He managed to look away and glance at the large tent at the back thathe had noticed on his last visit, though he had yet to understand itsfunction. It was tall and bright, a white tent that looked like itbelonged to a fair or carnival. The shape was a typical rectangularbox with a raised top. He glanced at a woman who was moving around among the items, her longcoat was somewhat unseasonable, and the hood over her head seemedvery unnecessary, but Jim didn’t see much of a point in criticizingthose kinds of choices people made. If they wanted to be impractical,that was their choice. Bram was manning the table this time. His head was bobbing to themusic that streamed through the tiny earbuds in his ear. Jim couldn’thelp but note the ever-present smile on his face was strangelyabsent. His mouth was drawn in a thick line, something that seemedforeign to his appearance. The laptop was still in front of him, that and the cashbox. Theshining metal surface gleamed back at him, bright and reflective. Itwas strange though, try as he might, Jim couldn’t see any people inthe reflection—only the merchandise was reflected. Jim walked past it and moved for the table with the books, his usualspot and began to scan the yard, looking for her—Help me—looking for Beverly. But he didn’t see her yet. He felt downinside that she was there, but he wasn’t sure where she was. It waslike the fog that was over the place was hiding her. That was very absurd, he knew that much, but he wasn’t going toignore the possibility that there were more forces at work—it wascompletely possible that Bram and Linda were dabbling in things thatwere far more than just a good marketing strategy and stellarcustomer service. Jim was beginning to think there was a little moreto the little never-ending yard sale than was apparent. </ol>
He glanced back at Bram, noting that he was still very busy, lost inhis own little musical world. The man with the pack had moved for the tent, the dead appetite stillburning in his eyes. It was then that he saw her. The hood and long jacket had thrown himoff, but as soon as he saw her eyes he knew it was she, with her hairtied back in the hood. She saw him, and he saw a glimmer in thosecobalt orbs, a glimmer of hope. She gave a small, weary smile. Jimfelt his heart jump, not in boyish nervousness, suddenly aware of agirl paying attention to him, but in fear. The image of a nightmarecreature clutching his leg, with a razor grin, flashed through hismind. The smile only lasted for a split second and vanished. She suddenlylooked down, glancing at Bram as she did so. <I>What’s wrong, Beverly?</I> He wondered. The man had gone into the tent. Why are so you afraid? Jim moved away from the books and slowly walked over to the tablewhere she was standing. He saw her flinch, and her body jerked in thedirection of the tent that she had fled to last time he had seen her,when Linda had chased her away. The jacket framed her in such a waythat Jim realized how slight she was. The truth was that Beverly wasa small woman, very petite, and extremely vulnerable. The hood hidher face, as if she were trying to conceal herself, hiding from theworld—hiding from him. He stopped on the other side of the table, and feigned interest inone of the boxes that was there. He could see that that Beverly was debating whether or not to run.There was a question in her mind—a worried question. What did hewant? Jim glanced behind him and saw the man had come out of the small tentand he still had his pile of stuff. A little girl was with him. Thelittle girl looked very familiar, but he wasn’t sure where he hadseen her before—probably wandering around the sale with the manbefore, he just hadn’t paid enough attention. Best of all, theywere both talking to Bram, keeping him occupied.</ol>
He slowly slipped a yellow piece of paper out of his pocket with awhispered rasp, and he reached for a box, and carefully dropped it onthe other side of the table. <I>Please, God, don’t let him see. </I>The note landed face up, and he knew Beverly saw it. She shifted hereyes in his direction, they screamed with the question: <I>What areyou doing? </I>He could hear Bram talking behind him. “…yes, we’re almost out of stock…” The man said something unintelligible. “…getting some more soon, we only have one left. As you canprobably understand this is a…” a car blasted by the house.“…product. We only get a few.” She looked down at the note. Jim felt his pulse rise, and hisforehead broke out in a slick sweat. She looked just as nervous, but he gestured for her to read it. <I>Please, oh dear God, don’t let him look now</I>. “…of course you understand the risk that comes with thisparticular item.” Bram droned on. Jim vaguely wondered what thedevil he was talking about. Beverly read it. Jim noticed that he was holding his breath. Her eyeswidened, and he saw the fog grow heavy in them, misting over thatbright blue. He knew that the three words that he had scrawled on thepiece of paper. <I>I can help. </I>He glanced at the note and waited for her eyes to meet his, and hegently nodded. The note was true, he meant it, and he only hoped thatshe would understand that. </ol>
