Recollection

Dolores strode into the terminal of VPS Airport and stopped just inside the entrance, where a blast of cool air welcomed her. Although not yet 8 am, it was already a toasty 85 degrees, and the walk from the staff parking lot had left her blouse stuck to her back inside her new uniform. 

She was pulling at the fabric to unstick it from her spine when she saw her supervisor approaching. 

Trim in her smart suit and heavily made up, with every hair sprayed into submission, Megan looked young enough to be Dolores’ daughter. “Ready for your first day with Allegiant?” she asked. 

Dolores smiled her best-ticket agent smile and tried to look enthusiastic. In fact, she had planned to spend her retirement lying on the beach here in the Florida Panhandle, not printing out tickets for deeply tanned tourists, but she was as ready as she’d ever be. “I can’t wait.”

She had shadowed Megan for a full week, but today, she’d perform solo. She took her place behind a vacant monitor and swiped her security badge. After pressing a few buttons, she looked up at a family of five standing in line and said, “Next.”

The father handed her boarding passes. “Columbus, Ohio.”

Columbus had been Dolores’ lifelong home. She missed it, but she had needed a fresh start. Unfortunately, things hadn’t worked out as expected.  

She attached luggage tags to each bag and stapled the stubs to the father’s boarding pass sleeve. Finally, satisfied she hadn’t missed anything, Dolores handed him all five boarding passes and pointed down the terminal. “Go through those doors to Terminal C.” As the family walked away, she called out, “Next.” 

She worked at a steady pace for the next eight hours with only a 30-minute lunch break at noon, when she had a cup of yogurt at the snack bar upstairs. But staying busy was good for her.  Not long ago, she would have been arriving at the airport to meet her best friend, Lou, of forty years. He had owned an ocean-front condo, and he and Dolores had met there three or four times a year. They had planned to move to Destin and live there full-time when they both retired. They’d pool their resources, he’d said. 

Dolores would have remained here in the Panhandle with Lou for the rest of her existence, if only he hadn’t died three weeks before the two of them were to have relocated. And now, here she stood, an entry-level ticket agent, when she’d been a supervisory nurse in the ICU at the famed Riverside Hospital. 

She’d thought of applying for her nursing license in Florida, but the days of ordering transcripts and studying for tests were long behind her, never mind more than 30 years of back-breaking shift work. No. She needed a change and the airport provided that.

As the day wore on, she couldn’t help but notice how fashionably the tourists dressed, and their trendy hairstyles. During a lull, she glanced in her compact at her worn out bob, now tinged with grey. It made her look much older than her 65 years. Maybe she’d go to the salon and request a blonde pixie? She needed a boost. 

At 5:15pm, she emerged from the terminal, straight into a 99-degree day with equally high humidity. She might as well have stepped into a sauna. She drove straight back to the condo along Highway 98, slowing in the rush-hour traffic. Back at Gulfview Condominiums, she pulled into her parking space.

Tourists scurried around her vehicle, carrying boogie boards and beach towels. A youngish man nearby played Frisbee with his Golden Retriever, and giggling children rinsed the sand off their feet at the outdoor spigot.

Dolores did her best to suppress vacation memories of her last trip with Lou, their daily jaunts to new restaurants and lazy afternoons, swimming in the ocean and watching suspense movies. She’d be okay, she told herself. She needed this fresh start.

Inside, she made a dinner of fresh romaine and crab salad that she enjoyed in front of an old movie. At 9:30pm, she changed into her cotton nightgown and brushed her teeth. Before she knew it, the alarm would sound at 6 am, and she’d rush off for another busy day. But soon she’d find a church and make new friends. She knew she could. 

She had just crawled under the cool sheets when she remembered she hadn’t taken her blood pressure medication, so she climbed from bed and marched to the kitchen. She flipped on the overhead light and gasped. A man stood just outside the patio door, his work boots showing under the bottom of the drape.

She pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle her breathing. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember if she’d locked the patio door after enjoying a cool drink on the small porch. Maybe it was just the complex repairman, but at 10pm?

Seconds felt like hours as she weighed her options. She could rip open the drape and quickly lock the door, but then she’d be face-to-face with the intruder. And if she called 911, he could easily break inside before the police arrived. No. She grabbed her keys and phone and raced out the front door. When she reached her car, she jumped inside and locked the doors.  

“911. What is your emergency?”

“There’s an intruder outside my patio.” 

“Can you give us a description?”

“No, I only saw his boots, standing outside the patio door.”

She gave her location and unit number, and the dispatcher told her to stay inside her locked car.

“We have an officer in your area. Sit tight.”

Dolores expelled a sigh of relief. Help was on the way. In all the time that she’d been coming to the beach with Lou, nothing like this had ever happened before.

Five minutes later, a cruiser with flashing blue lights wheeled into the complex. 

