Katherine's Prophecy Page 16

  “Yeah, I guess I do look pretty cool,” he lied, not the least bit convincingly.

  “You don’t like it,” Julie accused.

  Lenny eyed her in the mirror. “No, I do like it . . . Honest!”

  “Don’t lie to me, Lenny. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back and get you something else. I won’t be offended.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Julie. I like it, and I want to keep it, okay?”

  Julie’s expression softened a little. “Okay, then. Promise me that you’ll wear it—at least once in a while, okay?”

  “I’ll wear it—really.”

  “I’d better go check on dinner,” she said then walked away.

  Lenny took the coat and hung it up in the closet before joining Julie in the kitchen.

  When he entered, Julie was taking the bread out of the oven.

  “That smells good!” he said, trying to lighten up the atmosphere a little.

  Julie said nothing.

  “Do you want me to help you set the table?” he offered.

  She shook her head.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Lenny asked, sensing that something was wrong.

  Julie ignored his question and proceeded to set the table.

  “Hey,” he said, putting his arms around her from behind. “Tell me what’s the matter. I can tell you’re mad about something.”

  Julie froze where she was. Lenny felt something wet fall on his hand.

  “Julie, what in the hell’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  Julie began sobbing.

  “Look at me,” Lenny demanded, gently turning her around to face him. Julie laid her head on his shoulder.

  “Is it the coat? I really do like it, Julie. Honest!”

  “It’s not he coat, Lenny. It’s . . . everything.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, genuinely bewildered.

  “I’m not a fool, Lenny. I know you don’t love me. I’ve tried so hard all this time to accept that, but it just isn’t working. I keep telling myself that someday you’ll change your mind, but I realize now that you never will . . . Never.”

  Lenny was speechless. This was not the way he’d planned on things happening. And now, taken totally off guard, his mind searched for something to say.

  “Julie, I do love you. A lot.”

  “Maybe you do. But not the same way I love you. You may love me as a friend, but you don’t love me the way I need to be loved by you. I need more than that . . .”

  Lenny couldn’t speak.

  “None of this is your fault, Lenny,” she continued. “In fact, it’s all my fault. You’ve been upfront and honest with me all along; telling me you just want to be friends and so on. But I’ve been pushing you, trying to make you love me. And that’s wrong. I guess I’ve just been living in a fantasy world. I’ve been trying to create a relationship that can never happen, and it’s time to face the music and accept the fact that it never can. I know that you’ve just been going through the motions lately, coming over to see me just to keep from hurting me, and I’ve been putting you in an awkward position as a result. Well, it’s time I give you a break; to let you know that if you want out of this, all you have to do is say so.”

  Lenny’s mind was reeling. Here it was, all laid out for him, and he hadn’t even had to do or say a thing. Julie had already set it up for him.

  So why wasn’t he jumping for joy?

  He suddenly felt an urge to take Julie in his arms and hold her tight; to tell her that he loved her and that he was sorry for being such a shit to her. She would quit crying then, and smile brightly; tell him that she was the happiest girl in the world now that she knew he loved her.

  But he couldn’t do this. Because he didn’t love her.

  It was over . . .

  “I’m sorry,” was all he said.

  For a moment she just stood there staring into his eyes. Then, she managed a weak smile and said softly, “It’s okay.”

  Lenny put his arms around her and held her tight. It dawned on him that this woman represented everything that had happened in his life up to now; and at the moment he didn’t want to let go. Every trial and error, hit and miss, every hope and aspiration that had been snuffed-out by life’s harsh realities were in a way wrapped up in this pretty little bundle in his arms.

  Julie Adams was his past.

  It was time to step into the future and leave the past behind.

  He faced her. Her mascara was running but she was no longer crying. She smiled at him.

  “I’m going to miss you, Julie,” he said sincerely.

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I guess I’d better go. I’m sorry about dinner.”

  “It’s okay, Lenny. I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Lenny followed her into the living room. She went over to the closet and took out his leather bomber jacket then brought it over and handed it to him.

  “Don’t worry about the London Fog, Lenny. I know it isn’t you.”

  Lenny managed a wry grin. “I guess I’m just not the Wall Street type.”

  He put on his jacket then picked up his camera bag and slung it over his shoulder. Julie unbolted the door and held it open for him.

  “Be careful, Lenny. You’ll always have a special place in my heart.” she said, her eyes sad but determined.

  “Same to you, Julie. I . . . I’ll never forget you.”

  With that, Lenny turned and left Julie Adam’s apartment, never looking back.

  As he waited for the elevator to reach the floor, Lenny felt a dull numbness in his head—a state of shock brought on by the mixture of emotions he was being bombarded with. When the elevator arrived, he stepped in and mechanically pressed the button for the first floor, impervious to the whine and drone of the motor as the door closed. When he reached the first floor, he stepped out and headed for the door that led to his self-imposed freedom.

  When he reached the street, a sobering gust of wind slapped him in the face. He headed east toward Broadway at a brisk pace, sticking his hands in his pockets and feeling the crosswind cut through him like a knife. When he arrived at the intersection of Broadway and 4th, he turned left heading north and glanced up at a street light to see tiny flakes of snow blowing wildly around.

