Dangerous Dementions by Virginia Lang (suggested reading .TXT) 📖

didn’t believe me.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” He looked like he was about to say something. Like it was just, choking to get out. Instead his words seemed to fall back into his throat and he shut his mouth shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

“Um, where’s the bathroom?” I hadn’t changed from my clothes the night before, and I smelled like a musty set of laundry left out in an overnight summer rainstorm.

“Across the hall.”

He left my room after that, leaving me to unpack my things and grab a change of clothes and head to the bathroom with my shampoo and conditioner. The bathroom was pretty good sized as well, with a large mirror and a bathtub shower combination. I pulled back the curtain and turned the shower knob to set the water to warm. I placed my shampoo and conditioner on the side of the tub and pulled my musty clothes off with my sneakers and black socks, setting them in a pile on the floor before I pulled the shower tab on and stepped in.

The shower was quick. I didn’t want to waste a lot of water even though I probably would have rather lived in the shower for the next seven months rather than remind myself where I am. I towel dried my hair followed by the rest of my body before tugging my clean clothes on and gathering my dirty, musty ones and bringing them back into my room. When my hair was brushed and pulled back into a ponytail I made my way downstairs.

Mark was at the kitchen table with his laptop, typing away. He was wearing a plain green t-shirt, with dark denim jeans and boots. His hair was frizzled like usual and perched on his nose were plain dark rimmed glasses. He glanced up at me briefly before looking back at the screen.

“Are you hungry?”

My stomach answered the question with a loud gurgle-like sound, which caused us both to chuckle. Mark had set out a box of cereal and a bowl on the counter, which I gladly poured and began to scarf down. There was a comforting silence, only broken by the sound of the laptop keys clicking in rhythm. It was now that I was able to take in the surrounding area in the light. His kitchen was very nice. Marble granite counter tops with a stainless steal sink, and mahogany cabinets and drawers. The floor was hardwood with almost a glossy glimmer to it in the light. There was a dishwasher that looked like it was brand new and never used. When I finished my cereal I got up and put the dishes in the sink and started cleaning them.

“Where do you put these?” I wasn’t about to play guess what’s behind door number three.

Mark took a moment before tearing his gaze away from his laptop to stare at me. His eyes turned to the now clean bowl and spoon in my hands and then back up at my face. I couldn’t tell if he thought I was crazy or considerate for washing my own dishes, but his facial features seemed to change into recognition as he looked to the side of me. “Just put them in the dishwasher.” He told me.

“But they’re already clean.”

“Oh, it’s alright, the dishwasher isn’t used for cleaning, I rarely need it on my own so I just place the dishes I use and clean in there, for storage.” He explained. I really don’t understand his logic, but I opened up the dishwasher anyway and placed the bowl on the top rack with the others, sliding the spoon into the utensil rack. I closed the dishwasher and leaned against the counter. I really didn’t know what to do now. Portland was new to me, and I didn’t know my way around. Perhaps I could just go to a movie, but I didn’t know where I would go for that. Mark must have noticed my train of thought had trailed because he was giving me that concerned look again, like last night. Maybe he did think I was a mental case. Or perhaps just a lost puppy stranded on an island surrounded by water, trapped with nowhere to go.

“Have you called Mary, yet?”

Shoot. I completely forgot to call my mother when I arrived in Portland. If I called now, either she would be extremely upset and worried, or she would have completely forgotten as well. After all, she was practically her work on two legs. I saw Mark give me a small nod, as if realizing my forgetfulness and stood up. My eyes followed him as he moved across the kitchen disappearing into the hallway. Supposing I should follow him I pushed from the counter and made my way out of the kitchen in the same directional way he did. The downstairs hallway was just like bedroom and the entryway. With the same cream colored walls that held nothing on them, following the same open but bland setting that most of the house so far seemed to hold. I noticed as I walked along the hallway that there were two other doors and a main back room that looked almost like a second living room except the back wall was all glass windows. It was almost too open.

To my left was the first door, leading into a downstairs bathroom, it was smaller than the one upstairs and the coloring was different. It held the same faded blue texture that my bedroom blinds did. The small counter top was rounded with a small sink and mirror. There was a shower in the corner next to the toilet but it wasn’t a duo. It was just a plain glass door shower that had a small rise from the floor by about two or three inches. The floor was tile, instead of the hardwood, and there wasn’t a window.

