Author: Peter Sargent
Category: Suspense
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/peter-sargent/page,15,22515-the-dead-reckoner-volume-one-absolution-and-desolation.html
but that could never be true for Dale. Parental love was the worst kind of unrequited longing. Lorie could ditch him as many times as she liked and her daddy would still come around again like a sorry puppy. On the other hand, if he left now and she showed up a minute later, she might not speak to him for another eight months.
There was a woman at the door. Dale didn't recognize her at first. Lorie had always favored mini skirts and green hair cropped high over her ears. The girl who walked into Flour that day wore a frilly blouse, an ankle length skirt, and dark hair to her waist. Except for the white blouse, all of her clothes were black, including the black socks in her black leather boots.
Something was wrong. Smiling and laughing had never been easy for Lorie, but today she looked sadder than Dale had ever seen her. At last, she lunged at him, arms wide. He caught her and she buried her face in the corner between his neck and his shoulders. She let out a soft sob and sucked it all in. They sat and she held his hands in hers.
Without giving it any thought, Dale glanced at his watch again. This was perfect. There had never been another moment in life when Dale felt more compelled to be on time. Now Lorie was here with her heart wide open. When his eyes returned to her face, he caught the briefest tick of expression. He read it as clear as newsprint. She saw him checking his watch and concluded that it was he who was being insensitive at the first time in years when she needed him to be there for her.
Dale said, “Lorie, what is it?”
“You haven't heard?”
“What, did something happen? Are you OK?”
“Mom died last night.” said Lorie. “She killed herself.”
He didn't open his mouth. He didn't even move a muscle in his face. Dale hadn't seen or spoken to his wife in five years, but it had been longer than that since they could've called themselves a functioning couple. They'd never divorced. Dale had said he could never let go of her. It was more accurate to say that he could never let go of the need to care for her. His wife completed the circle by never letting go of her need to receive that care, even if it amounted to nothing more than money. When Dale had last seen her, she had been growing cannabis at an alternate lifestyle compound in Vermont.
He said, “I don't understand.”
Lorie shook her head, saying, “I don't either. One morning she didn't show up for work. Her friends found her body. She'd overdosed on aspirin.” She looked at her hands, still wrapped around her father's. “I didn't even know that could kill you.”
“She was a allergic.” said Dale. “How did you find out? No one told me.”
“They found my email address on the back of a baby picture.”
You had to find out through email?
Dale reached over and wrapped his arms around her. He was still a daddy and found that getting back to that emotional place was as easy as tripping. The embrace was the same as the one he'd given her when she was two and had hurt herself on a shred of glass. At any other time the broken glass would've angered him, but when she was bleeding that was all that mattered. In that moment in Flour, it didn't matter that Dale had lost his wife. It had always been his nature to expect that she'd see the errors in her ways and return to him. That hope was gone, but what mattered more was that Lorie had lost her mother. Dale might find another lover, and indeed he had, but Lorie would never get her mom back.
Lorie said, “Her throat closed up and she asphyxiated.” She was holding back and trying not to sound too girlish. Lorie pulled away and Dale released her. “How can anyone kill herself in that way?”
“Maybe she forgot because she was high and took the aspirin for a headache.”
“They found four tablets in her mouth and more in her stomach.”
Dale let out a breath and slumped back in his chair. He looked out the window, where Camels was still contemplating the wall. No cops had arrived to do anything about it. On the other side of the street, a group of people were boarding a Silver Line bus. Dale ran his fingers through his thinning hair, leaned forward, and grasped Lorie's hands again.
He said, “Your mother was sick.”
“Mentally?”
“Yeah. And it's a little bit my fault.”
The phone cut him off. The special ring tone told him it was Marianne.
Lorie said, “Is that work? Is it her?”
She watched her father for a reaction. When she said “her”, it was with the same voice that Dale's wife had said “her” when she'd though he was cheating on her. To Lorie, Marianne was the other woman. She wasn't another lover, but another daughter. Lorie was testing Dale.
