Unfinished Business

Unfinished Business

By Clanci

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Clanci

Unfinished Business is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art Copyright 2013 Miss Mae. Cover Art by Miss Mae

A special thank you to my Editor, Laurean Brooks. You are a gift from God!

Chapter One

Trevor didn’t fully understand why he was given a second chance to live his life over. All he knew was, this would be the most important decision he’d ever make.

* * *

Spring 2013

Trevor Capello loved antiques. He could spend an entire day browsing second-hand-stores. An old white-washed farm style wooden door—the treasure he found today—now hung on the large wall in his bedroom. The six-foot-tall, sun-bleached door looked like it came off the set of Little House on The Prairie. He studied its weathered lines and the effect of time and elements, pondering over the half inserted, old skeleton key hanging from the lock.

Trevor found the piece buried under a pile of junk in a dark, cobwebbed corner in the basement of Kismet’s Antique Shop, a mom and pop store located in his beach neighborhood. Off-limits to the general public, Trevor gained access downstairs by flashing a boyish smile to the young clerk, a fairly attractive redhead with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose.

Careful about how he decorated his three-hundred-square-foot bedroom, so far, he had collected a dark 1930s-style, wrought iron-scrolled foot and head board. He found the prize one year ago, at a neighborhood yard sale.

Last week he came across two other finds at a church bazaar—a 1940’s era dark oak chiffarobe, along with a 1920’s-style oval mirror. He reflected on how it had taken well over a year to collect those pieces.

Life had been good to Trevor. At the age of twenty, he’d embarked upon a twenty-year career in radio. First as an announcer, then as sales manager in a large market. After that career ended he invested wisely in real estate. Eight years later, he was set. With work no longer a necessity, Trevor had plenty of time on his hands.

At forty-eight and single, Trevor kept his six-feet one-inch frame toned by working out at the gym four days a week, and jogging along the beach in Malibu. Running gave him time to think. A touch of gray at the temples added a distinguished quality to his already handsome face.

Still, as he gazed out onto the ocean from the bedroom window in his condo, entranced by the breakers crashing against the rocks below, he couldn’t help wondering where his life was headed and why there was no special woman in his life. Is something wrong with me? No, I like being alone…don’t I? This is the way I prefer things…isn’t it? He couldn’t get past the feeling that something-or someone- important was missing from his life.

Trevor shook his head to clear the troubling thoughts. He’d had this conversation with himself more than once, and decided just to give it a rest.

Instead, Trevor began to tinker with the lock on the old door. He tried to open it with the skeleton key, but it wouldn’t budge. He began to wonder about the people from bygone days who once lived behind this door. He visualized a man with his wife, probably in their eighties, living on a farm in Idaho.

I’ll bet they married young and worked side by side their entire lives. Probably, in the evening they’d sit out on the front porch drinking iced tea, holding hands and watch for lightning bugs. He longed for a life like that, but it looked as if it would never be.

He thought back to Janet, the girl he almost married. They were high school sweethearts, and deeply in love. Four years later they were engaged. Then tragedy struck. The day before their wedding, Janet was killed in an automobile accident.

Trevor shook his head as his eyes began to well with tears. He had to quit thinking about the woman he’d lost. The images of her lying in a twisted car wreck, were too painful for his mind to handle. He’d never admit it, but Janet was the reason he’d stayed single for these past twenty-eight years. He’d never gotten over her.

Trevor’s self evaluation-continued. He hadn’t thought of himself as compulsive; he just liked things to work. That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

Once again he fiddled with the door, but when the skeleton key wouldn’t turn the lock, he became slightly irritated. Maybe he should just forget about it. It wasn’t like anyone was coming over to look at it. No one ever came over.

If I only had a can of WD-40, Trevor murmured, jiggling the key a little more. He stopped for a moment to slip his reading glasses over his nose, so he could examine the Egyptian markings engraved on the head of the key. It looked a bit like hieroglyphics. Hm-m-m…well, it’s Greek to me. Realizing he’d just made a funny, Trevor stopped and smiled. But no one was around to hear it. His words bounced off the wall in front of him.

Wait a minute, you know what this looks like? Trevor held the key up near the window to study it closer. It looked like a picture of…Father Time. Yeah, there’s his beard, robe and hour glass. Trevor felt a strange tingle when he traced his finger over the raised etchings. This thing is really old. What do you think Mr. Snickers? He dangled the key in front of his calico cat, who took several swipes at it.

Trevor didn’t even know why he was messing with the lock. Boredom, maybe? He reached for the radio on his night stand and flipped it on to listen to his favorite station—one that played oldies. Atop the music, he journeyed back three decades, to when he was the Sales Manager at a Top Forty FM radio station. A flood of memories crossed his mind, but one in particular stood out among the rest.

