Cries In The Light

By Leslie M. Szocik

Mysteries remain a mystery until you find some reasons which can lead to its disclosure.

Roger and Ann Jacobson live in the gentle countryside of Massachusetts. Roger owns a successful accounting firm. Ann is a columnist at their local newspaper.

Roger’s chief accountant, James Talbot, knows his ways with the ladies. Jim is rumored to be involved in a scandalous relationship with the wife of one of the firm’s biggest clients, Mr. Rathburn. Roger is placed in the inconvenient position of c

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781634173087

Book preview

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Cries in the Light

Copyright © 2014 Leslie M. Szocik

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2014

ISBN 978-1-63417-307-0 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-63417-308-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To all my family and friends that have encouraged me to follow my dream of writing and getting my story published. I’m still dreaming and there are many more stories to follow.

Chapter 1

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The soothing haze of slumber had drifted into a vision of white-on-white rectangles. A tall shadowy figure invaded the white, entering from the left and floating midway into the puzzle. The figure was slowly beginning to focus. It was the back of a man in a dark blue suit opening the freezer door on the top of a white refrigerator. Another even more shadowy silhouette entered the picture also from the left.

Suddenly there was a flash of silver and an explosion of crimson.

Ann screeched into the night, flew open her eyelids, and bolted upright in bed.

What the hell’s the matter with you now? Roger scoffed from his side of bed.

She didn’t respond, clearly aware that Roger couldn’t care less about her tormenting, disconnected visions. They seldom made sense. They just hindered Ann’s attempts to find peace.

Ann slid back down in bed and rolled away from him to face the diversion of the night sky beyond the bedroom windows.

Roger grumbled some profanities and, in a few tense minutes, emitted the sounds of deep sleep.

Chapter 2

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Not beautiful, but not ugly either, Ann Jacobson whispered with acceptance to the round, freckled face in the bathroom mirror. She had just brushed her teeth and was enjoying that clean minty taste of the toothpaste. It would be an incredible burden to be perfect. She giggled, crossing her oversized, greenish-blue eyes. She briefly attempted to fluff her thin, sandy-colored pixy locks, dismissed that with a forget-it wave, and focused on drying the vanity sink with paper towels.

Ann tightened the sash of the royal blue robe around her five-three, slightly chubby frame and straightened the brown velour towels on their appropriate racks in the boring beige-and-brown bathroom. She shoved the used paper towels into her robe pocket for disposal in the downstairs trash.

It might be nice to be outstanding in some way, but Ann was satisfied to be herself. Outstanding would be complicated, and she didn’t like complications.

She tiptoed through the bedroom and down the stairs to her favorite room in the house: her kitchen. At 5:00 a.m. on the last day of April, Ann stepped into the soothing comfort of her blue-and-white kitchen. This early morning time was hers.

She started the coffee and began frying turkey bacon. Roger was health conscious.

We should cut down on fats and exercise often, his voice echoed in Ann’s mind as she heard her husband moving around upstairs. It was Ann’s opinion that Roger looked terrific for a man of thirty-five. He had only a touch of grey at the temples of otherwise dark brown hair and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. They were almost transparent. They hypnotized and penetrated her soul. He had a lean, hard body that any woman would be pleased to be with and any man would be conceited about. Sometimes she’d ask herself, What does he see in me? But not that day. Ann was determined to make it a special day. She had just landed a super contract with the best newspaper in the area. She hadn’t found the time to tell Roger yet, but she was sure that he would be delighted for her. This was what Ann had been working towards. She’d be writing a sort of Dear Abby column under a pseudonym, of course. Ann could pretend to be a worldly person with lots of advice for people with problems. It was easy to analyze other people’s problems. It was not easy to recognize your own.

Puff began yowling. He was a demanding cat. He stayed out all night, doing his independent cat act, but come morning Puff was at the side door asking Ann to love him. And she did love him dearly.

Ann gave Puff a can of white tuna. It was Sunday, her husband was still upstairs, and Ann wouldn’t have to listen to Roger tell her that she spoiled the cat.

Rats! Ann cursed at the scorching bacon. It was just a little overdone but salvaged. She heated the pan for the eggs and dropped the wheat bread into the toaster. Her vision drifted towards the cheerful sunrise sounds just outside the window. The feeders were attracting a lot of birds. They were cute, hungry, and seemed to appreciate Ann hanging the feeders where Puff couldn’t reach them.

As Roger appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing his royal blue robe, Ann giggled to herself at the thought of them being dressed alike. Puff had eaten all the tuna, leaving not a trace to argue about. The bacon was saved, the eggs were cooked, and the wheat toast was browned to perfection. Roger strolled over to his wife, helping himself to a cup of coffee and a good-morning kiss.

