Little Bright Eyes

I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't particularly like my father in law but I didn't want to hurt him; neither did I want him to think I was being unreasonable. I wasn't going to say anything to anyone but I really did want him to know the truth.

"Dad, do you remember a kid in high school by the name of Carl Landow?"

"Uh, vaguely; if I remember right, he and Sheri dated briefly. What does he have to do with this?"

There was no sense beating around the bush. "He and Sheri have been having an affair."

I didn't get quite the reaction I thought I would but I could see the shock in his eyes. "No way! She wouldn't do that," he flatly stated.

"It's true, Dad. They've been writing back and forth to each other for almost a year. She kept all his letters in her glove compartment. I discovered them when I was called out one night and had to take her car."

"Okay, I'll admit, they shouldn't have been writing to each other, but..."

I knew what he was going to say. "I read them, Dad. On three separate occasions they were shacked up in his motel room while I was at work."

Dad lowered his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Dylan. I didn't know that."

"I didn't want you to think I was being a jackass or I wouldn't have told you."

He nodded but still couldn't look me in the eye. "Leave these here," he said, laying his hand on the paperwork. "I'll make sure she signs them for you."

I thanked him as I stood and he followed me to the front door. We shook hands.

"I don't suppose there's any way you'd ever forgive her?"

"Dad, the distrust and suspicions would tear us apart anyway and we'd probably end up hating each other. I think this is best all around."

I didn't even bother turning the lights on when I got back to the apartment. Somehow, the thought of illuminating my world seemed offensive. The darkness was much more welcoming to my mood.

Using only the moonlight coming through the window, I navigated my way to the fridge and retrieved a lonely bottle of beer. I scrounged around in dark, feeling for the opener and pried off the cap before seeking refuge in my favorite chair. I wasn't much of a drinker and certainly one beer wasn't enough to make me forget, but I thought it might make it easier for me to sleep.

It was only a little after nine, but what the hell, there was no reason to stay up. Sleep, I found, was the only true relief from sadness.

I couldn't tell you what they were, but I know I had three or four bad dreams that night. The last one woke me up. I took the opportunity to take a leak then went back and sat on the edge of the bed. I felt so empty, so hopeless, so void of life.

As my eyes adjusted to the predawn light they seemed to be drawn to the knurled grip of my Beretta sticking out from the holster on the nightstand. A small voice hidden deep inside my soul told me to remove it from its sheath. I hefted it a couple times in my hand. It felt good. It was a little lighter and a little thinner than most three-eighties so it fit my hand perfectly. I could put eight rounds in the black of a twenty-five foot pistol target and never cut white paper.

Unconsciously, my thumb reached around and pushed the safety lever over revealing the small red dot that told me the weapon was operational. I closed my eyes and suddenly felt light as a feather, almost as though I was floating. I could hear the click of the hammer as it snapped into the cocked position. When I opened my eyes again, I was looking down the barrel. Just a four pound trigger pull stood between me and eternal peace. My hand slowly started to squeeze.

"You know your parents are going to blame themselves." This voice was much louder than the other. This one was coming from the frontal lobe of my brain and sounded angry. "Are you really willing to saddle your folks, not to mention Sheri, with a life-time of guilt? What about that asshole, Landow, you going to let him get away with ruining your life?"

I had been so wrapped up in my own misery I'd almost forgotten about Landow. Yeah, I'm not sure how yet, but there's got to be some way to fuck up that asshole's life like he did mine. My thumb eased off the trigger and I returned my Beretta to its holster.

I stretched back out on the bed and propped up my pillows. I felt a little better focusing my thoughts on Landow, at least it gave me something to live for. I was hoping he was married. Then I could destroy his marriage like he did mine, but I had no idea how to get the information, Jerry would though. Jerry Spencer was our investigative reporter. He knew how to do all that stuff.

I went in to work a little early. Jerry was one of the few reporters who had his own office, which is where I hoped he'd be. He was busy pounding away on his typewriter when I knocked on his door.

"Come on in, Dylan. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hi, Jerry. I need your expertise. How would I find out if someone is married, and if so, how would I get his home address?"