She seemed not to believe him for a moment, and then he sawunderstanding dawn on her face. It was a strange mixture of fear—thekind of fear that went deep and paralyzed you late at night whenyou’re sure that someone else is in the room—and joy, the kind ofjoy that you felt when seeing someone you love again after a longabsence. Inside he felt a twist in his chest, constricting hisbreathing, but sending shots of excitement through him at the sametime. “I had a dream,” he said, dropping another piece of paper. “Itwas about you.” His voice became a whisper. “…if you are caught with this, we cannot be involved directly. Ifthere is any trouble, you won’t find us here. You won’t find usanywhere.” Bram’s voice was softer in the background, but Jimcould still hear him going on to the customer. Her eyes grew wider—if that was even possible—and her eyes shotto Bram and back. She looked at the note and covered it with herhand. Jim dropped a pencil in her direction. He gestured towards it. Beverly looked down at it; looking at it a moment before she realizedwhat he wanted her to do. She fastened onto his gaze and nodded,slowly. “…do you understand what I am telling you?” “Yes, I understand.” He saw her set the paper down, a flicker of eyes, glancing back atBram, the salesman who was speaking so carefully to his customer. Jim glanced behind him and saw the money being transferred. The manwas loaded down with stuff, the little girl standing with him,looking down at her shoes, probably bored to death. Cash passed between them, a lot of cash. </ol>
The man walked away, the little girl with him—she had just a slightlimp—heading for an SUV that was parked just at the street. Beverly dropped the piece of paper by him; he glanced over at it,trying to feign interest in an item in the bin. Bram sighed and went for the porch; he pulled the sliding glass dooropen and stepped inside, leaving everything unattended. He read the three-word response, and then looked up at her, knowingthat they could talk with Bram gone, he hoped she did too. “I think we can talk.” He said. “Just for a moment.” She glanced at the door; fear clouded her vision as the tears oncehad. “My name is Beverly.” He smiled. “Jim.” He glanced down at the note again. <I>Please save me. </I><H2 ALIGN=LEFT >HE SET the knife on the table. It was long and had a fresh edge onit. He had a feeling he would need that first. It was not the end ofhis list, but it was at least a start. The darkness outside was suffocating. The night had fallen with greatsuddenness, like a hasty curtain blocking out the show. The nightwas going to be heavy, he knew that; the moon was absent from thesky, adding to the deep darkness. It was just what he needed, thecover of darkness. The bolt cutters had to be in the toolbox. He couldn’t think ofthem being anywhere else. He looked at the knife, hesitation growing deep down within him. Hecould still hear the desperation in her voice. </ol>
—<I>I need help. Please, help me.</I> —<I>I’ll do whatever I can.</I> —<I>I’m not sure that’s enough.</I> The hesitation disappeared. He knew he would need the knife; therewas no question about it. He would have to take the knife—nochances. —<I>I’m not sure I understand. Why are you here? </I>He glanced at the clock, noting the late hour, but he still knew thathe would have to wait at least another hour. It he went out it wouldbe taking too much of a chance. He had to wait for the dead of night.—<I>I…I have to stay here. I can’t leave.</I>—<I>Why?</I>He rummaged around in the back room of his house, the piles of boxesand odds and ends was almost crippling, he knew that he should havetaken more time to organize—but like all thoughts of that sort, itwas far too late. He dug past a few boxes, piles of books, piles ofphotos—things from a life that seemed so far away, so distant fromhis current situation. The toolbox was deep down in the pile. Hiding in the pile, deep down,that dull, crimson box with the dirty, gray handle. He pulled itopen, and began to dig around in the innumerable screwdrivers andwrenches that had long ago seen the light of day. It was funny thateven when he finally did open the box, they still didn’t see thelight of day. He quickly found the bolt cutters, a compact version,and he knew that they wouldn’t do, he had to get the good ones outof the garage. He stood and slammed the lid shut, going for the doorway and movingquickly through the one that led to the garage, and flipped the lightswitch on. —<I>Because I belong here.</I> <I>That’s why I can’t leave.</I></ol>