The wiry red-haired woman stared listlessly out the train window, as if fixating on a place she had never been or where she would rather be. Oversized sunglasses hid the fading pigment of what had been one serious shiner. Much like the black eye that no one could see, such were the dark blotches up and down her sides and across the insides of her thighs. Luckily, it was October in rural Ontario; long skirts and baggy sweaters covered things like that nicely.
Nathan Finch had been in the process of removing his overcoat when she had stepped on at the Guildwood stop. He removed the contents of his coat pockets - a map and a package of Beeman’s Peppermint gum - before folding it neatly and tucking it into the overhead bin. It wasn’t until he began to open the map, that Finch was attuned to the woman who now sat kiddy corner to him. Though he had yet to lay eyes on her, already his mind was a flood of images.
Finch knew about the bruises; all twelve of them. He also knew about the scars that lined her left forearm like tiny tributaries of a creek. He looked across at her, through the sunglasses into her eyes. Now came the hardest part.
Dull, burning pain coarsed through him from the inside out. Each blow increasing in proportion to the drunken assailant’s frustrations. Over and over he was beaten to the floor, only to be pulled back up again. His lungs longed for breath; legs would no longer hold him. His face felt crushed, disfigured beyond repair.
To any of the train’s occupants, he was a man possibly in his early sixties; tall and dignified with a neatly pressed suit and a small thin moustache. A calm, patient man who had been in the process of unfolding a map of Northern Ontario when he was distracted by the young red-haired beauty who sat across from him and the subject of his unchanging gaze. They knew nothing of the bruises or how they had gotten there. It was not their job.
As quickly as it had happened it was over. Nathan was again staring intently out the window at farms that had long been cleared of their bounty. The woman was not going as far as he was. She now readied herself for her departure as the train roared into Kingston station. She longed for escape and inner peace. At that moment, though she herself may not have felt it yet, Nathan was quite certain she would find it.
As the woman stepped out onto the platform, Nathan reopened his map. He had chosen a small town called Gatineau in the province of Quebec. Or rather it had chosen him. At any rate, he determined an approximate half hour cab ride from Ottawa station would get him there.
Nathan chose a bachelor apartment in a four story building in the town’s aging downtown core. It was simple and he could rent it on a monthly basis which suited him fine. The building manager was a man who looked far beyond his actual age of fifty-two. Waking up with a fresh bottle of bourbon every morning would have that effect. In any case he was sure to be the type of man who would be far more trouble to himself than he could be to anyone else.
Nathan’s room was the last one at the end of the hall. Nathan took in all of the sounds and odors as he carried his single bag down the hall. Local news, soap opera, gratingly loud rock music, someone had burned lunch again, and in the apartment across from his a woman was crying.
Nathan paused for a moment before opening his door. The crying had reduced to a sobbing moan. She sounded young; maybe in her twenties, early thirties. This was not the first time in recent days that she had been this way. He longed to know more. He would have to see her to do that. He could try. Then just as quickly he decided against it. There would be time for that later.
He unlocked his door and set his bag down. The room had come with a pull out couch, a half mutilated pine dresser, a small round kitchen table and a fridge and stove - both relics from the 50’s. Abandoned by the previous owner they were all his for the taking if he wanted. If not the building manager would be more than happy to assist in disposal. That is, if he were asked before noon, Nathan had thought. The unfortunate sod wouldn’t be much good after that.
It didn’t matter, for what they were worth Nathan was keeping them anyway. He hadn’t any need for subtleties. If the folks from Better Homes happened to be conducting any reviews he would just be sure not to answer the door.
Nathan picked up his bag, set it down on the couch and began emptying its contents. Four cotton button downs, two pairs of gabardine pants, some dark socks, white boxers and two pairs of flannel pajamas. All of this, he tucked neatly into what had once resembled a dresser. He returned to his bag, unhooked the button on the inside carry pouch and removed a leather bound folder.
Nathan took the folder to the kitchen table. With a black Mont Blanc pen he made two notations. First, the details of his present location, including length of travel time and mode of transportation. In his second notation he wrote himself a reminder to check in on the sad woman across the hall.
He closed the book. On the wall below the window was a flat steel plate covering the space that had been left when a wall mounted air conditioning unit had been removed. Nathan pushed up on the bottom edge of the plate and eased it off. The opening on the outside wall had been sealed off by a much heavier bolted version of the plate that Nathan had just removed.
Nathan placed his folder inside the makeshift vault and replaced the steel plate. He picked up his keys and headed out of the apartment. As he fitted his key into the lock he noted that the sobbing across the hall had stopped.
