Step Inside

Nothing in particular seems to be extraordinary about the present moment, yet I feel a sudden subtle nagging to investigate, as if a clue to something mysterious is courting my attention away from my book. There is this festering scab on my left calf from a mosquito bite that stubbornly won’t seem to heal. Could it be there is an infection coursing through my veins sending a warning signal to my brain? Or could it be that the gas line in the fireplace is about to come loose again, silently threatening to poison the air that I breathe? While I contemplate, a single gnat has been circling in front of my face, just inches from my nose and as I attempt to reach for it, it seems to disappear, as if it really wasn’t there in the first place only to return again and I am beginning to wonder if it is just an illusion, only a figment of my imagination.

A sudden ricochet sound catches my attention from the back of the house as if something has possibly been knocked off my bedroom bureau. I am sure I had let the cat out, but then again I have been getting a tad bit forgetful of late, so I better get up to check things out. Nothing seems to be out of order in my bedroom, so I step back out into the hallway and walk towards the back door to call in Mittens, and there she is as I suspected, coming up the stone path under the reveal of the full moon sauntering, as if to ask me,

“Really. Do I have to come in?”

After closing the door, I sort of decide to ignore the implications of the noise I heard, considering that my hearing is also not what it used to be. Maybe a racoon or some other critter has just fiddled with something outside and as I turn around to walk back to my reading chair I notice something on the floor in front of me that I had not seen before. It is small, rectangular, and brown. Leather? A wallet? A man’s wallet? How peculiar. When I pick it up, of course I check the bill fold first. Who doesn’t hope for some unexpected cash, and the thought takes my mind off the possibility that a strange man may have entered my house without my knowledge. But no. No cash, but there is a license with the picture of a handsome young man, name: Phillip Antonia, birth date: December 12, 1992, dark hair, dark eyes, sharp features, the kind of guy I would have been attracted to as a young woman, so even though this is so very odd, I still feel no reason to be afraid. There must be some explanation.

The thought occurs to me to look him up on the internet and see if there is a phone number listed for his address. Bingo. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him, but I’m typically pretty good at getting information out of people having been a data collector for most of my career, so I dial his number planning to wing it.

A woman with a raspy voice answers the phone.

“Hello.”

“Hi. My name is Sarah (why offer my last name). Is Phillip home?”

“What do you want with Phillip?”

“I actually found something of his. Is he home? Can I speak to him?”

There is a long pause and I wonder what she’s thinking and whether or not I’m going to get to talk to Philip.

“Listen, umm, Sarah. I don’t know if you are legit or if you are some kind of cruel prankster. I am a close friend of Philip’s mother. Philip has passed away. His body was found in the Allegheny River earlier today and his death is being investigated as a homicide. You may have heard about this on the news? If you have anything of Philips, I suggest you turn it over to the police. I’m going to give them your number; I’m looking at it right now on caller id; so they will be getting in touch with you if you don’t call them.”

Suddenly me; never at a loss for words me is tongue tied. Searching my memory for clues, I consider the possibility that I may have just unknowingly made myself into a suspect. Even more frightening is the possibility that I am not just a suspect, but guilty, having had some kind of black out and killed this young man?

“Sure. Sure. No worries. I will call the police right after I hang up the phone with you. So sorry for your loss.”

And I hang up having no idea how I will go about explaining finding a dead guy’s wallet on my floor that literally seems to have fallen from the sky.

I sit gathering my thoughts knowing I have no other choice but to call the police when I see that damn gnat is back. This time he flies right into my eye and I begin to rub it and it stings like hell so I run into the bathroom to look for some Visine. One eye closed, my peripheral catches a sideways glance of myself in the mirror, and my peripheral vision knows everything is wrong, as wrong as when you just know life as you once knew it to be is about to be over. The knowing comes like a light bulb about to burn out, flickering just before the illumination in the room fades out. And I know I must force myself, and I do, although apprehensively, turn towards the mirror.

It is then that I recognize, as if he had been there all along, Philip Antonia is the only one in the bathroom mirror, and the only one in the room, staring back at me.