Dolores exited her car and waved her arms in the air.

A female officer lowered her window. “Did you make the call about the intruder?”

“Yes, unit 108.” She pointed. 

“Stay back and I’ll sweep the area.”

Dolores leaned against the trunk of her car. What a day, her new airport job and now a near break-in. She ran various scenarios through her mind. A homeless person? An addict? Or maybe a killer! What might have happened had she not gotten up?

The officer returned to her cruiser ten minutes later. “I didn’t see anyone. The lights must have scared him off. I’ll file the report.”

Dolores pressed against the side of her vehicle. “Would you mind coming inside and looking around? I’m afraid.”

“Of course not.”

The officer followed Dolores into the condo. “Stay back.” She searched the bedroom and closets, even the bathroom. “There’s no one here. You’re safe. Ever have any problems in the past?”

“Never. I’ve been coming here for years.”

“Show me exactly where you saw this man.”

Dolores pulled back the curtain and pointed. “Right there. I saw his boots showing underneath the drape.”

When the officer tugged at the patio door, it easily slid open. “Please keep your doors and windows locked at all times. We’ve had a rash of break-ins recently.”  She bent down and shone a flashlight just outside the door. “There’s nothing here.” She handed Dolores a card. “Call if you have any questions.”

“Thank-you, Officer.” Dolores double-locked the front door and secured the patio door. She locked the bedroom behind her and climbed under the covers. That night, she dreamt of Lou banging on the door, pleading for help.

***

After three hours of calling, “Next,” Dolores looked up and froze. Was that Lou, standing at the back of the line with a female companion? The woman wore a blue sundress identical to the one that Dolores had worn during her last vacation.  

She willed him to turn toward her, to look her in the eyes.

“Dolores? Dolores?” Megan’s voice brought Dolores out of her stupor. “We have a long time of customers. Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all. I just thought I recognized someone.”

Megan laughed. “It happens to all of us. We’re in an airport.”

“Of course,” Dolores said and called out, “Next.”

Just old ghosts, she told herself. This would be her life, working as a ticket agent, assisting other travelers, sitting alone night after night. But not forever. In a few months, maybe she’d have enough money to get her own place. It’d likely be on the less desirable side of town, far away from the upscale boutiques and high-end restaurants. No way would she ever save enough to live on the oceanfront. But it would be hers, and still near enough to the ocean. On her days off, she would go to her favorite spots and enjoy the crystal-clear water near the condo.

As a charge nurse, she’d planned carefully for her retirement, but she hadn’t anticipated a messy divorce from her husband, Ted, who’d hired an ace attorney and walked away with over half of her assets, not to mention the lousy financial advice he’d given her, which had cost her thousands. She swallowed her regrets and smiled at the next passenger.

She signed out of her monitor at 5pm, but she was in no hurry to return home. Instead, Dolores stopped at her favorite restaurant, The Irish Pub, for a savory dish of Shepherd’s Pie. If she only ate half, she’d have enough left over for dinner the next day. Plus, on Tuesdays, the restaurant offered live folk music. 

A couple of hours later, as Dolores sipped the remainder of her frozen Marguerita and listened to a young man with a guitar sing, “The Drunken Sailor,” accompanied by patrons singing along, she’d nearly forgotten about the intruder.  

She paid her bill and took her boxed up leftovers out to the car. Inside her steamy vehicle, she cranked up the air conditioning and set the radio to an old 50s station, and then, all the way home, she engaged in the same positive self-talk that she’d taught patients over the years. There’s no one inside my unit. The officer said so. It was obviously a fluke occurrence. Maybe just an intoxicated man who’d gotten lost?

Twenty minutes later, swirling blue lights met her when she pulled into the condo lot. A group of uniformed officers stood near her patio door, collaborating, and a horde of men stood outside by an official-looking van. Had they caught the intruder? Had he broken into someone else’s unit?

Dolores parked at the far end of the lot by a basketball court and walked back, taking purposeful steps toward a policeman posted outside her front door. “What’s happened? I live here.”

“Here? Unit 108?”

“Yes.” Her legs felt like they might collapse underneath her. She attempted to peek inside.

“You can’t go inside there, Ma’am. It’s a crime scene.”

“A crime scene!” Panic had crept into her voice. “I don’t understand.” Images of the intruder sifting through her belongings flashed through her mind. 

The cop removed a small notebook from his pocket. “I’m Officer Grayson. May I have your name?”

“Dolores Parks. What’s happened?” 

“A dead man was found by the cleaning crew, slumped over just inside your front door.”

“Dead? Dead how?” 

“We’ll know more details after the coroner examines him.”

Delores leaned against the outside of her unit. “I feel dizzy.”

The officer assisted her to a nearby chair and called out for a glass of water. “Can you account for your whereabouts for the past few hours?” 