He said, “It can wait.” He paused to regain his bearings. “Do you remember the fight we had when your mom left for that commune?”
“Yeah Daddy, I do, but...” Lorie shook her head. “I don't blame you like you think I do. You shouldn't blame yourself either. You had an affair. You're human and Mom wasn't always the easiest person to live with.” She sighed. “I even defended you to Mom.”
Dale shook his head. Lorie didn't understand what her father wanted to say and he didn't know how to say it. When he didn't speak, Lorie continued.
“The only think that ever came between you and me was your work.”
She meant many things when she mentioned his work. She was thinking of the hours Dale spent away from home. She was thinking of the exhaustion he felt the rest of the time. Most of all, however, she was thinking of the other woman.
Dale said, “Lorie, the truth is that I never cheated on your mom.”
“What to you mean? You admitted it to her.”
“I think you know I'm not the kind of person who would've done that. I want to do the right thing. I'm seeing someone now. Her name is Rosalind. But I wasn't seeing anyone while your mother and I were still trying to work things out.”
“You begged for her forgiveness.” said Lorie.
“I admitted to what she wanted to believe. I would've said anything to keep her home. It wasn't just because we needed her, but because it was dangerous for her to be alone.” Dale let go of Lorie and crossed his arms. “I wish I wasn't right, but I was.”
They say that revealing a secret that you've carried for years feels like a weight lifting off your chest. Dale didn't feel that way at all. Instead, he relived the pain he'd tried to outrun all those years. Work had stopped being a source of satisfaction for him a long time ago, but it kept his mind off the terrible truth of his wife's fading faculties. It was also the place where he found the only person he trusted with these feelings. Marianne was more than another child, she was a child to whom he'd confessed what he'd wanted to confess to Lorie. He had been trying to protect Lorie. She was fragile, but Marianne was strong. Dale always feared that Lorie would turn out like her mother and break under the weight of reality. He wasn't going to let that happen again.
Perhaps Lorie was old enough now. Perhaps she'd grown enough to understand the private hell her father had endured for her sake.
“What you're telling me,” said Lorie, “Is that mom was mentally ill and that she was dangerous if left alone or forced to let go of her delusions.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you do something?”
Dale had that feeling that rock climbers must have when they're halfway up the cliff and they feel a toe hold give. He'd been struggling for a way to show Lorie the big picture. She'd even said that she forgave him. He thought she was ready for the truth and the top of his climb was in sight. Now he felt weightless in the plunge.
Lorie said, “You should've called her psychiatrist. You should've had her committed. You should've done anything but enable her fantasies and let her get sicker.”
“I didn't know.”
Dale's phone rang again. This time it was his calendar reminder. He had to get to Polymath. He had to. Lorie would just have to understand. Or not. Either way, Dale could not stay here.
He said, “It wasn't like she had ever b
een diagnosed.”
“Obviously you didn't need a doctor to know she needed help. Why didn't you take her in?”
“I told her she needed counseling.” said Dale. “She never went.”
“She was sick!” Lorie stood. “Of course she never went. It wasn't her job to get the help she needed. That was your job.”
Dale stood. “Can we talk about this another time?” He glanced over at the counter, where the woman who'd met him at the door was pretending not to see all this. “I've got to go.”
“That's convenient.”
“Lorie, come on. I didn't fly all the way over here just to see you-” and that was it. That, sir, was it. Lorie turned and walked out the door, with Dale calling after her, “We agreed on the time.”
She stopped and said, “I know that. Don't you think I know that? But that was before all this. This is about you keeping secrets from me all these years, secrets that lead to the death of my mother. What's the worst that can happen if you miss your goddam meeting? Do people have to buzz like a machine for you you cut them some slack?”
Dale held his arms out. “Okay.” He nodded. “Okay, Lorie. I understand. I just can't think straight because I've got a lot of things on my mind. Will you meet me later? After my meeting?”
They stared at each other. Then Dale said,
“Please. Please Lorie. I'm begging you.”
“I don't know Dad.” She looked at her feet and shook her head. “I don't think I want to see you again.”
