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Fiction Short Story

by Cheryl Raber

Jack’s Suitcase

Stephanie stood in the back of the small chapel staring at the empty alter.  Sixty-seven white candles spread a blanket of light representing purity and protection. Four black candles in the corners of the chapel stood guard against evil.  Flames flickered softly devouring the upper half of each candle.  Fresh flowers handpicked at dawn began to wilt, and the resident monk scheduled to perform the ceremony had gone back to his mediations in the garden. All that remained of the wedding party was the maid of honor, Stephanie's best friend, Pam.

"It's been two hours Steph, Devlin's not coming." Pam pulled a flask from the satchel hanging from her gown and offered it.  Stephanie had chosen a medieval wedding theme. Pam thought the satchel a nice addition to the gauzy lavender pheasant dress she wore. The whiskey was the best man’s idea.

"Something's happened to him." The flask trembled in Stephanie’s hand as she steadied her body against a church pew. She drank the whiskey thinking about how he abruptly told her just yesterday of his previous marriage. Hurt and shocked, they'd fought and made up.  But she didn't mention the conversation.  "Devlin's a romantic. His style would be to arrive five minutes before the ceremony to add drama, but two hours late, this isn't like him."

Pam took the flask and knocked back a double shot. The best man peered around the doorway, his poet shirt hanging loosely over black breeches.

"Steph, I called the rental place. Prince Charming never picked up his noble robes and tights. I think we better check out his townhouse. I'll drive. Maybe he's still hung over from the bachelor party. He drank over a dozen shooters last night." Brian reached for the flask.

Stephanie pulled her satin and velvet fairytale wedding gown from dragging, bunching it in her fists. "Yeah, I can't stay here any longer." She imagined him still in bed asleep. Her anger faded a little and turned into disappointment.

The three piled into Brian's Jeep. A chilly November breeze sobered them.  The streets were nearly empty.  It was Saturday, still early afternoon.

Stephanie used her key to open the locked townhouse. The Old Spice Devlin always wore lingered in the air. He'd told Stephanie he thought the earthy scent old-world enough to inspire images of a rogue and contemporary enough to make him cool. The youngest English professor at Berkley, Stephanie often found him caught up in his own imagination.

The rooms seemed untouched. But that was normal. Devlin liked order.

"Look for anything out of place." Brian ordered and headed for the office.

Finding Devlin’s bed empty, Stephanie ransacked the organized dresser. She discovered his sock drawer empty and his underwear missing as well. Gone from the closet were his jeans and cotton shirts. The tweed jacket with elbow patches that he only wore when giving lectures on his favorite author Jack Kerouac was absent too. He said it put him into character.  The suitcase that belonged in the back of the closet was not there.

"He's gone. Run off without me." Stephanie flopped onto the double bed and cried.

"Hey, I found a receipt for a plane ticket." Brian’s voice carried from the office where he'd logged onto the computer.  "It's a one-way ticket to Montana. Bought five hours before departure, 7 o'clock this morning."

Stephanie rushed in. "Our honeymoon reservations are at Niagara Falls. Call the airline. See if he boarded the plane."

"Why?

"Just do it." She wrung her hands.

Brian dialed the airlines. Stephanie wanted something to calm her nerves, to kill her worst fears. The ex-wife lived in Montana. She marched over to the party cabinet over the stereo and drank vodka straight from the bottle. A wave of indifference flooded her.

"Everything is as it is." She sighed heavily. At least she could have some closure knowing where he'd run off. She would call tomorrow and place an ad for her slightly used wedding dress.

"He didn't board the plane." Brian hung up the receiver loudly. He went to Stephanie and snatched the bottle from her.

"Then where the hell is he?" Anger took control of her pity. She grabbed the vodka bottle from Brian.

"Could be some tactic to keep you off his trail. Anything happen between the two of you?" Pam finished poking around in the kitchen cabinets. She brought a box of cheese nips over to where Stephanie and Brian sat on the couch.