“You can’t think I had anything to do with this?”  

“Of course not. Just standard procedure.”

“I’ve worked all day at the Destin Airport. I’m a ticket agent.”

Just then, two uniformed men lugged out a black bag. A hand hung limply from it and droplets of blood spilled onto the walkway.

“Oh my God!” Dolores covered her face with her hands.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Officer Grayson said. “We need to take you downtown to answer a few questions.”

“What?” she asked, dazed. “I’ll need my things.” 

“Sorry, but you can’t go inside. Not for a few days anyway. Make a list, and we’ll have a female officer retrieve the items.” 

“But….” It was at times like this that she missed Lou the most. Just who would she call now?

Fifteen minutes later, clutching her overnight bag inside the police precinct, a sterile structure she had probably passed a hundred times without noticing it, the officer escorted her into a small room with a desk and two chairs. 

She wrung her hands. Just what help could she possibly be to them? And where would she stay for the next few days? She didn’t know anyone in the area, and her credit cards were nearly maxed out following her move.

She flinched when the interrogation room door burst open.

Officer Grayson came inside carrying a clipboard. “Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?”

“No thank-you.”

“First, let’s clear something up. You said you were at the airport all day working as a ticket agent, right? Which airline?”

“Allegiant.”

“I just got off the phone with airport security, and they said that no one by your name works at the airport.” He stared right through her.

“That can’t be right. I’m new. Yesterday was my first day.”

He made a notation. “How long have you lived at Gulfview?”

“I’ve only been there a few weeks. It belonged to my best friend, Lou Stages, but he died. I’m just staying until I save enough money to get my own place and then the unit will be sold. Is it the intruder, the dead man? I called the police last night about someone trying to break in.”

“We have no way of knowing just yet. The man had no ID on him.”

After a few more cursory questions, Officer Grayson clicked his pen and stuck it back into his pocket. “Don’t leave town, Ms. Parks. We may have more questions. Let us know where you’re staying.”

“Of course.” 

The next day went by in a blur. Her only respite was work. There, she was too busy to dwell on personal problems. She hadn’t mentioned a word of her ordeal to coworkers. She wouldn’t have them thinking she was paranoid or senile. After work, in her room on the ground floor of an Econo Lodge on the less expensive side of town, with no one to talk to, she ate pepperoni pizza and numbed her senses with chardonnay from a plastic cup. Her room contained a full bed standing in the middle of the floor, and not much else. The bed was covered in a worn green spread, the bathroom sink had a permanent rust stain, and the archaic tub could stand a good cleaning. 

At half past nine, she flipped off the bedside lamp, and buried her head into the pillow. With luck, the wine would guarantee sleep. 

She had just entered a dream when she woke to footsteps outside her room. She bolted upright and cocked her head toward the large window, listening.   

But before she could turn on the lights, she heard the sound of boots pounding against the pavement. 

She pulled back the curtain, but all she saw in the muted light was a couple standing by a motorcycle, chatting and laughing.

Was it the same man she’d seen on Monday evening? Had he followed her? It’s just the wine, she told herself. She’d had too much wine. She pushed a chair under the door handle and went back to bed, the blanket twisted in her trembling hands.

***

During her lunch break on Friday, Officer Grayson’s number flashed across Dolores’ phone.  

“Ms. Parks, Officer Grayson. Good news. You can return to your condo today. We’ve gathered all the evidence we need from it.”

“Do you have any more information about the man?”

“We know he was shot. By whom, we don’t know. He still has not been identified. How often do you change the keypad code?”

“I’ve never changed it.”

“Since it’s a rental, we’re looking into former guests. Could be anyone.”

“Is it safe, going back?”

“I highly suggest you change the door code and keep all doors and windows locked at all times. Never open your door to a stranger.”

A lump had formed in her throat, and she couldn’t help but think of the dead man. “Thank-you, Officer.” She hoped the police would wrap up the investigation quickly, and in a few days the incident would be a fading memory. 

In the evening, she entered the condo cautiously and checked every space large enough for someone to hide. Then she answered an email from a friend back in Ohio. But Myra had a life of her own and rarely had time to even meet for a quick lunch. She’d make new friends, she knew she would, but there’d never be another Lou. He’d never let her down, not in 40 years.

Strangely, she couldn’t remember Lou’s funeral. She wouldn’t have missed her best friend’s funeral. The memory was a mysterious thing. She’d learned that from all her years of working in ICU.

Exhausted from standing on her feet all day, Dolores climbed under the cool sheets and shut her eyes. This weekend she’d find a new church and maybe even investigate a new hiking group she’d read about in the local newsletter. No more sitting around, staring at the walls. The thought gave her hope.