With those words, she was gone.
Dale hurried out the door. He didn't go after Lorie. She didn't want him to anyway. He went down to the curb to hail a cab. Camels was still there, but he'd had his fill. He was rummaging in the back of his van, where Dale saw a collection of electronics. In the center was something a little less prosaic, a box wrapped in metal wire and secured by padlocks. Hazard labels covered it in several locations.
“What's that?” said Dale.
The man jumped out and slammed the doors shut, saying, “None of your business.”
“What did you mean when you said someone has to do something about the Sorter?”
Camels hopped in the front seat and started the engine.
“Also none of your business.”
Dale hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to Polymath. He retrieved his phone and saw that Marianne had called. She'd left a message and he listened to it. It was short and confusing and contained the words, “I'm weighing my options.”
What the hell? He thought. Weighing my options?
Dale knew what that was supposed to mean. Marianne was making a gut reaction to bail on him and she was trying to make it sound like a professional decision. He'd never believed in god before, but in that moment he started to believe in a devil. Either that, or a god that he'd royally pissed off and who was now screwing with him.
He felt himself burning. Burning. It was like there was no end to this. To people pissing on him – and for what? For sacrificing every inch of his flesh for his company and his family and all the people who mattered most to him? He thought of Camels and wondering if maybe this is what it felt like to be going crazy, what it felt like to the suffer the irrepressible sensation that something else what in control of your life.
Dale's phone buzzed. He pulled it out. There were those words again, about program asset five. He'd ignored them before. Dale didn't like the Sorter much, but it was profitable. He'd never seen this sort of message before. Underneath it he saw spinning wheels with letters blinking from red to black. Dale touched the symbol and it stopped moving. The red letters spelled out a phrase.
2 HOURS
TEN
She stared at the letter and then back up at the man who had given it to her. How had he found her here? An hour ago, near sunrise that morning, Rosalind Munro had walked from her Beacon Hill apartment off Charles Street to the place where her sister moored the “Jump Skipper”, her 30 foot weekender yacht. Rosalind's twin sister, Lucie Munro, had died of non-Hodgkin lymphoma a few weeks earlier and today was their birthday. Rosalind had watched the lonely vessel bobbing in the dawn lit water and had turned away.
She jogged along the harbor walk instead. People always said that a good run could help you clear you mind. That wasn't true for Rosalind that morning. She passed several people along the way and couldn't escape the feeling that they were watching her sullen, bitten expression as she tried to cope with the loss of her truest friend. What she didn't realize was the simpler truth. Most of the people she passed were men, and they liked to watch her run. This happened every morning, but Rosalind was oblivious to such looks. It was only on that morning when Lucie's death had finally ripped its way through the layers of her psyche that she became aware of the attention, and interpreted it in her typical way.
After the run, she returned to the “Jump Skipper”. She was ready to complete her birthday ritual on her own, but then a man came up to her with that letter.
“I don't understand this.” said Rosalind. “How could I not know anything about this?”
The man was squinting. Rosalind was positioned so that if he wanted to look her in the eye, he'd have to face the unadulterated sunlight now beating down on the harbor.
“What did you say your name was?” she said.
“Aaron.
“Aaron.” She handed the letter back to him. “I'll figure this out.”
“The response period has already passed.” said the Aaron. “It's been six months since the notice went out that this matter was being referred to a collection agency.”
“My sister died last month. There must be a rule about that.”
“I had heard that.” He looked at his feet. “I'm sorry for your loss.”
“But you're just doing your job.” She grabbed the yacht's railing and hoisted herself onto the deck, saying, “Why don't we discuss this in here.”
Aaron followed her and they ducked below decks. There was a long table with indentations to prevent object from slipping when the boat rolled. The sliding windows were opened and a slight cross breeze blew through the cabin. Rosalind opened a fridge. She removed a covered pitcher and a plastic wrapped tray of croissants, fruits, cheeses and other breakfast foods. She place them into the pits on the table. She uncapped the pitcher and unwrapped the tray.