  As Lenny waited to cross 5th Street, he refused to dwell on what had just happened at Julie’s. His main priority now was to get to the subway station at 8th Street, hop on a train, and go home. Once there, he decided, he would grab a beer out of the fridge, put on some music and attempt to mellow out. This day, no doubt, had been one strange sonofabitch.

  The light changed and he stepped off the curb onto the street. In a fleeting instant, he saw bright lights and a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye. He looked to his right just as he heard the screeching of tires, and a fraction of a second later, he saw the taxi cab as it sped directly at him.

  The next thing he knew, he felt a sharp jab of pain in his leg and became airborne. He flew through the air for what seemed like several minutes, his hand clutching his right thigh, screaming bloody murder.

  Then he watched in horror as he felt himself falling headfirst toward the pavement, coming at him closer and closer. Even in the darkness of the night he could make out the cracks in the asphalt—a complex configuration of thin lines not unlike a spider web.

  He knew that it was all over. Oddly, his last conscious thought just before his head smashed into the pavement was that of relief. He suddenly realized he wasn’t going to have to worry about where he was going to move to, after all. Fate, in its fickle and profound way, was about to see to it that Lenny Williams’ next and final move would be six feet underground inside a pine box . . .

  CHAPTER 11

  He opened his eyes. At first, everything was just one green blur due to the difficulty he was having in focusing. He squinted hard several times and eventually could make out vague green shapes that appeared to be far away from where he now was. Fi
nally, everything came into focus and he realized what the green shapes were.

  Trees. Lots of trees.

  He winced in agony as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his head. The pain was so great that he nearly lost consciousness. He put his hand to the top of his head and felt a lump the size of a walnut.

  As his senses became keener, he became aware of a loud trickling sound like that of running water coming from somewhere nearby. Although it was painful to do so, he slowly turned his head sideways. It was then that he realized he was lying flat on his back in a creek bed. Water was rushing swiftly all around him and it occurred to him that he was soaked to the bone.

  His immediate impulse was to stand up. He tried bending his legs in an effort to get up onto his feet when an excruciating pain ripped through his right thigh. He let out a scream and the sound of his own voice startled him. It sounded foreign for some reason; quite unlike his own.

  For a moment he felt totally disoriented. It all of a sudden occurred to him that he had no idea whatsoever what he was doing here. For that matter, he didn’t even know where in creation he was. None of these surroundings looked the least bit familiar.

  Then, amidst a rush of fear and panic, another question loomed in his mind.

  Who in the hell am I?

  He had absolutely no idea.

  His heart began thudding hard in his chest as this stark realization hit home and swept over him like a dark cloud.

  In desperation, he attempted to roll over onto his left side. His right leg felt like it was caught in a bear trap and wouldn’t budge. He slowly turned his head and looked down. His leg was partially pinned down by a large chunk of bedrock that had apparently shifted enough to wedge his leg underneath. He brought his right hand down and with great effort, managed to push the stone away far enough to pull his leg out from beneath it.

  Again he tried to roll over onto his side using all the strength he could muster. Finally, after three attempts, he succeeded; but his head was throbbing relentlessly from the strain. He rested for a few moments then managed to sit up, using his arms as leverage and pushing off the slippery rocks with both his hands.

  He sat there awhile, resting and gazing around at his surroundings. He was apparently in a deep ravine that was heavily wooded on either side. The banks were quite steep and arose a good thirty yards to the top. With the exception of the sound of the creek and the chirping of an occasional bird in the trees, there was an absolutely dead and eerie silence—no signs of human existence anywhere.

  Suddenly he spotted a fishing pole and tackle box lying near the edge of the creek about ten yards away. They looked familiar.

  Were they his? he wondered. They must be. There was no one else around.

  He examined his leg. It was badly swollen but didn’t appear to be broken. He was able to move it—a little, anyway. He must have slipped on the rocks and fallen, hitting both his head and leg on the rocks when he’d gone down.

  He suddenly felt odd sitting there in a creek bed, all alone, and having no idea how he’d gotten there or who he was. He observed his surroundings once again, hoping to perhaps find a clue of some kind that might enlighten him. Nothing. He then started looking himself over—maybe something he was wearing would help jar his memory. He looked first down at his feet; he was wearing a pair of well-worn leather work boots—the kind with the steel toes. Didn’t ring a bell. He then studied his soaked trousers that were also well-worn, black, and faded. They were made of thick cotton and were for the most part fairly nondescript . . .

  The pockets! he thought suddenly. He stuck his hand into the left pocket, but it was empty. He then tried the right pocket and felt something flat, smooth, and hard. Excitedly, he pulled it out.

  It was a pocket watch.

  He carefully examined the watch, turning it over and over in his hand with hopes of finding identifying marks of some kind. There were none. He then pulled the stem up and the lid popped open. The watch was still running and it told him the time: 9:35. But it told him nothing else.

  He continued staring at the watch. It seemed familiar. Vaguely familiar . . .