Down a few more feet from the bathroom was the second door. This one was open and it seemed to be giving off some light. I padded along down the hallway and peered into the room. This must be Mark’s office, or his writing space, because it had a desk, and papers were piled around the desk with pens and CD-ROMs. There was a flash drive sitting on the nearest pile of papers and folders, next to a set of keys, which I’m guessing were to Mark’s car. Perched on a shorter shelf-like part of the desk, was a flat screen monitor, tilted slightly to the right. On the floor by the foot of the desk was the computer, which was making a low hissing noise. I’m guessing it was a skuzzy drive because it makes the noises in a weird pattern every so often.

In the corner of the room was a six-drawer cabinet, with a lamp and desk calendar. Next to that was a landline phone. Mark was standing next to the cabinet with the receiver in his hand. I took a step into the room as he turned towards me and took the phone as he held it out.

“I’m sure Mary won’t be that hard on you for not calling, I’ll be in the kitchen.” I dialed the number as he left. Placing the receiver to my ear while the dialing tone echoed in my eardrums. I took a seat in the vinyl desk chair as I waited for my mother to pick up her cell phone. I pushed my feet against the floor panels, pushing myself back and forth in a half circle.

“Detective Turner.”

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Charlie, you didn’t call last night.” Her voice changed from Detective to mother tone, which I didn’t know if I should be happy or nervous about. I could hear the buzz of the overhead light from the lab through the phone, so I knew she was at work. I wonder how much sleep she’s gotten, or if she ever leaves the office anymore. I could hear her sigh through the phone and I imagined her placing her hand to her forehead, possibly rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes. “How’s Portland?”

“Wet.” I replied with distaste. “I haven’t really been out of the house yet, it’s still morning mom.”

“Right, sorry. How is Mark, did he pick you up on time at the airport?”

“Yeah. He did.” I said, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible. “He’s working on his computer in the kitchen.”

“That’s good.” She sounded distant. It makes me wonder if she is even paying attention. Her mind is probably trailing off into work still. That’s how Mary is, her work takes up more time in her brain then eating or sleeping would. “Well thank you for calling Charlie, I have some work to do so I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you, Charlie, have a good day.”

“You too…” I heard the dead dial tone before I could even get the words out. I sighed. Standing up from the chair to hang the phone up and walk back to the kitchen. This may as well be an enjoyable experience, seeing as I’ll be here for quite a while. At least Mark will be around. It won’t be like living on my own anymore, or maybe it will. He wasn’t as quiet as I expected, but he wasn’t all that communal either.

“How’s Mary?”

“Working herself to death. What’s new?” I said with a sardonic twist in my tone. Mark noted my tone and frowned.

“Mary always did work herself to an extreme.” Mark replied with cautiousness that I gathered to be because he thought I might snap at him. He cleared his throat, dropping his hands to his lap as he shifted in his chair to face me. “Do you want to go somewhere? Get out of the house…”

I suppose, it wouldn’t really hurt. “Do you have a bookstore anywhere around here?” This seemed to strike his mood. His lips curved into a smug grin and he huffed a laugh.

“Is there a bookstore around here, of course there’s a bookstore in Portland, come on I’ll take you.” I watched in utter amusement at Marks enthusiastic dancing stride to grab his coat. My uncle was a writer, of course he would know if there were books near by. Oh, the underestimated Mark Mathews at his happiest. I could have rolled my eyes if I didn’t think he would do a trick the way he was bolting around the house for his keys and wallet. I trudged upstairs to pull my converse from my suitcase and a pair of low-cut forest green socks and slipped them on. With one last glance around the room I tucked my own wallet into my jeans pocket before pulling a sweater on and made my way back down the stairs to my uncle Mark, the blissful.

II.

The bookstore was in downtown Portland, some place called Powell’s. It was a fairly good bookstore from the looks of it. There were people coming in every direction. Mark parked outside on the street two storefronts away from Powell’s. The sun was shinning down on Portland as we got out of the cruiser and made our way down the semi-busy sidewalk to the front entrance of the bookstore. A cute welcome sign was taped to the left window as we walked in.

At the front counter on the right was a petite woman with short straight brown hair cropped to just above her shoulders, helping an elderly man with his purchase. Behind him was a young woman with blonde hair