Playing Peek-a-Boo
By Deejay (AlvaFan)
A disturbing trend had developed of late. During his release that morning, from yet another overnight stay in Boston Medical Center, Paul Callan had even begun to wonder if God was trying to knock some sense into him or something.
Paul's most recent injury had been a doozie, involving the thankfully mild - but still unexpected - spontaneous combustion of the pair of Ray-Bans he wore while finishing up an otherwise successful, spur-of-the-moment exorcism, in the Public Garden, of a barking aerobics instructor named 'Tiffany.' If there were worse ways of spending the morning of the first day of spring, he decided that he didn't want to know what they could possibly be.
Instead, Paul allowed himself to descend into a state of refined grump and mentally ticked off the reasons the morning of the second day of spring wasn't getting much better...
1. He was stuck in his stifling apartment (the thermostat having earlier been set too high by the warm-temperature-obsessive Evelyn).
2. He was confined there by order of the doctors (who all appeared to refer to him on a first name basis these days).
3. His eyebrows itched due to bandages (which he, as luck would have it, only needed for the next three days) being wrapped too tightly around his head.
4. Because of said bandages, though, his stinging eyeballs couldn't see a thing.
5. Evelyn had left him parked on the living room couch with his cell phone, and then run off to the nearest pharmacy for more meds - with a stern warning to obey the doctors' order for inactivity...or else. (He distinctly heard the words 'handcuffs' and 'duct tape' mentioned sometime during this.)
6. Keel had threatened to check up on him later in the day, and Paul was convinced it would involve a patronizing lecture on exorcism safety procedures.
7...
Never mind, the litany was almost too depressing, he decided.
After kicking off the quite unnecessary blanket that Evelyn had insisted on swaddling him in, Paul placed the cell phone on the adjacent coffee table and fumbled around for the TV remote. Too keyed up to rest, perhaps watching - okay, listening to - an anticipated ice hockey game might help to get his mind off of stinging eyeballs and itchy eyebrows and the fact that his stomach was beginning to rumble with a subtle reminder that he had skipped breakfast.
Considering his usual bouts with insomnia, Paul was already well-versed in the art of mindless channel-surfing in the dark. He clicked on the TV and went straight to ESPN2. The sounds of the latest Pepsi commercial filled the apartment. Settling back to listen, Paul was reminded of certain late nights from his childhood, wide awake in his orphanage bunk after lights-out, scrunched under his pillow to lessen any noise, with a tiny transistor radio dialed in to the 'Dr. Demento' show.
An ad for Geico Insurance blared. Stupid gecko. Paul was certain that at any day now his own insurance company would be dropping his medical coverage, recent events considered, so he tuned it out. The game came back on next. The Boston Bruins were currently outscoring the Pittsburgh Penguins, 3-1, with seven minutes left to play in regulation. Goodness still existed in the world. Paul started to doze off.
There was a knock at the front door. Paul awoke and turned his head in the direction of the sound and was momentarily startled when he heard the door swing open and someone step inside, then close it behind.
"Ahh. There you are,"
came an all-too-familiar, irritated voice.Oh. It was Keel.
Paul reluctantly lowered the volume on the hockey game and listened to the sounds of plastic bags, food containers, plastic plates, cabinet drawers being rummaged through and clanging silverware emanating from the kitchen alcove.
"How are you feeling now?"
Like you really care, Paul snorted to himself.
"I brought Chinese from that place across from the Lenox... Are you hungry yet?"
Paul refused to respond, attempting instead to tamp down his own burgeoning bud of irritation. He knew already that Keel was royally pissed off at him. Again. Alva Keel had that certain tone he used whenever he wanted to be as officious as possible. It was like holding a conversation with the man while he stood across the Grand Canyon with his back to you.
A plastic plate and a metal fork clattered onto the coffee table. The distinctive smell of Kung Pao Chicken wafted around the room and Paul sat up eagerly, his stomach in full approval.
His visitor tsk-tsked impatiently and sat in the armchair by the window. "You didn't answer me, Paul. How do you feel? Dizzy? Disoriented? Dismayed? Disgusted?"
Not in the mood for continued interrogation by any sardonic 'Mango, the Bloodhound,' but grateful for the food nonetheless, Paul shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Keel. I was listening to the game. Thanks for bringing all this."
"You must keep your strength up... So... Do you need help eating, or...?"
Paul located the plate and fork. "No, I'm okay. Could, maybe, use a few napkins, though. If you don't mind - "
"There are several paper towels just to your right."