The streets were all but silent, with most folks at work or tucked away in warm homes. Two blocks from his apartment, Nathan found a small diner. He went in and chose a table by the window.
The restaurant had obviously been run by the same family for a number of years. All bore a similar resemblance but at different stages of their lives. And all looked as equally displeased as those who suffer minimal wages to work the family business. Nathan could never understand why people treated strangers better than their own.
A shy girl of about sixteen came to his table, pulling out a notepad with a cover that had been nearly obliterated by nervous doodling.
“What can I get you today sir?”
Her eyes were downcast as though she were focusing on a point somewhere around the middle of his chest. Nathan sunk back slightly in his chair and peered up, forcing her to look him in the eye. Now the girl smiled nervously. Nathan smiled.
“I’ll have a toasted western sandwich, an apple juice and a newspaper.”
“Thank you.”
Within seconds the girl hurried back with his apple juice and a copy of the local daily. Now she smiled and looked him in the eye, though she was still nervous.
Nathan sipped his juice, glancing across the restaurant. A man sitting at a table across from him was making train tracks in his mashed potatoes. The man seemed unaware that as he was raking his fork back and forth he was sending mashed potatoes over the side of his plate and onto the table.
There was a gun in the man’s car. At this point the mashed potato masher was debating if he should use it or not. The problem was he loved his wife far too much and any such course of action would undoubtedly change their relationship, whether he got caught or not. She would find out, potato man thought and then she wouldn’t love him anymore. Although at this point there was nothing more he would like than to see than the bastard’s nuts sprayed all over his pants.
Nathan’s thoughts were interrupted when an older woman, the girl’s mother, appeared with his western sandwich.
“Here you go sir, anything else you’d like?”
“Oh no, no thanks.”
Nathan waited until she had turned around before he took his black pepper shaker and hid it behind the napkin dispenser. He stood up and walked over to the table where the man continued to rake his fork through his mashed potatoes. He stood solemnly over the man who hadn’t yet noticed him.
“Excuse me sir, but were you going to use your black pepper?”
The man dropped his fork startled. Their eyes met. The man looked puzzled, as if he were sorting a confusion of thoughts. Eyes locked, for a moment neither man blinked. Slowly the man’s eyes widened and he smiled. He offered the pepper shaker to Nathan.
“Sure thing buddy.”
“Thank you sir, I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
The man tidied his fork, wiped his hands and pushed himself back from the table. Nathan removed the top slices of bread from his sandwich and shook the pepper liberally onto his eggs. He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to realize that the man was getting set to leave and already in a slightly better mood than when he left. Somewhere in town a particular adulterer would never know how close he came to having his life ended that night.
On his way back to his apartment Nathan had purchased two postcards, these he now placed on the kitchen table. Removing a pen from his coat pocket he addressed both identically, while writing nothing on the inside. He placed the postcards on the edge of the kitchen table facing the front door.
He hung his coat in the front closet, once again listening for the woman across the hall. Just as when he’d come in, he now heard nothing.
At 3:00 am Nathan was awakened by a loud thumping on his door. While he struggled to gain his senses he peered through the viewer in his door. Outside, a short balding, stocky man was stamping his feet and shuffling in nervous little circles. Nathan unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
The man lunged forward, hands clenched at his sides.
“Where’s Chester?”
“Chester?”
“You know, Chester.”
The man paused, waiting for Nathan’s recognition. Then in a moment of sudden awareness, the man leaned back and loudly slapped his hand against the side of his face.
“Oh that’s right, you don’t know Chester.”
“I’m afraid not,” Nathan extended his hand; “I’m Nathan Finch.”
“I’m Bill Price.” He shook Nathan’s hand excitedly with both hands.
“Would you care to come in for a moment Mr. Price, so that we might sort this out?”
“Sure, sure, glad to.”
The man shuffled past Nathan and sat down at the kitchen table. Nathan followed.
“My apologies, but I don’t have anything to offer you to drink, except maybe water. I just arrived in town this afternoon and haven’t had the opportunity to pick anything up.”
“It’s okay, don’t need anything.”
“So you are looking for a man named Chester?”
“Yes, Chester Davis.”
Nathan eyed the man levelly. It turned out this Mr. Price had quite a history that he was keeping to himself as well as a fairly serious drug problem. Good old Chester had been more than happy to provide Price with his daily essentials, in exchange, sometimes for money but more often for sex. Price had gone away for a while when he became paranoid that Davis would kill him. But as it turned out someone had gotten to Davis not too long after that. The building Super had found him in the parking lot, apparently bludgeoned with a hammer. These were facts of which Mr. Price was well aware, but he was too dim witted to get past his own denial.
“Was this Chester Davis a friend of yours?”