How long have you been up? he inquired, moving to seat himself at the polished oak table.

Just long enough to get breakfast started.

What is that cat doing in the house? You know he makes me itch.

Ann let Puff out the side door. She knew he was happy to be let out.

You look beautiful this morning, Misty, Roger whispered, undressing her with his crystal gaze.

Thank you, dear. Breakfast is served, Ann cooed, handing him a plate.

I love you, Roger cajoled, staring relentlessly into her fluttering eyes.

Ann replied by leaning across the table and planting a gentle kiss on the end of his sculptured nose. She decided it was the right time to discuss her new job.

Where will you be working on this column? Roger asked when she’d finished.

At home, she assured.

Wonderful! When I come home, you’ll always be here for me.

Ann agreed that would be a perfect situation for both of them.

Chapter 3

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It was May 1. Ann always loved May Day. As a child she would secretly leave small baskets of flowers on the neighbors’ front steps to let them know that someone cared. Her neighbors pretended they didn’t know who brought the bouquets. Ann understood now that they were fully aware of the giver, and they were just joining in on the game. Many of them were elderly, and their own children had long since abandoned them. Each year they looked forward to Ann’s ceremonial act of love.

Sunday Ann and Roger had lounged around the house. Puff had kept out of sight. Ann thanked God for that. There had been lots of birds at the feeders, even a cardinal. Ann had been thrilled. They had a barbecue with lean pork and grilled eggplant. Ann had marinated both in mild spices, lemon juice, and a touch of olive oil.

It was Monday morning, and Ann was wide awake at 4:00 a.m. She opened the side door, and in sashayed Puff. She gave him a loving hug, a can of moist cat food, and fresh water. Ann puttered around the kitchen, cleaning a couple of wine glasses from the previous evening. She watched the birds feeding just outside the front kitchen windows and thought about the big change her new career was going to make in their lives. She would be at home to keep the laundry from piling up and would have meals ready when her husband returned from the office.

As the owner of a successful accounting firm, Roger worked long, stressful days. He wanted things in order when he got home. Working her former secretarial job had been interesting for Ann, but it kept her away from the house too much. Everything became too disorganized. That had caused tension in their relationship.

Ann breezed towards the privacy of the downstairs guest bathroom for a lengthy, relaxing soak in its oversized tub. The bathroom was decorated totally in hues of peach, which always had a calming effect on Ann.

Wrapped in a lush peach towel, Ann drained and dried the tub, listening contentedly to the sound of water spraying in the upstairs shower. She applied mascara to her pale eyelashes and then slipped into the clothing she had placed in the room the prior evening. Ann stood before the full-length mirror in her favorite blue dress, which brought out the almost blue in her eyes. Not too bad for thirty-two. No wrinkles yet. Not beautiful, but not ugly either, she commented to her reflection.

It was slightly past 6:00 a.m. The coffee was ready and the homemade bran muffins were staying warm in the oven. Suddenly Roger was standing in the kitchen doorway dressed in his charcoal grey suit.

Wow! Who are you trying to impress? he blurted. I thought you would be working at home, keeping this place in order for a change.

Yes, but I do have to go to the newspaper every once in a while to pick up the letters for my column.

Can’t they forward them to the house by a courier or something? All the time you spend on getting gorgeous would be better applied being creative in your column. You should mention that to your boss. Who is your boss by the way?

My boss is Sally Frank, who’s a really nice person, Roger. You’d agree.

I’m sure I would, if you say so, Morning Mist. You’re a good judge of character. After all, you did recognize the special qualities in me, he said with a chuckle.

Ann believed her husband was satisfied as they walked together into the kitchen. If he knew her boss’s real name was Frank Sally, he wouldn’t be so jovial. Roger was a jealous man.

During breakfast they chatted about non-work-related matters. Roger seldom spoke about his job. He preferred to keep business life separate from family life.

After breakfast Ann kissed her husband good-bye and waved from the front door until his car was out of sight.

It was time to begin her new career. All Ann wanted was a chance to prove she was a good writer. She may not be special about other things, but she could write.

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Good morning, Ann, Frank bellowed to the timid woman who had just stepped into the brightly lit grey-green newsroom. He narrowed his tiny brown eyes, causing his bulbous nose to pop upward comically.

Good morning, she responded with a cheery grin.

No one would guess that the deep and always loud voice came from a short, plump man. Frank sounded gruff, but everyone who knew him also knew he was a genuine pussycat. He had made Ann feel instantly comfortable from their first meeting. When Frank looked at someone, he really saw them. He was interested in what they had to say, and it showed. Frank was the owner and editor of the Ashville Telegram. During Ann’s interview for the job, he had mentioned starting the newspaper just after graduating from college. At age fifty-two, Frank had established himself and his newspaper as up-to-date, truthful, and creditable. He had earned the respect of the community.