"Oh. Thanks." Paul found a paper towel and smoothed it over the front of his old Boston University sweatshirt, tucking it in at the neck. Knowing from past experience that he was undergoing intense scrutiny, he fought off his growing embarrassment and nerves by digging into his food with as much gusto as he could manage, given the circumstances.
"Slow down. You will choke. Very bad for business, that."
"Yeah, I guess..." Paul chuckled around a gulp of chicken. Hoping he might be able to delay the inevitable lecture - and from the sounds of the foot-tapping he could now discern from the general direction of the armchair, it was not far off in the coming - he forced a smile. "You don't have to stay, you know. Evie'll be right back. The hospital pharmacy gave me a painkiller with the wrong dosage. She's getting it replaced."
Paul could hear the naugahyde creak as the occupant of the armchair shifted closer. "Yes, I know. That should give us sufficient time for our little chat then, eh?"
As per usual, it was exactly the wrong thing for Paul to hear at precisely the wrong time. The smile on his face froze up like an ice rink. He lowered the fork and shoved the plate away, hunger abruptly sated. "I don't want to fight with you, Keel. Not right now." He angrily wadded up the paper towels and tossed them on top of his half-finished fried rice, then lay back onto the couch cushions.
"I did not mention anything about a fight. It's a foregone conclusion, after all."
The armchair creaked again as it was vacated. Paul soon heard an exasperated sigh, and his plate and fork being cleared away and taken into the kitchen. He grabbed the remote and turned the volume back up on the hockey game in defiance.
"Try to drown me out if you like, but we ARE going to talk, Paul. Now."
Perhaps if he feigned sleep, Keel would take the hint and leave him alone for a while? Paul lowered the volume on the hockey game, put the remote on the coffee table, and tried to snuggle further into a cushion.
Footsteps approached the couch and stopped two feet away. "Yesterday's event must be addressed. I need to go over one particular item in the paperwork you filed when you first joined Sodalitas Quaerito. Specifically, the contract."
Paul punched the cushion twice in sheer frustration. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have all the compassion of a neutered snow leopard?!"
"Probably, once or twice... Now, about our contract - "
"Which can be easily renegotiated at any time, so you said - "
"And now is as good a time as any - "
" - just not this very minute! Look, Keel, my head hurts, I can't even see - "
"And whose fault is that?"
" - let alone read a stupid contract - "
"I don't intend to leave until this is settled, Paul. You owe me - "
"What are you talking about?"
" - and it clearly says so, right here in Section 2, Paragraph 7, Line 8."
"What do I owe you?"
"Ahh, here it is... 'If you have injured the property - that would be you, Paul - for the seventh time, it shall be the final time, and you shall owe me...' And so on and so forth."
"WHAT will I owe you?!"
"Why, your immortal soul, of course..."
This wasn't the least bit funny anymore. Infuriated, Paul clambered up from the couch. Impeded by the coffee table in his advance of the taunting voice, he swung his fists through empty air in a futile effort to deck his tormentor. "YOU GO STRAIGHT TO HELL, KEEL!"
"Yes... Well, that IS the point, isn't it?"
Paul's knees buckled as vertigo suddenly overwhelmed him; he fell back onto the couch, gasping for air and grasping for balance. The rustling sound of a piece of paper then being forcefully slapped on the coffee table echoed in Paul's eardrums.
"You reread the contract, like a good boy. As soon as you are able to, that is. I'll see myself out. You know where to find me."
The footsteps retreated across the apartment, past the other side of the slammed-shut front door and off down the hall. Paul then either fainted or passed out. For the rest of his life, he could never be sure which it was.
******
The scent of a familiar, gardenia-based perfume tickled Paul's way back to full consciousness. After a few seconds of panic - before feeling the bandages on his face and remembering why everything was black - he tried to sit up. A hand touched his shoulder and firmly pushed him back on the cushions.
"Take it slow. And don't touch those bandages. You know what the doctors said."
Paul immediately recognized the gentle voice as Evelyn's. He reached up to pat the hand still resting on his shoulder. It was soft. It was warm. It was real. Maybe the universe wasn't so topsy-turvy after all, he decided. Now all he needed to do was to get out from under that re-swaddled blanket before he perished from sweat-loss.
"Welcome back. I'm fixing some lunch... Are you hungry yet?"
The innocent enough question sent a shockwave through Paul, and he wasn't sure how to respond; he ultimately just shrugged.
Evelyn stroked his neck affectionately and started to move away from the couch. Paul immediately took her hand, desperate to keep her from leaving him alone.