“A friend? Yes, yes you could say that. A good friend yes. I mean he gave me things.”
“What things?”
“You know? Stuff.”
The man looked puzzled at Nathan’s lack of comprehension. A look of understanding passed over the man’s face.
“Oh, I get it,” Price laughed a squeaky laugh, “of course, you’re just letting on.”
The man now got out of his chair and knelt down in front of Nathan. He began working away at the drawstring of Nathan’s flannel pajamas. Nathan pushed him back with one hand to the middle of his chest.
“That won’t be necessary”
“What do you mean? You don’t have the stuff? Because I’m sure you do. You wouldn’t be joking about something like that.”
Price drew a knife. He lunged at Nathan, clutching him by the throat.
Nathan placed his hand underneath Price’s chin and tilted his head upward. Price dropped the knife. A smile came over his face.
“Sorry, to have bothered you Mr. Finch. I think that I’ll be going.”
The man headed toward the door. He placed his hand on the knob, and then turned toward Nathan.
“By the way, does that crazy bitch still live across the hall?”
Price made circling gestures with his finger at the side of his head and started in with his squeaky laugh as he left the apartment. Nathan removed his journal from its hiding place and made a few quick notations, before going back to bed.
*************************
Three months had passed since Nathan had first arrived in Gatineau. Even in that short period of time, he believed that he had managed to cross paths with a good majority of the people that lived there. With the exception of a few isolated incidents all had been fairly smooth.
The building’s super had passed a month earlier of a fatal heart attack. A tenant on the second floor had found him when he went down to deliver a late rent check and pushed the unlocked door open. The man, who could not believe that he had found himself in the local newspaper, went as far as to say that he had gone in and turned off a still playing radio before Merle Haggard could finish singing “Tonight the bottle let me down.”
The old super had been hastily replaced by a tart that couldn’t face the fact that she was twenty five years older than twenty five. To Nathan she seemed to wear at least twelve coats of make up. She would answer her door wearing see through camisoles and make awkward passes at male tenants.
The restaurant where Nathan had eaten lunch nearly every day, closed for two days due to family crisis. It had been discovered that the sixteen year old daughter who had brought Nathan his Western sandwich was three months pregnant. Her raging father immediately closed the restaurant and threatened that he would not reopen it until his unfortunate daughter revealed who the father was. In an unexpected turn the girl and her father agreed to quietly put aside their differences when he promised to cease his actions if she promised not to reveal that it was his brother’s years of abuse that had finally put her in the predicament.
It was there that Nathan now decided to return for lunch, only partially due to the fact that they had quite possibly the best Western sandwich he had ever tasted. As he locked the door to his apartment he once again heard the sobbing across the hall.
This time, Nathan turned and knocked on her door. The sobbing ceased and Nathan could hear footsteps on the tile floor. The door was slowly opened by a short, frail looking woman in her mid thirties. Her dark stringy hair was sweaty and matted to the sides of her face, her dark eyes ringed black by her sobbing. She wore a torn nightgown several sizes too big that trailed the floor behind her. Nathan smiled warmly.
“I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you miss. I don’t believe that we have met, I’m your new neighbour across the hall.”
The woman simply nodded her gaze unchanging.
“My name is Nathan Finch.” He extended his hand.
The woman remained motionless.
“I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I have a bit of an urgent problem. I’m waiting on the phone repair man to fix my line. In the meanwhile I have an urgent call to make. If I go off in search of a payphone, I’m liable to miss him. Would you mind if I use yours?”
The woman said nothing but turned and led him to a phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen. The sinks were not piled with dishes as Nathan expected, in fact the kitchen looked hardly used. The smell that hung pungent in the air was that of a woman who rarely left her apartment or took the time to bathe.
Nathan picked up her phone and dialed his own number. He let it ring several times before returning to the living room.
“Didn’t seem to be any answer.”
Now his eyes were fixated on a wooden table in the center of the room. On the table were two piles, each close to three feet high. A gigantic pile of envelopes was matched by an equally enormous pile of loose-leaf advertisements. The table was flanked by six boxes, three on either side looming over it.
“I’m Brenda.”
She stood to the left of the table, hands at her hips, clearly measuring his curiosity.
“Yes. Well it’s good to meet you. And thank you for the use of your telephone.”
“I stuff envelopes. That’s what I do.”
Now it was Nathan’s turn to nod.
“It gets very upsetting. But I don’t like to work outside of the home.”
Nathan smiled awkwardly.
“I can understand that. I am very private at times myself.”
Brenda nodded and smiled slightly.
“I don’t know what I have to offer you. I don’t get many visitors.”
“Oh really I should be getting back to my apartment.”