He had just left his bosses office where he was given a wall plaque on which his name, Trevor Capello, was embossed with gold engraving. Trevor was the top biller for the year. As he walked toward his office he noticed a crowd of people gathered around the on-air studio. Crossing the hall, he peered through the window and spotted the announcer in a strange position. Puzzled, he opened the door, and walked inside. His mid-day disc jockey, known to the listeners as Dusty Roads, was standing on his head, right in the middle of his air-shift. Trevor laughed when he recalled the hilarious dialogue that followed.

That scene occurred twenty-nine years ago, the last time anyone heard from Dusty. Rumor had it, management gave him an extended vacation. Trevor felt a little sorry for the guy. They were best friends in high school. Heck, Dusty was supposed to be best man at his wedding.

Must have been all those radio waves bouncing around that sent him over the edge, Trevor mused.

Trevor studied his gold Rolex watch, a parting gift for many long years of service with the radio station. He sighed. I’m guessing old Dusty never got one of these.

At eight p.m. it was getting late. Trevor still held the skeleton key in his hand. What could he use to help turn it? Wait, I’ve got an idea. Trevor figured the rusty lock needed a little more persuasion. He scrounged around for a pair of pliers. Where did he lay those things? It wasn’t like they grew a set of legs and just walked away. Scratching his head, Trevor looked at his furry friend, stretched out near the foot of the bed.

Mr. Snickers, you haven’t seen Dad’s pliers, have you? An air of indifference with a wide yawn was the cat’s response. Then his four-legged buddy rolled over on his back. Okay, okay, I’ll rub your belly. I know how much you…Hey, wait a minute! What’s this? Trevor slid his hand underneath the pudgy feline and pulled out the pliers. You could have told me you were lying on them, you little rascal.

He mussed the fur on the cat’s belly, then turned back to the task at hand. Trevor grasped the end of the key between the pliers and slipped it into the rusty lock. When it turned slightly to the right, Mr. Snickers sprang upright from his comfortable position, and hissed.

What’s the matter buddy? The cat growled, then leaped to the floor to dash under the bed. Trevor shook his head. Crazy cat.

He turned the key with all his might. Click! He felt the lock give, then out of nowhere, a noise like the sound a semi-truck makes when setting its air breaks, filled the room.

What the—?

Trevor’s heart raced while his head swam, as a low voltage electric current shot through his arms. Dizzy from the room spinning around, he grabbed for the end of the bed. Darkness swept over him and Trevor fell face down on the plaid comforter.

Whoosh!

Chapter Two

Nothing is more beautiful than a sunrise over the ocean…except maybe a sunset. Trevor didn’t have a chance to close the blinds on his floor to ceiling, six-foot wide bedroom window the previous night. The morning sun blasted in like a laser beam, cutting slits through the bedspread.

Trevor glanced at the clock. Eight a.m. He never slept this late. Lying in a prone position, he poked his nose up from beneath the pile of blankets, then followed with the rest of his face. A moan emitted only by cavemen, escaped his throat before he sat upright and stuffed two pillows under his head. Squinting, he let his eyes adjust to the light. Turning over on his left side, he gazed out the window and watched seagulls dip into the sun-drenched waves in search of their breakfast.

Trevor suffered from a headache he couldn’t account for. I don’t get headaches! he complained, rubbing his eyes. It was then he looked across the room and noticed the skeleton key still dangling from the rusty lock. He ran his fingers through his morning hair, and tried to recall the events of last evening. I remember giving that key a slight turn, he murmured. And then there was that strange hissing noise. Even though he was alone, he refrained from saying that too loud.

As his memory of the previous night’s events slowly returned, Trevor recalled that he’d checked his watch just before he turned the key. After that, everything went blank. What seemed like only a moment later, he found himself laying on the bed in a daze with Mr. Snickers licking his face. Now, as he sat in bed gazing at his watch, it was plain to see that it was running an hour slow. He glanced up at the clock on the nightstand for verification. Sixty minutes he couldn’t account for. He felt a little unnerved as he tried to make sense of the ensuing time loss.

Some people wash their hands fifteen times per day but Trevor’s compulsion was checking his watch as many times. It was a habit he picked up while a youngster. He had a pretty good idea of the length of the unaccounted for time loss.

I wish you could talk so you could tell me what happened, Trevor said turning to Mr. Snickers. His furry friend was still half asleep, rolled up in ball a few inches from his feet.

You sure have a rough life. Trevor ran his fingers through the cat’s thick orange and gray fur.

