The Untouchables

There, she caught herself doing it again. She wasn’t really thinking about what she was doing, it was a habit that just seemed to develop, over time. Her father teased her about it, said he was prepared to take the mirror off, to help her. His very own Miss Personality. She thought it amusing at first, then tired of hearing him say it. Her mother defended her, saying it was just natural for a young woman to try to make certain she looked all right, before confronting a stranger. Not that it was only strangers that came to the door. So she had glimpsed herself in the mirror, to make certain she looked all right; big deal.

She was running late, really didn’t want to have anyone at the door. It would be the second time this week if she arrived late at work. Mr. Peters wouldn’t say anything directly, but he noticed and he took note. It was Sheila whom it impacted. She was mature and experienced, and cut her younger colleague some slack. Even though it meant she would be harried and a bit upset, doing work they both were tasked with.

Sometimes she just got carried away, forgot the time. What with her early morning run, and too many things she let slop over from the night before that took her time the following morning, it was always a race against time to make sure she left when she should. And right then, it was time she left. Right when the doorbell rang.

It was the last few Tweets that did it. Oh, and that email she sent her cousin, just some last-minute updates on their trip. She forgot the time, got too involved and wasn’t even certain she had given a clear explanation of why everyone in the area was becoming so nervous.

Anyway, there she was, ready to leave, and now she had to respond to someone at the door. Always some kind of nuisance factor to complicate life, she sighed.

Like her Dad, putting up last-minute objections to the trip she and Nora were preparing for.

“I know young people are curious and like the idea of adventure and going to new places, but you two are out of your minds, planning a trip to Central America. You have any idea of the number of people robbed, injured even murdered there?”

Like he did, as though he kept up to date on stuff like that. He was interfering as usual, inventing reasons why she shouldn't pursue something of interest to her. She'd be in her cousin's company, after all, and Nora had travelled on her own, before. When she mentioned this to her father he always snorted and said who'd look at Nora. She thought that was really offensive, but she said nothing about it.

“Yes, Dad, we do. We’ve talked about it. We’ll mostly be in cities, and the few side-trips we take will be with a guide. So relax, we’re not exactly stupid, you know.” They wouldn't use the services of local guides, they'd decided that. Nora knew her way around and know how to get around, and they wanted this to be a different kind of adventure; she had confidence in her cousin, even if her dad hadn't.

“Not stupid, I never meant to intimate that, just innocent of what can happen when you’re in a strange place”, he grumbled.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake” her mother intervened. “All the young people are doing that, travelling before they get bogged down with life. They’ll be fine. They’ll be together, after all, and they’re both responsible adults, they’re not kids, after all.”

She could always count on her mom to come to her defense. Her father was just too protective, fearful of anything that could happen to his little girl. Her mother said he’d been like that since she had emerged from the womb and they both had a good laugh over that.

Theirs was the only house in the area that had a storm door over the regular front door. No one else saw the need for that. Oh, it was practical all right, to air things out in the summer heat, installing the screen part, but it wasn’t for that reason her father had installed it. It was so that he could teach her that it represented a barrier. When she responded to the front door and there was no one else around in the house, she could open the front door, and decide whether she would unlock the storm door.

Now, confronting her visitor, it was clear there was no need for precautions. She knew him. Not personally, but she knew of him, knew what he looked like, what he represented, his reputation and power in the community. She knew other things about him too, of course, everyone did. This was a small community, only six thousand people, and everyone more or less was aware of everyone else. Strangers would stick out in this community.

Even so, peculiarly alarming things had been happening in the past year and a half. There was clearly a violent predator on the loose coming from somewhere and everyone was nervous. Not her, not exactly, she felt all right, just that she was aware, as any intelligent woman should be. You can't be frightened all the time, you've got to live your life, or it's no life at all, her girlfriends had all agreed. The violently gruesome death of one young woman in the area was felt to be an isolated incident. That was a year ago and the investigators had turned up nothing at all.

There was no linkage, as far as anyone could tell, to the two women who had been bound, heads covered, raped and beaten, both within the space of a month. They'd been alone for the night. Just coincidence, or did someone local know that because they'd been stalked? Little wonder the whole town was on alert. It was on top of the gossip charts. The mayor did his best to calm fears, and so did the OPP. These were rare, anomalous events in this sleepy little town.

Everyone was convinced some nutcase from Ottawa was involved, likely from one of the suburbs which weren’t, in fact, all that distant. Police had done a thorough job questioning anyone whom they thought might be involved from the area, and they’d come up with one huge zero. Anyway, nothing else had happened for awhile; it was possible whoever it was had decided to play his deadly games somewhere else, or moved, or … who knows?

“Can I help you?” she asked. “My parents have just left.”

“Hello, Miss Jackman. Heidi, I know that’s your name. Is it all right if I call you that?”