He looked up and gave me his full attention. "Well, you could try calling the operator and asking for information, but without his address I doubt she'd be able to help. Does this person live around here? I mean you can try looking him up in the phone book, then call the house during the day and see if a woman answers."

"No, he lives in Saint Louis, or at least around there. All I have is his name and work address."

"Is it a real common name?"

"No, I don't think so. His name is Carl Landow, but he spells it funny. Instead of an "a-u" at the end, he spells it with an "o-w."

"Yeah, I doubt there's a lot of Landows with that spelling. The branch of the Chicago Library on North California has phone books for all the major cities in the country. If they don't have Saint Louis, the main branch downtown will. If there's more than one Landow you'll just have to call until you find the right one."

"Thanks, man. I knew you were the one to ask."

The following day I got over to the library. I found the book I wanted and sat down to start looking for Landow. There were a bunch who spelled it the other way but only with that spelling. I took down the information but wouldn't have time to call till the following week.

When I finally had time during the day, I made the call. A woman answered so I introduced myself and asked if she was Carl's wife. When she answered yes, I went on to tell her the nature of my call. She didn't sound all that surprised over the phone. When I explained about the letters she asked if I still had them. I told her I had copies and she took me up on my offer to send them to her. That was music to my ears.

Later in day, between jobs, I stopped at a stationery store, bought a large manila envelope, filled it with the letters, and sent it along. God, I prayed she'd divorce his ass and take him for every penny he was worth.

The little bit of euphoria I got from that didn't last long, unfortunately. The very next night Sheri's dad stopped by the apartment with the signed divorce papers. This time it was me offering him coffee. I could tell he was distressed. He sat at the kitchen table and told me what was on his mind.

"Dylan, I can't tell you how sorry I am about all of this. When you two first told us you were going to get married, I was dead against it. You were simply too young. I still thought you were too young when you tied the knot, but you had a good job, and anyone could see how much you loved each other, so I gave you guys the benefit of the doubt. After that first year, I changed my mind. You guys seemed to be doing great and I told myself I was wrong. I pictured the two of you making each other happy for the rest of your lives. It turns out I was half right all along. Sheri is too young. I'm not sure if that's our fault or just the way she is, but she just hasn't matured yet.

"She does love you, Dylan. It's extremely obvious to me and her mother. We hear her sometimes crying in her room, but for some reason love doesn't seem to be enough. She still has this need to be the most popular kid in school.

"I told her she has to go out and find a job. I don't know, maybe that'll make her grow up some. I sure hope so," he said with a melancholy tone.

"Well," he said, standing up and getting ready to leave, "anyway—there's the paper work. Those teardrops are from Sheri as she was signing them. Maybe someday, after she grows up some, you guys will get back together."

He looked into my face but didn't see much hope in it. "I know," he said with a forced smile. "I'm just so sorry to see you guys break up. I don't blame you. I'd do the same thing under the circumstances, but it's just such a shame."

I walked him to the door. He turned and started to shake my hand but pulled me into an embrace instead. "You take care of yourself, my boy," he said while patting me on the back. "Don't be a stranger." With that he left me with tears in my eyes again.

Life after that was barely worth living as far as I was concerned. There were some high points here and there. I had some good times with my parents. Dad and I would go fishing now and them. It was something we'd done together since I was three or four. He was a great fisherman and taught me everything he knew. I always got along good with my folks but fishing was the one thing that made me feel closest to my dad.

Then there was the call I got from Carl Landow. It gave me great pleasure to hear his anger as he ranted and raved about the loss of his marriage. I pissed him off more when I giggled at his threats, then had one of my own. "Come on, shit head. You're more than welcome to come after me. I'll give you a third eye right between the other two, mother fucker." He hung up after that.

There were other things as well. I'd get a good assignment that I enjoyed shooting now and then, but other than that, my life was pretty miserable. I didn't feel like socializing, in fact I felt loneliest when I was with others. I spent a lot of time at home, in bed. I slept a lot and it was getting harder and harder to get up every day. It was like rising from the grave only to find you're still dead.

I found emotional pain was a lot worse than the physical kind. Its scars were invisible but very much and forever present. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months of a soulless existence.

