
By adam j. siders iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Adam J. Siders
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-8127-0
Chapter One
Summer of 2002 SHE GRIPPED the metallic handles of the merry-go-round firmly as a lone blackbird sprang to life and flew off into the background. With her feet planted squarely to the deck, she leaned backwards as the water streamed down her pale, bluish face. She was still wearing her Sunday dress—a white one which was torn and hung loosely from her petite, girlish frame. Her eyes were red and swollen as if she'd not slept in days, and as she brushed back the tangled strands of wet hair from her face with the back of her wrist, she began to sing her favorite song—one her mother had taught her just three weeks ago.
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day, she sang. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.
She sang softly. She was oblivious to everything around her, and the rain, in light sheets, came down all around and blanketed her and the playground in a cloud of gray mist; however, she was unflappable as she continued to sing.
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day, she continued. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.
"Be careful," an old man said as a mischievous grin formed on his face. "Careful not to fall," he added, walking closer to the child.
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day, she continued. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.
"Who is he?" Kate asked, growing anxious.
I'm a criminologist not a hypnotist, she thought. She was already being mocked throughout the office for her and Mason's sessions which had, thus far, netted her very little.
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day, the little girl continued. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.
"I don't know. I can't tell," Mason replied as the old man stepped from the shadows and positioned himself closer to the small child who continued to sing.
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day, she continued. Rain, rain, go away, come again, some other day.
"That damn song won't leave my head," Mason snapped. He was getting frustrated at himself. Before last month, he'd never used his gift for anything good, and he still couldn't make his mind work properly when prompted.
"What song?" Kate asked.
"The same one she's been singing for weeks. You know the one damn it," he replied, growing more and more frustrated because she didn't seem to be following along. She was. As he talked, she wrote everything down and asked him pointed questions intermittently.
"Her green eyes," he resumed. "She has the most brilliant green eyes that I've ever seen. She's a princess, and she's dancing throughout the playground seemingly unaware or at least unconcerned about the man watching her. I don't think she even knows what's happened to her—that she's dead."
"Is it her? Is she our girl?" she urged.
"I think so."
"What does she look like? How old is she?" she continued; she had been sitting nonchalantly in her rolling desk chair a few moments before but was now leaning towards Mason, who was lying on a plaid couch just out of her grasp.
"I don't know, Kate. She's maybe six or seven and has wavy, blondish-brown hair that's about shoulder length and—"
"Can you make out anything more identifying?" she asked, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"Hold on. Hold on," he said. "Quit pushing."
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day, the little girl continued to sing as she spun slowly in circles on the merry-go-round while sporadically brushing the tangled, wet hairs from her face. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.
"Who's the man? What does he look like?" Kate continued to hound.
"I don't know. I can't make out his face, yet." Mason was getting irritated. "I think he's fiftyish. He's white with thinning brown hair ... damn it!"
This shit isn't working, he thought.
"What is it?" Kate asked before falling back into her chair and pushing it backwards until it collided with her desk.
"I still can't make out his face. Look at me damn it!" he exclaimed to no one in particular while Kate continued to scribble.
The old man was approaching the girl slowly until she was within his clutches. "That's a beautiful song," he told her. "I think the next part is 'Little Johnnie wants to play,'" he continued, but she ignored him still. "I said 'Little Johnnie wants to play,'" he added as his face turned bright red. "Little Johnnie wants to play!"
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day, she sang, trying harder to ignore him. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.
"Sweetheart, you need to come with me."
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day, she sang. Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.
"You're gonna need to come with me," he reiterated.
"Does she know who he is? Are they familiar with one another?" Kate asked.
"She's smiling at him. Perhaps, she does know him. Yes, she knows who he is ... that mother—"
"What is it Mason?"
"He knows her. He definitely knows her. At least, he's been getting to know her."
"Good, good. Good job Mason. Now, how about his face? Can you make out his face yet?"
Mason had been self-hypnotized for five minutes now, but his visions were always fuzzy. "No. I can't make out his face. It's as if he knows I'm watching. He won't even look at me. I'm losing it Kate. Neither one of them will look at me. Damn it!" he yelled and set up on the couch. "Can't you wave a little medallion or something in front of me?" he asked, rubbing his exhausted, red eyes.