Rosalind said, “Would you like a mimosa?” When the man looked confused, Rosalind shrugged, poured herself a drink, and said, “Lucie and I are twin sisters and today is our birthday. Every year we make ourselves this brunch and go out on the harbor.”
Aaron nodded. He turned his back to her, took three steps, and arrived at the other end of the cabin. There was a shelf with an odd device sitting on it. The object looked like a set of four interlocking wheels, each with eyes printed around the edges. A number or a letter was engraved under each eye. He considered it as though Rosalind weren't still there.
Rosalind said, “Did you want to say something?”
The bill collector took a deep breath and said, “Miss Munro, it isn't up to me.”
“I wasn't trying to change your mind. I'm terrible at that. Feel free to eat something.”
“Didn't your sister tell you anything about this?”
“I had no idea.” said Rosalind. “It wasn't like her to keep debts. However, I've learned not to be surprised when the past turns out to be different than I thought. It's a job hazard. Anyway, if I think a moment it makes sense that Lucie took out loans. She was dying. What's shocking is that anyone bothered to give them to her.”
“She listed her property as collateral. Such as this boat.” He was still turned away from her.
“You can have the boat, but let me finish my birthday.” Rosalind took a bite of cheese. “I've got some nasty business to get to today.”
“We called you many times.”
“On her phone?” When Rosalind got no answer, she said, “Did you try
a medium perhaps?”
The bill collector worked up the courage to reach out and touched the device with the many wheels. They spun and the object wobbled a little. Then the two heard the sound of someone mounting the deck outside. The boat tipped and the device toppled over and smashed on the floor.
Rosalind said, “Don't worry about that. A work colleague gave one of those to everyone this past Christmas. I hated it but Lucie thought it had some charm. I made her keep it in the boat.”
She stepped over the wreckage and climbed back through the hatch. Aaron followed her again. There was another man standing on the ship's stern. He was taller than either of the other two and just shy of obese. He wore a white shirt, open by several buttons over his chest, and a blazer. He carried a paper bag in one hand and gripped the railing with the other.
The big man pointed at the bill collector, saying, “This is Dale?”
“No.” said Rosalind. “This is Aaron. Lucie owed money and he's come to take the boat.” She turned to Aaron. “This is Doctor Kevin Nagel. We work together.”
Both men hesitated and shook hands. Kevin's phone buzzed and the others looked at him. He shook his head.
Kevin said, “It's Reggie. He's been calling me all morning. I think he knows.”
“You're talking about Reginald Binder.” said Aaron. “The man who created the Sorter?”
“I created it.” said Kevin.
“You thought of it.” said Rosalind. “George Simon created it. Reggie raised the money. I pushed it to completion.” She turned back to Aaron. “It was a team effort, but your belief is popular even if it isn't true. Reggie's gotten a little too much credit and a little too much control.”
Nagel said, “I don't think we can go through with this thing.”
“Don't get cold feet on me now.”
“Reggie thinks there's something wrong with the Sorter.” said Kevin. “He's blaming me.”
“Should he?” said Rosalind.
“I haven't touched it. But there have been problems with the aspect weaver for three days.”
Rosalind stepped close to him. “What kind of problems?”
“It's missing.”
Rosalind nodded. She turned back to the door and climbed below decks again.
“What?” said Nagel. “Does that make sense to you.”
“I'll explain later. Can I at least enjoy my birthday?”
Kevin followed her. He saw the smashed spinning wheels.
He said, “Was there a fight in here?”
Rosalind responded by taking the bag Nagel was holding and pulling out a bottle of champaign. She offered the doctor a smile and he returned a hopeful look which she missed. She placed the bottle in another indentation on the table and rummaged for an opener. Aaron climbed down after them.
“Miss Munro.” he said. “I'm very sorry, but I have to ask you to vacate this property.
“We had a deal.” she called back. “You can have it when I'm done.”
“I never made that deal.”
Kevin took another look at the broken spindle and then at the face of the bill collector. He