Ann, are you ready to begin your famous career as Dear Kim, the wisest woman on earth? There is quite a stack of letters from your future fans anxiously awaiting your response.

Of course, Ann blurted, feeling herself blush. She knew Frank was enjoying himself. He didn’t mean it in a malicious way, but he was obviously getting a chuckle out of Ann’s shyness.

Frank’s wife, Helen, was sitting behind her bulky, weathered mahogany desk. The stout silver-haired woman’s complexion was similar to the poor old desk. She had obviously spent too much time soaking up the rays at the beach in an effort to achieve a golden glow on her less-than-attractive face. She was watching Ann without expression.

On her first visit to the newspaper, Ann got more information about Helen than she wanted to know from one of the office secretaries. Helen wrote an occasional filler story but actually only came to the office to keep an eye on Frank.

It’s a beautiful day, Ann announced to Frank and Helen. She was grateful that only the three of them were currently in the room. How are you feeling today, Helen? she asked sincerely, knowing the boss’s wife had recently been ill with a cold. Ann also sensed it was wise to divert her attention away from Frank and towards Helen.

I’m much better. Thank you for asking, Helen replied reservedly.

Ann smiled at Helen, knowing any further discussion on the matter would be misinterpreted.

I just stopped by to pick up the letters. I’m very anxious to begin writing, she added sincerely.

Here they are, tied up in a big blue ribbon to match your dress. It’s just amazing how I knew you’d be wearing blue today, Frank joked.

Thank you. I’ll be off to my den of discernment. Dear Kim will attempt to solve the problems of the world in just one day, Ann proclaimed, taking the package from her boss.

Without another word, she breezed out of the newsroom, down the narrow corridor, and through the outside door into divine fresh air. Ann was glad she wouldn’t be working at the newspaper office. She could certainly do without all the tension and suspicion.

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Roger arrived at the Jacobson Building at 7:30 a.m. He parked his white BMW in its designated spot, locked the doors, and strode steadfastly towards his magnificent redbrick building. No one else was due in until 8:00 a.m. He always made it a point to be there first, giving himself time to collect his thoughts and begin organizing his day.

Entering the building, he nodded a good-morning to Ralph, the security guard.

Ralph had a flushed complexion and yellow-grey hair. He was overweight, retired, and only worked to get away from home. His wife, Gail, insisted that at least one of their sixteen grandchildren visit daily. He was being driven crazy with the commotion at home and came to work to relax and sleep.

Good morning, Mr. Jacobson, Ralph called to his boss’s back.

Without wasting time on further pleasantries, Roger proceeded up the stairs and down the hall towards his office.

He stopped to look into James Talbot’s office. He was the firm’s chief accountant. Jim spent long days at the office, but Roger was quite aware that all of his days were not spent with figures on paper. Mr. Talbot was a ladies’ man. He was single, twenty-eight years old, six two, and lean. He had sandy-blond hair and black-brown eyes that could charm or defy, depending on his objective. He was almost too charming, but Jim was good at his work, and that was the only reason Roger put up with him.

The tiny light green office was a mess with papers scattered over the desk and floor. Roger knew, however, that before their 9:00 a.m. meeting there everything would be in order.

Roger proceeded down the hall and opened the glass-paneled door to his outer office. The windowless room had birch walls, tan carpeting, and contained two oversized mahogany desks.

Sarah, his secretary, always made sure everything was in perfect order before she left at night. She knew her boss wouldn’t tolerate disarray. She was careful to keep her paperwork in neat piles within their appropriately labeled bins. Sarah had never taken an unscheduled day off in the six years she had worked as Roger’s secretary. She was fully aware, if the need ever arose, her boss would be more agitated about a messy office than at her being unable to come to work.

Sarah’s a gem, Roger reflected softly. For a woman of fifty-five, she really keeps pace with the workload of this firm. She reminded him a lot of his mother, Joan.

Joan had been a vibrant, productive person until her stroke the previous year. It left her incapacitated.

What a waste, Roger groaned to himself. She was active and happy one day then crippled and unable to speak in a flash of shit luck.

Roger experienced a tiny wave of guilt about neglecting his mother but quickly dismissed the feeling. It wasn’t his fault she was ill, he concluded. He decided to make an effort to visit Joan at the nursing home next week. She might not know who he was, but he’d feel better.

Sarah arrived at 7:45 a.m.

Good day, Mr. Jacobson. What a glorious day it’s going to be.

Yes, Sarah. You think every day is going to be beautiful, but don’t change for a skeptic like me. He chuckled. Sarah’s grey eyes twinkled a response toward her typically serious boss as he disappeared into his inner office.