It had been over a year since our divorce. It was too painful to keep in touch with Sheri's parents, but I heard through the grapevine that she strongly regretted our break up. Steve was the only friend with whom I still associated now and then. Over a beer, he told me she seemed to do a lot of growing up over the last year and asked him if he thought there was any chance she could get me back.

I was curious. "What'd you tell her?"

"I said I wasn't the one to ask, you were."

"Steve, as much as miss her, if she asks again, tell her no. I'm barely surviving now. I couldn't go through it again. It'd kill me for sure. I couldn't take the chance, Steve."

***

As I was driving into work, I was looking at all the barren trees. Fall was almost over. We'd be slipping and sliding on snowy roads before long. I hated to see that. The short, cold days just added to my overall melancholy outlook on life.

I exchanged the usual greetings on the way to pick up the day's assignments and was looking through them as I meandered along to the photography office. We usually averaged six to eight assignments a day, but I was only handed three. I saw why as I started to read the third one.

They were sending me to Evergreen Plaza, an indoor shopping mall. I'd heard of the one in Minnesota but had never seen it in person. A couple of the other photographers took picture as Evergreen was being built and said it was incredible. It was a forty-five minute drive one way, and Lyle wanted lots of shots for a full page Sunday spread. To make sure I had enough time, he blocked out four hours for the shoot.

I was instructed to stop at the security office when I got there. They'd give me some kind of pass that showed the store managers that I had permission to be taking pictures in the stores. The pass turned out to be an orange plastic card that I had to hang around my neck. It looked stupid but I guess it worked because I didn't get hassled by anyone, including security guards.

I had been there for a couple of hours, shot two rolls of thirty-six exposure film and was about half way through my third. When I finished that roll I was going to head out.

I was in the concourse, shooting down a row of stores. I was looking through the eyepiece and focusing when I felt something wrapping around my leg. I looked down and right into the terrified blue eyes of a little girl. She couldn't have been more than four or five years old. By the way she was clinging to my leg I knew she was in trouble. I assumed she had gotten separated from her mother and was lost. I looked down at her with a big friendly smile and was about to ask her name, when in a quivering, small voice, she told me her problem.

"Please, mister, a man is following me. He took me away from my grandma and wants to take me away. Please don't let him take me, mister, please."

Just then I heard another voice, a man's voice. "Come on, honey. Mommy's waiting for us. Leave the nice man alone and let's go."

I looked up and saw a middle aged male approaching us. The little girl hugged my leg even tighter and moved around to the other side of me for protection.

"Is this your little girl?" I asked.

He smiled. "Yeah, she's always running around, playing games."

"She's really cute. What's her name?"

"Ah, Mary," he answered, sounding a little unsure.

I looked down at her. She was shaking her head. "My name is Sabrina. He's not my daddy. I don't have a daddy."

That was good enough for me. I raised my camera and quickly focused on the guy's face before pressing the shutter release.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Taking pictures for your family album," I replied as I snapped off a second shot.

He put his hand up to block his face and made a beeline for the nearest exit. By that time, the little girl had a death grip on my leg. I smiled again and knelt to her level. "It's okay, Sabrina, he's gone. I won't let him bother you again."

She let go of my leg and threw her arms around my neck, pressing the side of her head into my chest. My heart just melted as I gently returned her hug.

"Okay," I said, not wanting to appear to be a pervert, myself. "You said you were with your grandma. Do you know what store you were in?"

She shook her head. "No," she answered, now with tears in her eyes. She was really tugging at my heart strings. I was wishing I could take her home with me, but of course that was out of the question.

"Don't cry, Sabrina. We'll find her. We won't leave here until we do, okay?"

Now she nodded her hear with a little more confidence.

"There is an office down here with a nice lady who will help us find your grandma. Will you go there with me?"

Again, she nodded as she reached for my hand. It was so tiny and delicate. She smiled up at me as we started for the security office. I had to remember to walk slowly so her little legs could keep up. When we got to the office I helped Sabrina into a chair then turned toward the woman sitting behind the desk. Her name was Amanda. She was the same person who gave me the ugly orange press pass.

"Amanda, we have a problem. This is Sabrina. She got separated from her grandmother and has no idea where she is."