But at 1:30am, she woke to pounding on the door. Dread streamed through her body. She didn’t dare move or breathe.  Was the pounding coming from the patio or the front door? Dear God. Not again! She couldn’t call the police again so soon, could she? They’d accuse her of just hearing things, or worse, they’d suggest she had dementia. But she couldn’t lie there all night either, wondering about the intruder on the other side of the door. 

After ten minutes of silence, the pounding resumed and this time, she was certain. He was at the patio door. 

She lifted the small flashlight she kept by her bed and cracked open her bedroom door. When she shone the light at the edge of the patio door, she whimpered. There he stood again, his work boots showing underneath the drapes.

“Go away. Please go away,” she muttered.” She backed away, knocking over a chair.

The man’s boots pounded on the pavement as he fled.

When Dolores yanked back the drape, she screamed. 

Fresh blood smeared the glass door where the man had stood.

The intruder had clearly returned and was likely responsible for the dead man in her doorway.

Twenty minutes later, Officer Grayson swabbed a sample of the blood. “We’ll check it. Could just as easily belong to a bird.”

“A bird? But there’s no dead bird on the ground. And they were the same boots as the first night.”

“You’d be surprised, Ma’am.” Then he and his partner disappeared into the dark.

Left alone with her thoughts, Dolores searched her memory for anything that Lou may have said over the years about an intruder, but hard as she tried, she couldn’t recollect a word.

On Saturday morning, Dolores left for an early breakfast at The Ruby Slipper and spent the rest of the afternoon visiting coffee shops and window shopping, anything to avoid the condo.

By 5pm, her left foot had blistered from a new pair of sandals, so she limped back to her car and finally returned to the condo.  

But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t focus on the TV in front of her and jumped at every sound. By 9pm, she was in bed with the covers pulled up high around her neck. She’d secured the front door with a chair and had put a board down inside the sliding door for extra security. She’d get to the bottom of it eventually. 

The bedside clock read 1:30am when Dolores first heard more knocking. It sounded as if someone were pounding at the lock with a hammer.

She didn’t move at first. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she’d go back to sleep and the man would disappear. Or maybe no one was there at all? Just the stress of the past few months? Her imagination had always played tricks on her, since she’d been a child.

“Dolores,” she thought she heard from outside, the voice distant and strained.

She sat up and listened. Now she knew she was losing her mind. 

“Dolores,” the voice called, louder.

She wouldn’t look, couldn’t look. “Go away. Leave me alone,” she cried out. “Why are you doing this to me?”

The pounding continued. “Please help me, Dolores.”

She wouldn’t call the police again. She had seen the way they stared at her earlier.

Lou had jokingly referred to her as Scaredy Cat since they’d first met in her college physics class, but she could handle this. She’d prove to herself once and for all that she wasn’t a coward. 

Her heart palpitated as she entered the living room and quickly scanned the door. No boots at the bottom. Maybe a neighbor had scared him off. But when she reached the patio door and ripped back the curtain, there was Lou, his bloody body pressed up against the patio door. As he slowly slid to the pavement, begging her for help, she let loose a barbaric scream and collapsed. 

***

Dolores shuffled in the long line at the airport and eyed the fresh-faced young women surrounding her with perfect pedicures and high-end sandals. Then she glanced down at her flowered bedroom slippers. How long had she been at Good Shepard Hospital? Had it been two weeks or two months? Or two years? She’d lost all sense of time and reality.

From the overhead intercom, a voice called, “Dr. Nash, please report to emergency.”

PTSD, the doctors called it. Her treatment team had told her that it could take months of therapy, if not years, before she’d recover, but she felt frozen in time. How could she have known that Lou would return to the condo a day early from an out-of-town trip? How could she have known that he’d lost his keys and would bang on the door at some ungodly hour of the night? Worst of all, how could she have known that a rookie cop would shoot Lou as he attempted to break the flimsy patio lock? If only she had looked first before calling the police. If only, if only.

Dr. Gilmore had explained the suppression of memories as the mind’s attempt to make sense of a senseless tragedy. She’d run so many scenarios through her head about some unknown intruder who she’d reported instead of Lou. Anyone, but Lou.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a voice called, “Next.” 

On unsteady legs, Dolores hobbled to the ticket counter, dragging a carry-on behind her. She handed the agent her license. Feeling like an ancient old woman, Dolores said, “Lou won’t be returning with me to Columbus. He’s gone.” The words were barely audible.

 “Oh, I’m sorry.” 

Dolores reached for the boarding pass, and instead the woman handed her a small paper cup with two pills inside. “Take these. They’ll help you forget.”

When she looked up at the female employee, the aging ticket agent wore an old-fashioned bob and a name tag that read, Dolores. 

Bio:

Kelly Piner is a Clinical Psychologist who in her free time, tends to feral cats and searches for Bigfoot in nearby forests. Ms. Piner’s short stories have appeared in Litro Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, Weirdbook and others. Her stories have also appeared in multiple anthologies.