Enjoy “Window Beyond the World,” a supernatural thriller set in the Southern California mountains. The novel is being serialized here in weekly installments. The co-authors are Sun columnist John Weeks, writing under his full name John Howard Weeks, and William S. Thomas, former Sunday Editor of The Sun.
A new chapter will be posted each Friday. There are 37 chapters in all. This free online edition is somewhat abridged for language and adult situations. For those who wish to read ahead, and enjoy the entire unabridged novel, it is available now in book form.
“Window Beyond the World” (iUniverse, $14.95), by John Howard Weeks and William S. Thomas, can be ordered from local bookstores or from online booksellers including Amazon.com.
WINDOW BEYOND THE WORLD, CHAPTER 5, NAOMI LAKE
There were so many things Lance Segundo couldnt remember. But, oddly, he
had an astounding memory for trivia. Entertainment, sports, government,
world events, pop culture. He could tell you the day and the hour the Challenger
exploded, and not only that, but what the top albums were that year,
which movie took the Oscar for Best Picture and which team won the World
Series. It probably had to do with his job. He was a copy editor, and a good
one, and thats what he did all afternoon and evening, at work read the
world, national and state news wires and pick stories, concentrate on them,
edit them, cut them to fit, write headlines for them. He was very well-informed,
that way.
On the other hand, he was forgetful, even oblivious, when it came to memories
of his own life, especially the more recent years. And it seemed like he forgot
more with each passing year. It probably had to do with his life now. He
applied himself fiercely to his work, which meant he was mentally exhausted
when his shift ended, usually after midnight. As a result, he did nothing more
when he got home than drink. Not usually, always. Sometimes he would try to
read, or even write. He had written the first 10 or 20 pages of a dozen novels.
But what he always ended up doing was just drinking and dreaming in front of
the television.
Because he drank, and stayed up late, he always slept late, which meant he
had no time the next day to do anything but get ready for work and start the
whole cycle over again.
He worked 9 or 10 hours a day, sometimes 11 or 12, so by the end of the
week he was exhausted, which meant his weekends were spent doing little
more than catching up on his sleep and getting caught up in his one, great,
remaining hobby. Drinking. He worked hard all week. He deserved a little serious
drinking time on the weekends. Okay, a lot of serious drinking time.
That was his life now, using his brain cells at work, losing his brain cells at
home.
At work he didnt have time to think about anything but work. At home he
didnt think about anything at all. Sharp as a tack at work. Fuzzy and way out
of focus at home. No wonder his memories of personal things, his home, his
family, his past life were clouded over. He just really didnt think about these
things anymore.
Memories are funny things. You use em or you lose em. He had lost track
of his brother. He had lost track of his parents. He thought his parents were
still alive, when he thought about them at all, but he couldnt say it for certain.
He hadnt been in touch for a long, long time. He had no idea where they
might be living now. All that stuff was just a big patch of low-lying fog in his
brain. It was stuff he didnt have to think about, so he didnt.
He got paid to think and remember stuff at work. He didnt get paid to
think and remember stuff at home.
And another thing, there was never anybody to talk to at home. That was
another thing that kept the brain at low ebb.
Lance Segundo had no social life. Those were the breaks, but thats the way
it had to be now. Oh, he used to be a real party guy. Loads of friends. Yeah, and
he got loaded with them all the time. Ha-ha.
But since his big traffic ticket, several years ago, he made it a strict rule to
not drink and drive. Actually, he took considerable pride in it. Hey, this was a
great reform. A mighty concession to temperance and the straight and narrow.
Any time he wanted to get down on himself, and feel guilty, remorseful about
anything, his drinking, for example, he could always cheer himself up in a
cheerless sort of way, congratulate himself, clap himself on the back, give himself
a big goddamn high-five over the fact that he did not ever drink and drive.
