Karthey
could not take her eyes off of Cramwell Fornberg, and as he stood before her,
shaking and staring and glaring and seething, she knew fear. Before this time,
she only feared what she did not know about him. Now, to see him so angry, so violated, and she had been the one to make him so, she
genuinely feared him.
By
now, Cramwell was standing in front of the armchair, and he sank into it,
completely worn out from his outburst. Karthey saw pain, saw weariness, and saw
deep, interminable hurt. This was what Cramwell carried about with him every
day as he went into town, avoiding eyes and comments, and retreated the minute
he finished to his sanctuary where Jelilah awaited him. More than her fear,
now, Karthey wanted to know what had really happened to Jelilah; she wanted to know the truth instead of the
stories she had heard growing up. But would the words come? Would he answer?
“What—“
Karthey fought to bring up the words as Cramwell picked up his head, “What
happened to her?”
Cramwell
fixed Karthey with that weird stare that never failed to fill her with
dread—but she saw that behind it were the still-warm embers of love. Cramwell
turned his gaze to the face of his wife.
 |
| *From deviantart.net; this couple inspired the Fornbergs! |
“We…”
his voice was no more willing to leave his mouth than hers had been. “My Jelly
and I were at the seaside. We had been married one year—it was our first
anni…anniversary.” Cramwell’s eyes dropped and locked in a wide-eyed stare as
he relived the details of that day, and his voice warmed to a tone Karthey had
never heard him use before; come to think of it, she had never heard anyone use
the tone of voice Cramwell did now. His voice never faltered once while he
described his dear wife.
“Jelly
loved the seaside; I loved to watch her, to be with her, to feel her arms in
mine, to feel her pull me along with her as she ran into the surf again and
again, to hear her laugh echo in my hears, to see that wonderful, glorious
smile that made her whole face shine like starlight. Then one day—“ Cramwell’s
voice caught, and the warmth dissipated; just like that, he reverted back to
his old, terse way of speaking. “We would have stayed two days longer; the tide
was in…it was just going out. A storm was coming in, but it hadn’t—arrived yet.
But the breakers…the sea was rolling, the white foam stood on every wave,
crashing upon the shore. I stayed—oh! I should have gone with her! But the
crashing sea made me afraid, I stayed back on shore. Jelilah wanted to run in
the surf again—why couldn’t she listen?”
Karthey
had been staring at the painting during this time, but at a strange sound from
Cramwell she looked up in surprise. Tears stood in his eyes as he stared at Jelilah’s
face. Karthey wondered if he had forgotten her, and was lost in his memories
now, memories he had never uttered since they first occurred, the memories that
had so burdened his soul and made him the reclusive hermit he was. Cramwell
continued.
“She
ran out—she wore that same white dress—she ran out, calling, and waving at me.
She wanted me to come with her, she ran into the water so that her dress was
drenched and clung to her body. But Jelly didn’t care. She loved every minute
of it. She loved the power of the water. She just kept going, deeper and
deeper, turning back, reaching back, deeper again, turning, reaching—“ Cramwell
was weeping in earnest now, and Karthey longed to reach out and comfort him,
but she dared not, for fear of incurring his wrath in his fragile emotional
state.
“A
wave came, it seemed to cover her up. I thought I saw her arms, still reaching
for me…and then—“ Cramwell covered his face with his hands at the sheer horror
of it, “—she screamed. When the wave
went back out, I couldn’t see her any more.” Cramwell dropped his hands and
seemed to recover his composure in an instant. He looked back at Karthey and
continued flatly, “The undertow had caught her, and carried her under. By the
time I ran out to search for her, she was gone. The tide went out, and I never
saw her again.” Cramwell sighed and did not look at the painting (thought
Karthey saw that he most likely very much wanted to) as he informed her, “She
dared to taunt Nature with her carefree attitude, and Nature swallowed her in
one gulp. That is why I keep to a schedule, and do the same things I have done
since returning to Precinct. It is—“ he hesitated, obviously thinking of the
kidnappings, “—safer for me, that
way.” His eyes shifted from side to side, as if he considered himself
surrounded at all time by unseen demons who waited on his every side for his
foot to stray so they could work their mischief.
As
Karthey watched the man, it seemed as if the tall, looming “monster” façade
seemed to melt away, and she saw him vulnerable, alone, full of fear. She
sought to empower and embolden him. She realized that this might be a moment of
opportunity no one else in Precinct had or could ever have—the chance to speak
with Cramwell Fornberg. She had his ear—she,
Karthey Mavis! He was not brushing her off, shooing her away, or communicating
via text message. He was speaking to her, and more importantly, with her. She carefully leaned forward, not daring to take her eyes off him.
“So
many people in Precinct are afraid of you,” she told Cramwell, “they are just
as afraid as you are. Some even believe you are a ghost. This is what fear
does.”
Cramwell
fixed his eyes on the girl before him who spoke to him as no one else had done
since—well, for a very long time. “How do you mean?” he queried.
Karthey
wondered at this open invitation to continue speaking, but she determined not
to let it go to waste. “Fear robs a person of life. When you live out of fear,
it’s not living at all.”
“Are
you saying that I must throw my life to the dogs in order to really live?”
Cramwell asserted. “The very idea behind keeping set hours and a private
schedule is to preserve my years as much as possible.”
Karthey
paused to ponder Cramwell’s words; all this time everyone had assumed guilt was
the only reason one would choose to live such a secluded life, when he was
really doing it out of self-preservation. She thought back to all the
discussions she had with her father about life.