"What's wrong?"
"Keel. He was here. And...well..." The meekness in his voice surprised him and he swallowed hard, trying to regroup.
Evelyn leaned over Paul and brushed the lower half of his face, in an almost maternal effort to soothe him.
"Shhh, it's okay... Are you thirsty? I can get you something."
"No... I mean, yes. Okay. Thanks." He took a deep breath and tried to reorient himself. He heard Evelyn walk into the kitchen alcove, open the refrigerator and take out a can of something. He took the opportunity to sit up and kick off the accursed blanket, tossing it quickly behind the couch. His hair and sweat suit were soaked with perspiration. Taking a shower was going to be a challenge. He heard Evelyn's returning footsteps and a plastic straw being inserted into an opened soda can.
"Here you are. Ginger ale. It's time for your antibiotics, too."
"Yeah, thanks." He swallowed two pills with Evelyn's help. His head was aching more than ever - a backlash, he knew, of the accidental painkiller overdose.
"You shouldn't take antibiotics on an empty stomach. I made some tuna salad for sandwiches. Let me make you one."
"Actually, I already ate... Uhh... Keel..." The memory of their last, strange conversation fully intact, Paul's felt a knot of tension start to form in his chest. "Keel showed up and fed me Chinese food and...we talked a little... He really freaked me out..."
"Paul, I don't understand. Alva has been in the office all day, waiting for that phone call from Dr. Christien in Montreal. He doesn't expect to be able to get here until after 3 or so."
Paul shook his head slowly, confused. "No, Evie, he was here. Check the coffee table. He left a copy of a contract on it before he left." He listened as Evelyn thoroughly searched the table from above and below, then beneath the couch.
"There's no contract anywhere, Paul. Are you sure you didn't just dream it?"
"Pretty sure, yeah." He sat back and tried to think more clearly. "Look in the garbage can under the sink. That's where he put the empty take-out cartons. It was mostly Kung Pao Chicken." Odd, though, that the previously strong odor of it didn't seem to exist anymore, he considered. Still, he was amazingly full. He heard Evelyn re-enter the kitchen alcove and open a cabinet door.
"There are no cartons in here, Paul...only your new medicine's empty box that I just threw away. I took the trash out for you this morning. Remember? No dishes in the sink, either."
Funny thing about it, was that he DID remember her fussing that morning over the trash, the tuna fish, the blanket, the meds... This was just not making any sense. So as not to dwell on the situation any harder than he needed to for the time being, Paul decided to distract himself again with the TV. Maybe he could catch a postgame show of the Bruins' game, if it wasn't too late.
He clicked on the remote and surfed directly to ESPN2 and found the last half of the Geico commercial again. The Boston Bruins ice hockey game then came on...with them leading the Pittsburgh Penguins...by the score of 3-1...with seven minutes left in regulation...
"Evie, is this a replay of this afternoon's Bruins game?" he hollered, the knot of tension tightening further.
Paul heard Evelyn's footsteps approach him. He felt her hands lightly touching his neck and forehead, seemingly for signs of a fever.
"You're not listening to a hockey game, Paul. It's on HBO...and the Mute is on."
Oh, this was getting better all the time, Paul concluded, with more than a touch of sarcasm. First, he had nearly had his eyes burnt out because of a pair of evil sunglasses. Next, he had imagined Keel feeding him Kung Pao Chicken while doing a mean impression of the Devil Incarnate. Now, here he was hallucinating about stupid geckos and ice hockey scores on a muted television set. Joy.
Evelyn went into Paul's bathroom to get a dampened washcloth and a towel. Just as she completed an efficient and lightening-quick wipe-down of her too-tired-to-put-up-much-of-an-objection co-worker, Evelyn's cell phone rang shrilly, causing them both to jump. Paul listened quietly as she answered it.
"Hello? Yes... No... Yes... No, Alva, I think you should... No, you might want to come over... No, now... No, really, he's not... Yes...umm... Okay, bye."
Paul heard Evelyn place her cell phone on the coffee table and head back to the kitchen alcove to finish making sandwiches.
"Alva's on his way. Just sit tight. Lunch is almost ready."
Joy AND rapture, Paul thought. He silently stewed and began to channel-surf at random, making certain the Mute button was off. In succession, he listened to a familiar Pepsi commercial on Lifetime, and some drunken/stoned Spring Breakers from Daytona Beach sounding like a herd of yodeling sheep and butchering something that sounded vaguely like the song 'I Will Love Again' on MTV, before being pleasantly surprised by the discovery of a pre-season Red Sox and Yankees baseball game on FOX... Maybe.