"I wish it were that simple," she quipped. "I really do. And it's not like I'm a hypnotist or anything, and you're supposed to—"
"I'm supposed to be helping you put together a profile. I get it. I know why I'm here Kate," he said. "Save the lectures. We're not married anymore, or have you forgotten?"
She certainly had not, although it had been years.
They continued staring blankly at each other as if they were both either lost in thought or lost entirely in the moment, unsure of how to progress as five more minutes slowly ticked by. Kate looked down at her wrist watch, and then up at the small, black digital clock on her desk, and then back at her watch before glancing at Mason again. She hoped so badly that he'd reveal something to her that might break the case wide open; she knew it wasn't that simple, most things in life never are, but she still hoped nonetheless. The thought of needing him again had been unsettling at first, but if it meant ending a streak of gruesome murders, she'd do whatever it took—especially, if that meant one more sexual predator would be off her streets.
"What's your opinion? Is it Samantha? And could you put together a profile on our guy, yet?" she asked, breaking the silence with more questions—questions she knew Mason did not yet have the answers for. Her glasses rested low on her nose, and she was staring straight through him.
"I can't say for sure, but I'm getting closer. We're getting closer," he corrected himself, starting to adjust to being in a room with his ex-wife again.
Mason was twirling his thumbs in slow circular motions and Kate was staring at him, hoping he'd drop a bombshell on her—that he'd give her something she could run to her boss and say 'I got him. I got the son of a bitch who's been raping and murdering little girls in our community.'
"He picks his victims carefully," Mason interjected, barely above a whisper; he was appalled by the words leaving his mouth. "He's methodical and deliberate. He knows the victims before he strikes, and he knows just what to say to them ... he knows just how to get them into his car, wherever it's at, that is. He's getting better, Kate. We have to stop him now."
She nodded in agreement. "We will."
"He's fifty-something I think, or perhaps he's just prematurely balding, and he's of average build and average height—maybe five-foot-eight or nine," he continued talking as Kate wrote furiously. "That's all I got," he added, and set up.
"Alright," she said and deeply exhaled. "Time's up anyway. It's already 3:15. Will I see you the same time next week?"
"Do I have to?" he replied, already standing.
"You know we need you, Mason. I need you."
"Yeah, I know. I'm glad to help. I really am. It's exciting being this close to an actual investigation, and besides, life on campus gets boring sometimes, you know?"
"Exciting?"
"Sure," he quipped and turned toward the door.
"Are you still taking your medications?"
"Three times a day. My doctor thinks I'm a mess."
"I'm sure he knows what he's doing ... and hey, you need to get some rest. I need your focus sharp, and it doesn't help when you're incessantly drinking and staying up late into the night."
"Save the lecture for next week. I know why I'm here."
"Look, this case is really important. There have been three young girls in the past six months that have vanished, now there's this new one, and you know who her father is and what he means to my boss."
"Kate, I get it. I know how important it is that we catch this guy, and I'll do everything I can to help. You have my word. Promise," he added, holding up the first three fingers of his right hand.
"I don't know what we'd do without you," she said and swallowed hard to force down the bitter taste left in her mouth.
"You guys should put me on the payroll."
"You hate cops remember?"
"I could use the money. Teaching night classes isn't making me rich," he said nonchalantly. "Well, gotta go," he added and stepped into the hallway. "I have a class this afternoon."
"Remember to take a look at those photos I sent you!"
"I already have," he retorted over his shoulder. "You really should start checking your inbox." He began walking down the narrow, well-illuminated corridor, as memories of their shared past began rushing through his head. They were two different people who loved each other and who'd do anything for each other when they were last together. Now, they were oceans apart, and he secretly wondered how it all went wrong and wondered if she did, too.
As he stepped outside, the sun's rays bounced off of his balding head, nearly blinding him; he put his right hand over his brow, squinted tightly, and walked towards his car. Kate's office was on the third floor of the Poplar Avenue complex and he had parked a block away. His eyes wandered in all directions as he took in the sights of downtown Memphis; it was a place that had always captured his imagination.
A nice pace changer, he thought; it's certainly quite different from Oxford.