Of course, that little rule of conduct didnt help much in terms of cutting a
figure in society. There was no more drinking with the boys and girls after
work, thats for sure. At the Players Club, a long-time hangout for editors and
reporters across the street from The Sun, they even had a cocktail
named after him from the old days. But now Lance was missing in action.
And parties on the weekends? No way.
In fact, you pretty much cant do anything, Lance had figured out, if you
dont drink and drive. A round of golf? Sorry. An afternoon of fishing? Dont
think so. A picnic in the park? Right, and drink Hawaiian Damn Punch? Not
likely.
So Lance had quietly withdrawn from the company of men. And women.
Many of his old cohorts had gone on to other jobs, anyway, and those who
were left mostly left him alone. For awhile, one would invite himself, or herself,
up for a visit now and then, and the two of them would sit and drink in Lances
living room, but most of those evenings had ended up with Lance passed out
in his chair and the friend having to let himself or herself out, so those evenings
didnt much happen anymore.
Its not like he had become a pariah or anything. He was still respected at
work more or less. People talked to him. They had to. And he was perfectly
pleasant and functional. And good. He was a good copy editor, damn it, and he
wrote good headlines.
But he was a little bit the man of mystery, maybe. People who had worked at
the newspaper awhile found out sooner or later that there was something in
Lances past it was better to not talk about. It was a secret that left a taint, and
the newer people in the office sensed it, too, even if they didnt know exactly
what it was. There was a cloud over Lance. No doubt about it. Beyond the
demands of the daily routine and the barest exchange of pleasantries, people
pretty much left him alone.
So naturally it was a surprise when Naomi Lake joined the copy desk and
from her first night on the job seemed to take a liking to him.
She was a character. She was older than Lance, maybe even 10 years older,
closer to 60 than 50, and she was attractive, and still youthful in many ways.
Quick body English, bright eyes, lots of energy. Given to laughter. Her hair had
streaks of gray, but she let it hang straight, parted in the middle, so it had a
Surfer Girl look instead of an Old Lady from Pasadena look. She wore long,
frilly, colorful skirts with boots or sandals, and snug, form-fitting topssometimes
T-shirts with scalloped sleeves, sometimes light sweaters, sometimes
sleeveless shirts with interesting buttons all of which flattered her slim figure.
She wore lots of jewelry. Silver bracelets with chunks of turquoise, big gaudy
rings, necklaces of assorted lengths, even toe rings, which you could see on the
days she wore sandals.
Interestingly, though, her ears were not pierced. She wore a silver cuff on
one ear, but no earrings. She also wore little or no makeup, and no discernible
perfume. Her nails were short and unpainted.
All told, Naomi Lake was a woman who would blend right in, look perfect,
in fact, Lance thought, at a New Age convention, or a hip coffee bar, or an all-night
paperback bookstore. She had that Santa Fe Woman, Earth Mother look.
She looked pretty damn cool, Lance thought.
You like angels, he said to her one day, her third day at work.
Yes! she said, smiling brightly. Well, they like me. I just like them back.
She wore two angel pendants, one by itself on a silver chain, the other on a
gold chain along with a chime ball and a triangular crystal. There were also
angels on a simple charm bracelet she wore on her right wrist.
It must be nice to have guardian angels.
Oh, everyone does. You have them, too.
Lance chuckled, ruefully. Well, I dont know, he said. Im not sure I do,
actually.
Then maybe you are one, Naomi said. Thats even better.
Hmmm.
This wasnt the first conversation they had had, of course. They had been
introduced, her first night on the job, and he had found out she was from
Santa Barbara, a former journalist who had quit to become a teacher for several
years and now was getting back into the newspaper business. Lance got the
idea she had left her teaching job under unpleasant circumstances.
After that, they had talked several times, briefly, about various work issues
that came up. Sun style on this or that. Did the Sun spell
teenager with a hyphen, like in the Associated Press Style Book, or without, like
in the rest of the world? That sort of thing. They had complimented one
another on a headline or two. And Lance had said something about the Country
Music Awards one night that Naomi had found amusing.