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Ann drove home in her chestnut Bronco, smiling at the children playing on the well-groomed lawns. She made a left turn from West Central Street onto Lake Road.

Their custom-built Cape Cod–styled home nestled on a densely forested lot at the end of Lake Road. It was four house lots away from their neighbors. Ann and Roger had designed their weathered-grey home with oversized windows to take full advantage of the spectacular view of the woodland and Lake Marion, which was across the road from their front yard.

The surface of the lake was dancing with little sparkles of sunlight. That peaceful sight should have made Ann happy, but she suddenly felt very isolated.

As she began unlocking the front door, she was overcome with a chill of nervousness. She had arrived at home many times by herself. She had never felt that way before.

What’s wrong with me today? Ann asked aloud.

She decided it was mostly apprehension about the new job and trying to advise people about their problems. Ann also realized that part of her problem was deceiving Roger about her new boss. She hadn’t said her new boss was a female. It was a name switch, well planned to avoid the usual questions. What does he look like? Is he married? She was used to dodging complications.

Ann stepped through the front doorway, relocked the door, and leaned against the curtain that hung in the leaded glass panel to the right of the front door. She was warmed by the tan foyer walls and the excitement of anticipation.

It’s time to begin reading these letters and creating heartfelt, helpful responses, she rejoiced with a smile, holding before her the package tied in blue ribbon.

What a special, caring person Frank was to make me feel more comfortable. What a peach he was, Ann whispered to herself. What hell he was going to get from Helen about that gesture. I’m sure Frank is almost used to getting hell from his wife for something or other. Oh well, that’s their problem.

It was daylight, but she proceeded to turn on each light as she moved down the hallway towards the den.

What am I doing? I’ve been alone more times than I could count. This is my home, and it’s locked up tight. Ann, you’re being goofy again! she said aloud.

Opening the den door, her eyes fell upon the desk Roger’s mom had given them as a housewarming gift. She lovingly admired the electric typewriter that her dad had bought for her college graduation.

There are so many memories accumulated in our home, she whispered with a sigh.

There was a thud and the sound of breaking glass behind her.

Ann froze.

I knew something was wrong, she whimpered.

Puff rushed by her leg.

You little rat! Ann yelled, chasing him down the hall. What are you doing in the house?

Puff just sat halfway up the staircase, demanding an apology for Ann’s intrusion.

If I didn’t love you so much, I’d be angry with you.

He stood his ground. He wasn’t giving in to this.

Ann approached, picked Puff up, and gave him a warm hug and a scratch under the chin.

He purred contentedly for a moment, then with a gentle claw placed firmly on Ann’s arm, he signaled Enough.

He jumped from her arms, raced down the hall, and parked himself at the front door, looking up at the knob.

Ann followed. You’re such a smart little kitty, she said, letting him out.

Puff would be excellent company if he’d only stay around more than a few moments at a time. But I respect his privacy, Ann whispered to herself, walking down the hall and turning left into the den.

It was located in the front of the house across the hall from the kitchen. The den or, as Roger would say, the study always made Ann comfortable. There was one oversized window on each of the two exterior walls. The walls were papered with a narrow, tan-and-forest-green colonial stripe. The inside walls were covered by bookcases filled to capacity with a wide range of reading materials—from childhood comics books to valuable classics.

Ann verified that the den windows were locked and swept up the pieces of the broken vase from the hardwood floor. She knew now that Puff hid somewhere in the house that morning so the little rascal could snoop around.

She picked up the package of letters from the floor, sat in the desk chair, and began reading.

Dear Kim,

I’m living with this guy (I’ll call him Carl) that my friend (I’ll call her Jill) used to date. Carl and I are passionately in love. Jill is upset by the relationship. I told Jill we should still be able to be friends. She doesn’t agree. I’ve always liked Jill as a friend and don’t want her to remain angry at me. What can I do to assure Jill that my relationship with Carl should not keep us from being friends? Please help me.

Troubled Thomas

Wow! Ann responded. What a beginning.

Ann put a new sheet of paper in the typewriter, typed Thomas’s inquiry and then added her reply.

Dear Troubled Thomas,

Not everyone is open to the special relationship that two people of the same sex can have with one another. Give Jill some time. She may have stronger feelings for you. Jill may see Carl as a rival. Don’t rush her. Jill may realize with time that the friendship you share with her is more important than her jealously about Carl. Be patient and understanding, and hopefully Jill will do the same.

Sincerely,

Kim

Ann reread her typed document and was satisfied with its content.

I’m not going to be totally secure with this until Frank gives me his feedback, but onward I go, she stated firmly.

Several letters later, Ann read:

Dear Kim,

My sister is