It couldn't hurt to have proof. "Evie, is there a Sox and Yankees game on right now?" he hollered, all but crossing his fingers in hope. The sound of Evelyn's laughter from the kitchen was literally music to Paul's ears.
"Yes, and the Sox are up 3 to 1, in the bottom of the seventh. I'll be right there with your lunch."
Three to one. The seventh. It figured, Paul sighed. He would have to stop dwelling on mere coincidences if he ever expected to make it wholly sane to his 30th birthday. Evelyn walked into the living room with a tray of food and arranged plates on the coffee table.
"Tuna salad sandwiches and homemade macaroni and cheese. You DID say that you were hungry, right?"
"Well, to be perfectly honest...I don't know, Evie. I really appreciate you going to all the trouble of cooking and everything...but...it's weird, I know...I can still taste the Kung Pao Chicken... And, I'm still full - "
"Don't worry about it. I don't mind. It's okay, I - "
" - and I'm not even sure why - "
They laughed at their overlapping conversation, then finished their lunch together, keeping the chitchat to a minimum so Paul could concentrate on picking at his food and making a display of having eaten at least some of it. It was almost 2 by the time Evelyn pushed her folding chair back from the coffee table and packed off the dirty dishes to the sink for a quick wash and dry.
"Paul, I have to pick Matty up from his sitter's, then I have to drop him off at my sister's house. I'll be back as soon as I can. Alva should be here any moment."
"Great, just leave me alone with Satan himself..." Paul murmured. He listened as Evelyn donned her sweater, retrieved her cell phone, and made sure she had her car keys. Her footsteps paused at the apartment's front doorway.
"Hey... Try not to fight with Alva, okay, Paul? He's under a lot of stress right now, with that guest lecture coming up in Montreal for Dr. Christien's parapsychology students."
"So long as he doesn't push any of his disappearing Chinese chicken on me again, no problem." Paul grinned in her direction and settled back against his cushions.
"Uh, huh... Really, though...he's pretty upset, still, about yesterday..."
"I'll behave, 'Mother' Evie. I promise. Thanks again for everything." Paul heard the door shut quietly just about the time he felt himself slip into what was probably an ill-timed nap.
******
There was a knock at the front door. In a deja vu moment, Paul awoke and turned his head in the direction of the sound and was momentarily startled when he heard the door swing open and someone step inside, then close it behind.
"Ahh. There you are,"
came an all-too-familiar, irritated voice.Oh. It was Keel.
Holy shit.
"Really, Paul, your landlord should do something about the condition of that decrepit staircase down the hallway. I tripped on one of the steps and nearly dislocated my elbow when I fell against the wall..."
Paul sat up warily and waited as the sound of firm footsteps came ever closer. They stopped directly next to the coffee table.
"But enough about me... So... How are you feeling now?"
Forgetting his promise to Evelyn, Paul opened his mouth for a scathing retort - then abruptly shut it, instead. There was a difference this time, he realized. Same question, yes, but there was definitely an alternate emphasis. The last time he had been asked that by Keel - which, were he to trust and believe Evelyn, could not have possibly occurred - it had been flung at him with a fair measure of malice. This time it wasn't asked him by some cold, contract-waving bastard, it was a sincere inquiry made by a honestly concerned and caring friend.
"I'm...I'm doing okay, I think..." Paul replied, scrambling for stability and trying to figure out just when the universe had tilted on him for the umpteenth time. "Thanks for asking."
"Sure... I see Evie fed you."
"Yeah... Yeah, I...I guess so..." Paul was mumbling now, too lost and too wrung out both physically and emotionally to do anything but babble at the man - demon? angel? - now standing two feet away from him.
"I'm sorry I was delayed. The traffic around The Dig today was horrendous, as usual... Can I get you anything?"
Paul knew he was helpless to defend himself if the compassionate change he perceived in this Keel was not for real. He came to the conclusion that he couldn't really care. Either the Keel of the present would eventually turn on him, or he would not. In Paul's current condition, there wasn't much that he could do about it, one way or the other.
"You brought me Kung Pao Chicken earlier," Paul droned. "It was good. Evie's tuna salad was better, though... When is Canada? You can sit down if you want to."
"I think I had better. You sound as if you are drugged half out of your skull."
Fighting back a wave of fatigue, Paul detected a gentle tolerance in Keel's voice, like he was being teased by an older brother. The sound of the folding chair being set up and occupied close by came almost as a relief.