  He closed the lid and stuffed the watch back into his pocket. He felt around in his back pockets. Nothing. He checked the breast pocket of the flannel shirt. To his dismay, it too was empty.

  It was when he withdrew his hand from his pocket that he noticed the gold ring on the third finger of his left hand.

  A wedding band.

  Whoever he was, he was married.

  This was a big clue indeed. Now all he had to do was find his wife. Whoever and where ever she might be . . .

  He looked around again. He knew that he had to get out of the creek and start moving—in some direction, anyway. He just wasn’t sure he had the strength to do it. For that matter, he wasn’t even sure if his injured leg could support his weight; if and when he was able to get up onto his feet.

  He had to try.

  He took a deep breath then started to stand up, putting most of his weight on his left leg. He got halfway up then lost his balance and fell flat on his backside. The shock from the fall made his head feel like it was going to split wide-open.

  He rested for a moment and waited for the pain to subside. It was more than obvious that he was going to need something to support his weight on before he could get up onto his feet. A stick or a pole of some kind . . .

  The fishing pole! He gazed over at it, wondering if it would be strong enough. Although it was made of cane, it was worth a try.

  He took another deep breath then began crawling toward the fishing pole, scooting forward inches at a time until he finally reached his goal. After catching his breath, he took the pole in his hands and dug one end of it into the creek bed then grasped it as far up as his hands would reach.

  In one quick lunge he pulled himself up—balancing his weight between the fishing pole and his left leg. When he was fully upright, he staggered a little but managed to maintain his balance.

  He was on his feet.

  From this new vantage point, everything seemed to look a little more familiar. He’d been at this creek countless times before, that much he was sure of. He’d fished and even occasionally swam here on particularly hot summer days.

  He turned around and glanced up at the hillside skirting the ravine and noticed the path that cut diagonally along it all the way to the top. He’d walked that path countless times as well.

  That path led to his house. And his wife.

  In a sudden flash, it all came back to him.

  It was Saturday morning, May 25, 1907. He was off work for the weekend, and he’d come down to the creek to do a little fishing. He’d been here about half an hour when he’d hooked a three-pound trout, but it had gotten hung up on a snag and he’d snapped his line. Like a fool, he’d tried to get out to it by jumping the rocks—then he’d slipped and fallen in. The fall must have knocked him unconscious for a good hour or so; and had also given him quite a bout of amnesia. But only temporarily, thank the Lord.

  His name was Clem Porter. His wife’s name was Nancy. And Nancy had just given birth three weeks ago to their beautiful daughter, Katie. And that had been a small miracle in itself!

  Nancy and the baby were up on the hill at the end of that path right this moment. In their home. Nancy had told him that she was going to do the laundry today, and he’d bet his eyetooth that little Katie was fast asleep in her crib. She was perfect as pie, that child was. And an absolute godsend.

  I must get home to my wife and child! he thought.

  In his anticipation, he forgot his injured leg and stepped onto his right foot with all his weight, causing him to wince in pain. Cursing himself for his foolhardiness, he stood there for a moment and assessed the path leading up to his house.

  It was too steep. He’d never make it up in his present condition.

  Feeling distraught by this grim realization, he knew there was only one way to get up that path. He needed help—Nancy’s help.

  So he
began shouting her name. And each time he shouted, he could feel a painful throb in his head that only worsened each time he opened his mouth. After six or seven times, he wondered if she was even within earshot of his voice. Unless she was outside the house, he realized that he didn’t have the slightest chance of being heard.

  Then suddenly he thought he heard something. He stopped and listened for a moment. Nancy was calling his name. She’d heard him!

  With all the strength he had left, he took a deep breath and shouted, “Nancy, come down and help me!”

  His head nearly split in two.

  “I’m coming, Clem!” he heard her call back.

  Although he was exhausted, he managed a smile. Thank the Lord for my little lady! he thought to himself.

  He heard the rustling of brush high up on the top of the ravine and looked in that direction. His eyes caught a glimpse of white near where the path began and he knew it was Nancy, wearing the old work shirt of his that she always wore whenever she washed clothes. He’d teased her several times about wearing that shirt—telling her that if any of the town folk ever saw her wearing it outside instead of a dress that they just might mistake her for a man! Fortunately for him, Nancy had a sense of humor.

  “Clem? Where are you?” he heard her shout.

  “Down here!” he answered back.

  She was about a third of the way down the path, and he could just make out her features. She looked in the direction of his voice and spotted him.

  “My Lord, what happened? Are you all right?” she asked, quickening her pace.

  “I’m all right, dear. I just slipped on the rocks,” he answered. “Watch your step coming down.”

  She was more than halfway down now, and he could clearly see her. Even from this distance he could see the look of concern on her lovely face.

  “How bad are you hurt?”

  “Just a lump on my head. Banged-up my leg a little, too,” he replied.

  “Land sakes!” she exclaimed when she came within twenty yards of him. Her face was flushed.

  “It looks worse than it really is, honey. I just can’t get around too well at the moment,” he said in an effort to console her.