But the conversation about angels was the first real exchange between them,
and it left a note of intrigue, of aroused curiosity in the air. In the old days,
Lance would have waited a moment or two, to let the intrigue ripen, then
asked Naomi if she wanted to join him for a drink after work. It surprised him
a little, but he couldnt help admiring the way her tight sweater looked on her,
and he found himself having actual, certifiable lustful thoughts. Those were
the old days, though. The good old days. He wasnt going to ask her out.
Didnt matter. She asked him out instead.
You know, I dont drink anymore, myself, but if you wouldnt mind buying
a lady a lemonade, I wouldnt mind seeing more of this town of yours.
Lance laughed. There was an awkward moment, because he had an automatic
inclination to demur, to make some excuse, to say no, but really, he was too taken aback by her fearless approach, so he said, Sure. Ill be happy to
show you a little of our fair city.
After work, they walked to the Players Club. There was less than an hour
until closing time, so it wasnt going to be a long ordeal, one way or the other,
Lance thought.
Naomi didnt order lemonade. She asked for iced tea. Lance asked for the
same.
Nothing stronger for you? Naomi asked.
Better not, he said. Actually, I dont drink after work.
After work? She quizzed her eyebrows.
I mean, yes, I drink after work sometimes at home. I have a little rule
about drinking and driving.
Good for you!
Their teas had just arrived. Naomi lifted her glass to Lance. And good for
everybody else, for that matter, she said. Heres to that.
They clinked their glasses.
Was there a bad experience once?
He almost gasped at her directness. Instead, he smiled, somewhat wanly.
Yes, actually, there was. I got a ticket. A bad one. Several years ago.
Oh, dear. Im sorry you had to go through that. It could have happened to
me, God knows, in my drinking days. Drinking years, I should say. So it was
just a ticket? There was no accident involved?
Lance just looked at her for a long moment. Just a ticket, he said. But a
pained look knotted his eyebrows. I dont know. Maybe there was an accident,
now that you mention it. I dont remember. Ive sort of blocked out the whole
thing, Im afraid. It was a long time ago.
Im sorry, she said, lightly touching his hand. Im a terrible snoop. Forgive
me. It just means Im interested in hearing about you. Im a curious person,
and you can probably take that both of two ways. But I also know
curiosity killed the cat, and I dont believe in cruelty to animals.
They sipped their teas in silence for a moment. Lance lost the look of agitation
in his eyes. I knew you were a cat person, he said at last.
Oh, yes. Ive had many cats, though none at the moment, Im sorry to say.
But Im a dog person, too, although Im on temporary sabbatical in that
department, too.
So you had a dog recently?
She died several weeks ago.While I was packing up to move, actually. Poor
thing. She was just the most perfect dear.We had been together for years.Made
it easier to pick up stakes and leave, in a way, when she died. And more difficult,
too, if you know what I mean.
Yes, I think so.
Do you have pets?
Had a cat. It got out once, though, which is a real bad thing in the mountains,
where I live. They become instant coyote snacks, Im afraid.
Oh, how dreadful.
Yes, it is, Lance said, looking down, sorrowfully.
Though I suppose its not the coyotes fault, is it? Its just doing what it
does.
No, it wasnt the coyotes fault. It was definitely Lances fault. Lance had left
the door open all night once, something you never, ever do if you have small
pets and live in the mountains. It had been one of those moments of temporary
inattention. Or, to put it another way, a technically more accurate way,
one of those moments of inebriation. Lance had been horrified, ashamed. Still
was.
Naomi, sensing his discomfort, dropped the subject.
You live in the mountains, then, she said after a moment. You really must
tell me more about that.
NEXT: CHAPTER 6, LAKE ARROWHEAD.
“Window Beyond the World” (iUniverse, $14.95), by John Howard Weeks and William S. Thomas, can be ordered from local bookstores or from online booksellers including Amazon.com.