He passed a homeless man holding a sign and then looked in both directions and walked briskly across the busy, four-lane highway. The flashing WALK sign had just switched to DON'T WALK. He hurried his pace, hoping to get back to campus with a few minutes to spare before his class. He wanted to see Sophie, a good-looking, late-twenties student he'd recently taken an interest in.
Back inside, Kate was checking her inbox. Mason had scanned the pictures, contrasted them against the guy from his visions, and left her a message: Better luck next time. Regards, Mason.
She looked up from the monitor and ran her hand through her reddish-brown hair. She was frustrated. The twelve-hour days were taking a toll on her. She needed to talk to her daughter who was out sick from school, so she picked up the phone and dialed her house.
I can't believe I still haven't told her ... or him.
"Sweetheart."
"How's work?"
"Good."
"Anything interesting?"
"Not really. In fact," she said, massaging her temples. "Everything's fine. Everything's just fine," she reiterated. "How's your day princess?"
"I've went through a box of Kleenex and my whole face is chapped, but other than that, I'm okay Mom. You know," she added. "You really shouldn't worry about me so much. I'm a big girl now."
"That's what mother's do, princess. We worry ... about all sorts of stuff."
"Is something bothering you?"
"No."
"I'm here if you need me."
"I know you are ... and thanks. I love you," Kate said and gently placed the phone into its base, still regretful that she hadn't told her daughter who her real father was or that Mason still didn't know—after so many years—that he even had a child. The time was coming for her to reveal the enigma, she realized, there was simply no use wrangling with it any longer.
Present Day
HER EYES were large, white discs with cavernous black holes centered— gateways into her dark and tormented soul. She didn't like who she was. She didn't like what she looked like. She didn't like her name—her father's name, a father she had never met but knew better than anyone else in the world because deep down she knew that she was him. Her research was almost complete, and she was beginning to understand that she was likely haunted by the same demons as him. It was an affliction, a curse that had ruined her father's family for multiple generations and had refused to die with the death of her great-grandfather and the incarceration of her father. The affliction was now hers alone to bear.
The silvery knob screeched as she turned off the steaming water. Clumps of long black hair were still stuck to her feet as she stepped onto the cold tile floor and wrapped her favorite green towel around her chest, flattening her small breasts. The mirror was foggy and as she wiped away the vapors with her forearm she noticed that her face looked differently than when she'd entered the bathroom just thirty minutes before. Her cheeks were plumper, she noticed, now that they were no longer framed by long, unmanageable hairs.
She stared into the black holes again as a hint of a grin formed on her face and then left without a trace as quickly as it had appeared. She was happy with her haircut. Her ears were a little bigger, she noticed. She looked more like a boy and less like herself, but the fact that she looked more like her father had not yet occurred to her.
I guess that'll have to do, she thought, and wiped back the last few tears from her watery eyes, took in one last long breath, and stepped confidently into her dorm room, cleaned up and ready to face the world ... and, her roommate, Melody, who was patiently awaiting her return from the shower, hoping she'd continue with the narrative.
Josie loved hot showers ... so hot she could barely stand the scorch of the steaming water as it completely enveloped her body and reddened her pale skin. She could be exposed yet hidden, and she could cry and no one would notice including Melody who she felt like she barely knew, anyway. She loved hot showers because she never felt clean. She loved them because she could escape even if it were only for a few minutes. She could escape from her tiny world of baby-faced boys in not-yet-men's bodies, take-out dinners eaten alone in front of reruns of reality TV shows or one of her hundreds of DVDs, and frequent phone calls from her mother, Kate who called her every day just to say "Hello, how's my little girl doing?"
Of course, Kate knew the answer. Likely, Josie would be reading a book or watching a movie; aside from that, she was a Spartan and her shell of a room testified to that. She hated herself and everything and everyone around her except, that is, her mother who was her only friend. Secretly, Josie appreciated the phone calls which were great excuses to catch-up on the latest trappings of her father; Josie knew now that Kate was visiting him frequently and was beginning to fill her in on his latest news including discussions about his childhood which he was just beginning to share with her.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from fruition by adam j. siders Copyright © 2010 by Adam J. Siders. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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