“I think you should stay. We’ll hear the repairman when he knocks across the hall. The walls are so thin in this place.”
Brenda was already heading toward the kitchen.
“I have a fresh pot of coffee, how do you take it Nathan?”
“Just black for me please.”
Brenda returned with two cups of coffee and sat down on a threadbare couch in the corner of the room. Nathan followed.
“I get twenty-five cents for each envelope. A man comes once a week and delivers those,” she gestured to one pile of boxes, “then another man comes and delivers those,” she gestured to the other pile of boxes.
“Looks very tiring.”
“It gets very upsetting.”
Nathan was lost in her sad dark eyes. He quickly turned and sipped his coffee.
“And what do you do Mr. Finch?”
Nathan focused his attention on an advertisement poking out of the middle box on the floor facing him. From the top of it dangled an ad boasting a free buffet at the Sparkle Club.
“I travel mostly. I was a Doctor for some time, a Psychologist. Although I suppose it’s a profession you never stop being a part of. I published a few journals. The big problem was, I didn’t like being in one place”.
Nathan returned to sipping his coffee. He could feel her gaze upon him and continued.
“They offered me a position, traveling to different places and giving conferences, but I had my own plans.”
“What was that?”
“To simply meet as many different people as I could before I died.”
Both of them were quiet for some time, before Brenda broke the silence.
“I guess your repairman isn’t coming.”
“I guess not.”
Nathan looked up, meeting her stare. And now his eyes were inside hers, seeing as she did. Seeing through years of self imposed isolation and delusion. Brenda McCallum had been twenty-three when she first realized that she could no longer venture out into the public without all eyes staring at her. They laughed at her inside and thought of her as an unstable person who would at any moment break down into a trembling quivering mass. She would tremble, and then she would shake, sometimes when her nerves gave out, her legs wouldn’t move at all. And she would be stuck standing there while they watched.
They followed her into her home while she sat alone. She could feel them in the room watching her every step, making it an effort to move around at all, even within her own tiny space.
She was forty and had been living inside her own prison for seventeen years. Aside from the deliverymen from the advertising company and a friend on the first floor who ran errands for her, Brenda had almost no contact with the outside world.
Nathan took both of her hands in his and smiled. Brenda smiled too.
“Thank you so much for the coffee. Now I really should be going.”
Brenda pulled away from him. “Okay. It was nice meeting you."
“Likewise.”
Nathan moved toward the door, while Brenda remained seated. Nathan paused as he opened the door. He turned to Brenda.
“Please stop in and visit me if you like.”
Brenda nodded.
Back in his apartment, Nathan began packing his clothes into his suitcase. There was a knock at his door. Nathan opened the door to find Brenda. Her hair had been combed back from her face. Her eyes were bright and she smiled warmly. The bright light from Nathan’s apartment revealed a truly beautiful woman who needed only to enjoy life again.
Brenda contorted her face slightly as she struggled to find the words.
“I wanted to know why I started to feel better when you were in my apartment.”
“I mean it wasn’t just that you were a visitor. I sometimes do get them. It had to be something else.”
“Won’t you come in?”
Nathan noticed that she had tied the bottom of her nightgown up to just below her knees for a less cumbersome length. It pained him to see her in clothing so dirty and worn.
Brenda took a seat on his couch.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“No thanks, I’m okay.”
Nathan sat down beside her. He watched as Brenda curiously surveyed his apartment. Her attention focused on the two postcards that Nathan had neglected to mail. She turned to him anxiously.
“Friends back home?”
“No actually I don’t have a home anymore. I gave it up a number of years ago to travel full time. Those postcards are for an accountant I have that maintains my estate. Let’s her know I’m still kickin around.”
She smiled and leaned back against the couch, likely the most at ease that she had felt in years. A beautiful, intelligent woman who looked as though she were about to break through the bonds of the monster that had held her captive and regain the person she had been in her youth.
“You never married?”
Nathan met her curious glance with a shy grin.
“I guess I kept to myself mostly.”
As she stretched back against the couch, Nathan felt guilty that in the bright daylight of his apartment he could see her dark nipples through the worn paper thin fabric of her tattered nightgown. Now Brenda sat up straight.
“The question I was asking you before. Why did I feel so different when you were in my apartment? When you looked at me I swore you could see right through me. And when you left I felt as though I had woken from a crazy dream, wearing someone else’s clothes and living in an apartment I never would have chosen for myself. It was as if I had been hypnotized for so long and now I’m free.”
Nathan leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands. His face bore the approving grin of a magician who had been found out by the one member of his audience who was able to keep up with him.
“I’m wondering what kind of world is out there and if I step back into it, will I be taken prisoner by it again.”
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