“Life,”
she stated, “is not about taking all risks,
nor is it about taking no risks.
Your life is not safer because you do not think you take risks. Just look at
the way you’ve been getting notes all week. Life is about taking the risks that
make us grow, Mr. Fornberg. To a baby, walking is a risk; to a duckling,
swimming is a risk; to a bird, flying is a risk; yet all these things are
necessary for their development, for their lives.”
For
one fleeting moment, Karthey and Cramwell locked eyes, but then Cramwell
blinked, and the moment was over.
“That
will be all, Miss Mavis,” he said coldly. He would not look at her again.
Karthey
stood and left the cloister. Had anything she said made any sort of impression,
or was it all for nothing? She wandered out of the library, but just as she
reached the top of the right-hand stairs, Cramwell emerged from the east
hallway.
“Miss
Mavis!” he commanded.
Karthey
obediently stopped and turned.
He
stared at her, his lips moving, but no sound came. After several moments, he
awkwardly dug his cell phone out of his pocket and began typing. Karthey
patiently waited until he had finished and sent it, then withdrew her own phone
when it vibrated.
Please accompany
me into town today, Miss Mavis.
Karthey
looked back to Cramwell, to try to ascertain the meaning of this unexpected
request. He was allowing her to go into town? When all this time she thought
she would have to stay cooped up on the hill until the police apprehended the
culprit? Cramwell, however, had his head bent down again, and was still
texting.
“Yes,”
Karthey told him, in answer to his first text, as she waited for the second
one. It came in short order.
You will remain at
my side the entire time, and you must not speak to anyone.
That will be all.
He
was looking at her when she finished. Karthey felt a rush of warmth in her cheeks
as she dared to smile at Cramwell Fornberg.
“Thank
you!” she cried as she ran down the steps for her coat and scarf. She was going
with Cramwell, and she couldn’t speak to anyone (evidently Cramwell really had
no idea that she was already talking with Derrik every day, so these
restrictions, if they were meant to be heavy, were nothing of the sort), but at
least she could see Precinct again, with her own eyes! Nothing about Cramwell’s
stony resistance to her could ever dampen the anticipation she felt as they
descended the Hill side by side.
<<<>>>
Mr.
Mavis frowned and let his head drop into his hands. His elbows rested on piles
of paper in front of him. On each piece of paper were several lists, theories,
hypotheses—all concerning Cramwell Fornberg and the kidnappings. So many things
didn’t add up!
Derrik
had been faithful in bringing everything Karthey said to him. He had been
grateful to get the note from her, and every day it encouraged his heart to
hear how his daughter was working just as hard as he was—with far less
information. Mr. Mavis pushed away from his desk and walked over to the map of
Precinct he had pinned up, with Karthey’s note tacked to the corner, right
where he could see it, even though he had already memorized every word, he read
it so much.
Derrik
had informed him that Karthey noted Cramwell making a map of at least twenty
different people and their specific routes through the town, so Mr. Mavis had
done his best to make one of his own, marking down a list of peak times of
“people-traffic” both the largest volumes of people coming and people going
from almost every business establishment in town. That had to be it—the
kidnapper must have chosen times of light traffic or heavy, depending on the
location.
The
street corner angle had thought to provide a pattern, because “Clarissa’s
corner” had been near the grocery store, where Colby disappeared, and Colby in
turn had been last seen near the diner, where Alivia had last visited before
being last seen in the Square near the library, where Cherry disappeared—but
Cherry had not been on a street corner at all!
Together,
father and son had then come up with the angle that perhaps the kidnapper was a
previous acquaintance of Cramwell’s. Getting evidence from Cramwell’s past from
London had not been a picnic. So many forms to fill out! Mr. Mavis reflected
gratefully that at least they could use e-mail, which was much faster than
having to ship everything over the Atlantic. He had the list of everyone who
went to school with Cramwell from primary to university. Mr. Mavis had noticed
the name Jelilah Hammond on the list of university students, as an American
exchange student. Wasn’t that the name of Cramwell’s wife? Now he knew where
they met, at any rate.
According
to Derrik, Karthey had also mentioned something about the death of Cramwell’s
wife affecting him deeply—but what did that have to do with the kidnappings?
Mr. Mavis dismissed it from his mind with a shake of the head. He glanced at
the clock on his wall. It was almost ten-thirty. He needed some coffee; so what
if Cramwell would be at the café? If he walked slowly enough, Mr. Mavis was
sure he could arrive in time to see the old codger leave.
Mr.
Mavis strode out of City Hall and across the Square to the café. He pushed open
the door, stepped back to let Mr. and Mrs. Gardner out, and walked straight to
the counter.
“Hey,
Beth,” he said to the petite brunette at the cash register, “can I get a medium
caramel sauce Americano?”
Beth
smiled, but behind the grin something strange hovered in her expression. “Sure
thing, Mr. Mavis. You want whip on that?” She kept glancing at something over
his shoulder.
“Sure,”
Mr. Mavis was beginning to be distracted by the fact that Beth was distracted
herself.
Beth
shook away whatever had been bothering her, and she rang up Mr. Mavis’ order.
“That’ll be $3.15,” she said, “Go ahead and have a seat, and I’ll bring it to
your table.”
“Thanks,
Beth!” Mr. Mavis turned to grab one of the booths lining the café walls. He
stopped short. “Karthey?” he gasped.
dude! have you finished this story? I remember when you sent me the first part...I want to read it all!!
ReplyDelete