"Yes. Before your bachelor party last night he surprised me with news of his first marriage. His ex lives in Montana. He also said that someone anonymously informed the Dean of the College that Devlin and his credentials were a fraud.  The Dean dismissed the phone calls as a prank."

"Did Devlin?" Pam munched on a cheese nip.

"He never said."

"Did he say anything more about his ex? Odd that he never mentioned her until the day before your wedding."

"Her name is Diana Stetson. He'd filed irreconcilable difference. She contested the divorce.  She was into black magic. I guess it got ugly in court. She swore he'd come back to her, she'd see to it."

"So he went from black magic to white magic with you. And knowing Devlin’s wild mind, there's no telling where he disappeared. Hey Steph, why don't you cast a spell? Where's all your psychic energy?" Brian ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm running out of logical ideas."

The vodka rushing in her veins, Stephanie closed her eyes and pictured Devlin.  A white flash exploded inside her eyelids. He appeared holding the missing suitcase wearing the tweed jacket. He stood in front of a train station marquee. The letters read: 'Written into a corner.' Now, where the hell did that come from and what did it mean?

Maybe he went off to research his novel!" Stephanie sprang into action and ran to the computer. She pulled up the document file. Hope surged through her. Perhaps all was not lost.  "It's not here!" Sobbing, she found the search menu and punched in: Beyond the reflection.

"On the road with Jack Kerouac, eh?" Brian mused almost laughing. Stephanie glared at him chasing the smile from his face.

"Why would he be so secret about it? And why on your wedding day?" Pam paced, vodka bottle in tow.

"Ok, I'm grasping at straws." She tapped the desk impatiently.

"A novel, what about?" Brian scanned Devlin's bookshelf silently reading off titles, Celtic Magic, Physic Energy, and The Dreaming Life.

"About a guy who wakes up in his dreams and changes his real world by affecting his dream world." Stephanie kept typing. "It's gone. The file is gone. Even his notes are gone."

"Erased? Check the recycle bin." Pam closed in on the computer. Stephanie took the vodka from her.

"Recycle bin is empty." Stephanie's heart plunged in despair.

"What about a hard copy?"

Stephanie knelt, took the bottom drawer out of the desk and sat it on the floor. Behind the drawer was a wooden box. She pulled it out. "Empty. It's gone too." She crumpled like a broken doll inside her drooping wedding dress.

A muffled ringing brought Stephanie to attention.

"His cell phone? He didn't take it? Find it!" A strange sense of anticipation took over Stephanie. A madwoman looked out through her eyes. Hope took on new meaning now, obsession.

"Under the couch!" Brian dove and came up with the cell phone.

"Answer it!" An ounce of possibility rekindled in Stephanie strained voice.

"Hello…Brian Conklin...” He rested on his knees and put a shushing finger to his lips. “Yes, this is Devlin Scott's cell phone…No, he's not here. He seems to be missing...Yes that is odd. I’ll pass on the message…you're welcome, good-bye."

"Well, what was all that?"

"That was the Dean of the college. The police traced the mysterious calls. They came from Devlin's cell phone."

"Devlin was sabotaging himself?" Stephanie rolled on the floor, laughing and crying at the same time. In her hysterics she moved towards Brian. Her arms outstretched as if crucified, she touched something that was not solid. “Something’s under here.”

"What is it?" Pam knelt beside her.

Stephanie shoved her arm under the couch and grasped the balled up piece of paper. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sit up. A current of frustrated anger swept through her body. It didn't belong to her; it was Devlin's. She'd felt it before when they'd argued.

"Well, are you going to read it or not?" Brian grumbled.

Anger permeated the room, or maybe it was the vodka. With fierce expectations and great care, she unwrinkled the page and read aloud. "Jack’s new world sparkled in front of him, a beautiful witch to lay with and new rules to keep. Damn, it scared the crap out of him. Jack grabbed his suitcase."


About the Author
Cheryl is a Southern California native now living in middle Georgia via a few years in Montana. She has been a member of WVU over a year and is working on a romance novel. A stay-at-home mom with a 4-year-old, she considers her writing time sacred.