"I know it's pointless to attempt to justify anything to you, Paul. Evie told me about the dosage mistake. I spoke to the hospital's pharmacy head earlier - a contrite man he was, too - and he believes you'll be fine, as soon as the effects wear off. It shouldn't take too long. Nothing to worry about, he said...if there were, he would have re-admitted you."
"That's all well and good, Keel," Paul chuckled, "but how did I end up stuffing myself with chicken from a - and I quote - 'Chinese place across from the Lenox'?"
"Right. Especially since there IS no Chinese restaurant across from the Lenox Hotel. There's St. Paul's Cathedral, as you well know... Evie celled me about the error with the pills and...ehh...your subsequent hallucinations. An overdose, perhaps even a mild reaction, would be my first suspect... Rather amusing, yes... She said something, however, about me...ahh...me showing up and...ehh...'really freaking you out'... Hmmm?"
By now, Paul was unable to stop snickering, and tried to divert it with a short coughing fit. Keel attempted to stifle responding chortles by clearing his throat. Both failed miserably. For some unknown reason, the universe decided at that particular moment to simultaneously crack up the two paranormal investigators with its utter absurdity.
When his howls of laughter finally subsided, Paul's bandages were all but soaked through with tears. Made his eyes feel a whole lot better, oddly enough. He heard Keel stand up from the folding chair and gasp for breath after his own rare bout with hysterics.
"Oh, my... All right... Paul? I need to get some ice on this elbow before it swells up anymore than it already has... Do you need anything while I'm up?"
"Not...really, no..." Paul hiccoughed, then smiled. "Alva?" He heard Keel's retreating footsteps pause halfway to the kitchen alcove.
"Yes?"
"I...I just wanted to say thanks, again. I appreciate you dropping everything and coming over to baby-sit me." Paul listened as Keel inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled.
"I doubt you will after we go over that fiasco you had in the park yesterday - "
"Keel."
"Yes?"
"Lecture me at your peril." Paul beamed. Keel's footsteps continued to the refrigerator.
"Then again, Evie asked me not to trouble you about it until after - "
"Thank God for Evelyn. She keeps us civil." Paul listened as Keel chuckled in agreement, located a Ziploc storage bag and an ice pick from a cabinet drawer, and began hacking chunks off the congealed, frozen mass in the ancient freezer compartment of the fridge.
There was a knock at the front door. Paul almost tumbled off the couch in surprise. He heard Keel place the ice pick on the counter and walk toward the door.
"Stay there, I'll get it."
Paul immediately reached for his bandages. For the first time since being bandaged by the ophthalmologist in the hospital, he honestly felt that he was going to lose the uncontrollable urge to rip them off his face. The possibility of seeing Alva Keel open the door to another - for wont of a better word - 'wicked' Alva Keel, was almost too much to contemplate. He forcibly folded his hands in his lap and held his breath as he heard Keel open the door.
"Oh, hello, ma'am..."
A soft voice proceeded to converse with Keel. Paul breathed again when he recognized it as belonging to the elderly widow from across the hall. After a few moments, Paul heard Keel close the door and his footsteps approach the couch.
"Your neighbor, Mrs. Levy, said this envelope for you was accidentally put in her mailbox. Strange...there's no return address on it...or a postmark..."
Paul stretched. "I'm not surprised, given the past few days. Go ahead and open it."
"Are you sure? It may be personal."
"Unlike some people I know, I have nothing to hide... Go on. Read it to me," Paul yawned. "It's probably just a piece of bulk mail." He listened as Keel sat down in the folding chair, opened the envelope, and extracted two pieces of paper, unfolding one of them - then gasped in shock.
"Interesting..."
"What does it say?" Paul waited for what felt an eternity before Keel responded.
"Ahh... Sorry... There's another envelope here...and a white sheet of paper, with green 'smiley faces' in the background. On the sheet of paper is typed: 'Dear Mr. Callan, I am taking this opportunity to congratulate you on your most recent victory. Suffering as you are from your regrettable infirmity, I must however insist that we agree upon the score before we engage in additional skirmishes. I have recorded the tally as being 3-1, which indicates three saved for you and one lost to me. There remain seven years in the current campaign. If you concur with these figures, please respond to this inquiry by use of the self-addressed, stamped envelope provided within. My sincerest wishes for your continued success, as it has been a pleasure meeting the challenge of you, as well as your associates, Mr. Keel and Ms. Santos. Good luck. Kindest Regards, Mr. Friendly... The Seventh Level of Hell'..."
END