He knew her name. How odd was that. She warmed to him. The way he was looking at her. He had a reputation for being stand-offish, and there was nothing too stand-offish about his frank admiration. Suddenly she felt embarrassed. “Sure, she said, that’s all right. What can I do for you?”

Was he looking for directions? Wanting to ask her something about her parents? Her mother was involved in the local social club, maybe that was it.

“That’s all right, it isn’t your mom or dad I’m interested in”, he said, smiling broadly.

A large man, well built, must be close to 50, but doesn’t look it, she mused. Married; he and his wife famously a power couple in the nation’s capital. Bought a ‘cottage’ in the area; a lavish one-story brick house in fact, but because of its location, right at the river’s edge, it was termed a cottage. She should be so lucky, she thought wryly. Husband a wealthy industrialist; a social stature and affluence she might only imagine, and clearly politically well connected.

The town was flattered by their presence as summer residents. Pumped up with the importance of having someone like him around. It was well known that the mayor and his council deferred to him, invited him to their closed-session meetings. And it was also on the rumour mill that he pulled his influence where it mattered, to the gain of the town. More; it was bantered about he was considering opening a branch plant. There would be openings for local jobs. He had everyone’s respect.

So it was kind of puzzling that Marie, whose family owned the local pub, described to her friends a taciturn man who showed up there regularly once a week to order the ale brought in especially for his refined tastes, settling himself at the bar far from any locals in hot conversation, setting himself. But here he was, Mr. Friendly, demonstrating his reputation as the jewelled presence of opportunity in situ.

“Oh, what then?” Interested in her? She wracked her mind to think why he might say that. Nothing special about her as far as influence went. She was involved with the town’s Little Theatre group but she didn’t sell tickets to their performances. Could he be an aspiring thespian? Why come to her, why not Adrian, who made all those arrangements?

“Me? You want to ask something of me?”

“May I come in?”, he asked.

She blushed again. So busy inside her head trying to find meaning in his presence she’d forgotten her manners. She glanced toward the driveway. There was his big BMW blocking her Toyota. “I’m … kind of late. I’m supposed to be at work in ten minutes”, she explained.

“That’s all right", he said, easily. 'I won’t take much of your time. Just a few minutes. You can spare a few minutes for me, can’t you?”

Her parents would never forgive her if she was rude to the man. Besides which, this was flattering, ego-appealing. Being noticed by someone like him …

“Sure”, she said, “I can spare a few minutes. Please, come in.” And she pushed the storm door wide, inviting him entry.

Stepping across the threshhold. Entering their house. Looking around. Spotting Tigger, her little orange-striped cat. “You’ve got a cat! My wife and I, we have cats”, he said.

“Yes”, she said, “I know”. And then cursed herself for saying that. Tried to make amends as though to tell him she had no personal interest, wasn’t nosy about him herself: “It’s just that”, she stumbled, embarrassed again, “everyone seems to know everything about you.”

He laughed self-deprecatingly, and drifted into the living room. Looked around, as though appraising the value of the interior. Cocking his head toward the stairs, and she wondered why. She invited him to take a seat on the sofa, and nervously sat across from him, but he quickly got to his feet again and said he didn’t mean to take any more of her time.

He wanted, actually, to show her something and it just happened he’d forgotten it in his car. It would take him a moment to get it, but on the other hand, it might be quicker, more efficient, if she just accompanied him to the car, he’d extract it and give it to her for her consideration.

Consideration? Was he offering her a job? The thought of a hefty salary doing something interesting flooded her mind.

“Just a minute, then, I’ll get my things …" She’d just jump into her own car afterward and make off for work.

“No“, he said, “don’t bother, you can get your things together once I’ve left, there’ll be ample time. This will only take a minute.”

And he grasped her firmly by her shoulders, leading her weakly protesting, out the front door, to his car.

When her mother returned from work late afternoon, she assumed her daughter was working late. Or she’d gone shopping with a friend, after work; that wasn’t unusual. But she noted the telephone answer machine light blinking. And the message was asking where her daughter was, her colleague was being swamped and couldn’t handle everything on her own. The next message fairly well repeated the original one. Finally, there was a third message, from her daughter’s employer and the man sounded fairly put out.

It was too late to call the place, they had closed for the day. She fumbled with the telephone book to find the number for her daughter’s employer, and called him. No, she hadn’t shown up to work at all that day, he grumbled.

A slow panic overtook her. She heard a sound and jumped, her worry suddenly evaporated, ready to grasp her daughter in a panicked hug of relief. And then tell her in no uncertain terms that her odd behaviour today had worried her no end, and that she had a lot of explaining to do to her employer.

But it was her husband, returning from work.

In a growing state of shock and fear they contacted the police.

“Please, Ma’m” the desk officer said, “calm yourself. Is there anyone else there we can speak to? I’m having difficulties understanding, your words are kind of running together.”