Notes from the Other Side

May 23, 1991: unfinished story

Officer Garrity followed the suspicious figure across the street and into an apartment complex. In the dark shadows between the buildings, beneath the shattered globe of a dead streetamp, Garrity switched on his mini-mag light. It hardly seemed to help. There was no one in sight. Garrity moved slowly between the patio grills, lawn chairs and AC units. To his left there was a sliding glass door, curtains drawn to reveal a bright and tidy living room, [i thought it was so dark?] where a young man and woman sat close together on an overstuffed couch. They were bent over something small and shiny red. Garrity crept closer. The room seemed like a frozen frame on a videotape -- everything was perfectly clear and still, except for a wavy line across the middle of the screen. There was something intangible there, distorting the space around it, emanating form the gleaming red object the couple held between them.

There was a loud smack somewhere nearby -- and the stasis was broken -- the young man looked up at the window, and Officer Garrity realized that his face was pressed against the glass. He backed away, rubbing his nose and shaking his head. The young man came to the door, and Garrity saw the young woman laughing in the backgound, clutching her knees. As soon as the door slid open Garrity coughed and tried to find something to say. "Sorry -- I'm -- um -- ul --" He fumbled.

The young man smiled. He was tall but very thin, more of a boy really, probably half Garrity's age. But there seemed to be something almost almost fatherly about the way he put he put his arm around the policeman's shoulders, and gently led him into the apartment.

Garrity was surprised to find that he was shaking, and tears were streaming down his face. He was on the couch beside the girl. She was tiny and pale, maybe 17 or 18, patting his palm and regarding him with large and tender eyes. The boy was drawing the curtain. Garrity buried his face in his hands.

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