Amanda looked relieved and almost gasped. "I can tell you exactly where she is. She's with two of our security guards, frantically searching for her granddaughter." She was already reaching for a walkie-talkie that was sitting on her desk. "Art, Art this is Amanda, come in."

I heard someone squawking back at her.

"She's here, Art. Tell her grandmother she's safe and sound in the security office and bring her back here, will you." She put the walkie-talkie down and directed her attention to Sabrina. "Honey, your grandma will be here in just a minute."

I don't think I'd ever seen a smile that big, certainly never as beautiful. "Thank you." You could tell the fear was gone and was replaced with excitement.

"Where did you find her?" Amanda asked.

"I didn't, she found me. She said some guy took her from her grandmother. I got a good picture of the guy. I'll print it out when I get back to the paper and give copies to the cops."

"Oh wonderful, could you send some copies to me as well. I'd like my security people to know him on sight," she asked while handing me her card. Just then we heard footsteps rapidly approaching and an elderly lady rushed in.

"Grandma!" Sabrina scooted off the chair and the two threw their arms around each other in an emotional scene of love and tears.

The two security guards stood by the door. It struck me that they didn't know who I was. For all they knew, I was the guy trying to kidnap Sabrina. I walked over and took the card from Amanda. "How many copies do you need?"

"Is it too much to ask for thirty? I'd like to give one to the stores as well."

"I'll send you fifty," I told her. I turned around to say goodbye to little Sabrina.

"Dylan!"

I looked up at the elderly lady who had just exuberantly shouted my name. She looked vaguely familiar but that happened a lot. Most people remembered the guy who took their picture for the paper, but for me, they were just another assignment.

"I'm Angela Cooper," she gushed. "You caught the guy who beat up my daughter."

I got instant recall. "I met you in the hospital room. How's your daughter doing?"

She glanced at Sabrina to see if she was listening. She was. Angela looked back at me and I could see she didn't want to talk in front of her granddaughter.

"Not good," she whispered with a wince. "It seems like every time we have a crisis of some kind, you're there to save us. Hey, how about coming by one night this week and letting me cook you dinner. Bring your wife."

Now it was my turn to wince. I never thought of Sheri while I was working and I wanted to keep it that way. "I'm not married," I replied. "I don't want to impose."

"Oh please, it's no imposition. I have to show my appreciation some way. I'd offer you a reward or something but I don't have any money. The least I can do is give you a home cooked meal."

"Please," we all heard coming from the peanut gallery.

I looked down into those big blue eyes. How could I possibly resist. "Okay, what night is good for you?"

We made arrangements for that Friday night and she asked me what kind of food I liked. I knew they didn't have a lot of money and I do like a good bowl of spaghetti and meatballs so that was my choice.

I don't know why, I'm certainly not a shy person, but I was nervous as I rang the doorbell. I had brought a bottle of wine with me. I didn't know if they drank wine or not but I didn't want to go empty handed so I brought a bottle of chardonnay.

When the door opened, there stood the tiny package of beauty that had captured my heart a few days earlier. "Hello, Mr. Mc...Mc..."

I could see she was embarrassed that she forgot my last name. "It's McHenry, Sabrina, but if you don't think your mom and grandma will mind, you can call me Dylan."

"No," she said, "I need to be respectful. Welcome to our home, Mr. McHenry. Please come in."

God, she was just the most polite and adorable little lady I'd ever seen. She guided me into the kitchen where her grandmother was setting the table. I offered the wine and she asked if I'd open it for her. We made a little small talk before she said anything about the mall incident.

I was wondering how she let some guy just walk up and take Sabrina. She told me he had an accomplice, a woman who distracted her. She pretended to bump into her and dropped her purse. A bunch of stuff spilled all over the floor. When Angela bent down to help her pick it up, the guy must have been right behind her. He had a doll that he used to lure Sabrina far enough away to take her hand. He told her he was taking her to her mother. When Sabrina started to resist, he squeezed her hand and jerked her along with him. When she finally broke free, she saw me. Sabrina told her it was the orange thing I had around my neck. She said I looked like somebody important. That's why she ran to me.