I’m heading downstairs for breakfast. Care for some…kibbles? Kibbles was the magic word. For the next minute the two were in a foot race headed to the kitchen.

How about we dine Al fresco this morning old buddy? Mr. Snickers purred like a lawnmower.

After preparing freshly-squeezed orange juice, oatmeal with blueberries, and decaf coffee, Trevor headed out onto the balcony with Mr. Snickers in tow. Taking a quick peek at the thermometer as he passed through the patio door, it occurred to him once again why he moved to the beach. Sixty eight degrees. Man, it doesn’t get any better than this.

He took a seat near the iron railing. The three-foot swells, some ten feet below, sang a soothing lullaby that calmed his soul. Whatever it was that took place last night, was now a distant memory. Trevor leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table. Scooping up each bite of blueberry oatmeal, he chewed slowly and deliberately, staring off into the limitless horizon.

Meanwhile, Mr. Snickers made a half-hearted attempt to climb up the eight-foot, white stucco wall next to Trevor. Realizing the futility of it, he stopped and stared up in the air.

Whatcha doing, boy? Trevor followed the direction of the cat’s gaze. Oh, you’d like to get at that nest of turtle doves under the eaves, wouldn’t you? The mama dove was busy regurgitating breakfast as the two chicks fought over the meal in her mouth. Trevor had a soft spot in his heart for Doves. Did you know they mate for life? he asked Mr. Snickers. The cat just licked his lips and continued to stare.

Good morning Trev. The overly sweet voice ran shivers down Trevor’s spine. He whirled around to see the attractive, single lady who lived in the condo next door. Vicky, a thirty-something petite blond, worked as a waitress at Moonshadows, an up-scale restaurant in Malibu with an incredible view of the ocean. The restaurant featured prime-rib steaks and French wine, a meal that could easily set you back two-hundred bucks.

There was nothing wrong with Vicky; she just didn’t suit his style. A little too forward and ditsy for his taste.

Morning, Vicky. Trevor responded in a cool tone. Her balcony stood a few feet from his.

Beautiful day to be alive.

Yes…it certainly is. Trevor continued to stare straight ahead.

And how’s Mr. Snickers this morning?

He’s fine as frog’s hair.

Oh, before I forget, happy belated birthday. I looked for you yesterday, but you were nowhere to be found.

Thanks. I spent most of the day at an antique store buying myself a present.

Find anything interesting?

No…not really. Trevor didn’t feel like talking about his unusual find.

So, did you have company last night?

No…just me and Mr. Snickers. Why…do you ask?

Oh…I thought I heard a noise.

Oh, great! She heard it, too. Trevor tried to appear innocent. Uhh…noise? I didn’t hear any noise.

Yeah. It was right around eight o’clock. Sounded like a big balloon losing air. Vicky pursed her lips to imitate the sound. Phaatt!

Gee…uh, I don’t know. He took a stab at a flimsy excuse. Maybe, something…sprang a leak nearby.

Well, if you hear it again, let me know. Trevor felt his face grow flush.

You going for a jog today? she asked in a flirty tone.

As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about jumping into my sweats and heading out.

Well, holler if you need help.

Trevor ignored that last remark, and with a half wave, headed towards his bedroom to change. Minutes later he emerged from his back door and made a beeline towards the churning surf, one hundred yards away.

A clear Spring Sunday morning greeted him. Trevor took in large gulps of ocean air as he sprinted. Man, I never get tired of that smell! With the exception of an old man playing catch with his golden retriever in the distance, Trevor had the entire beach to himself. The foamy waves erased his footprints as he jogged across the wet sand towards the pier one mile away. In addition to the cardio benefits, Trevor used the solitary run to clear his mind.

Like a kid jumping into a mud puddle, Trevor leaped through the air, splashing salt water in all directions each time he hit the ground. Nearby seagulls seemed to sense his lighthearted spirit, and made playful swoops in his direction. Caught up in the fun, he didn’t notice how close he was to a wooden pier. Suddenly, he rammed into an immovable object. His body recoiled then folded like a cheap suit. The impact didn’t quite knock him out, but he felt stupid lying on the sand staring up at the belly of the pier.

That’s when he heard it…a woman’s voice whisper, Come…back…for…me.

He sat up slowly and looked around. Either someone was close by playing a prank, or he hit the pier harder than he first thought.

Trev-or.

There it was again. The voice, like a whisper on the wind. This time Trevor could have sworn, it was——. No, it couldn’t be. That’s impossible. He continued to scan the beach. Hello? Anyone there? he yelled, expecting someone to jump out at him any second. Maybe someone was standing on top of the pier. He looked up. No, it was empty.

Trevor rubbed his forehead and brought back a combination of blood and sand. Dang, I really smacked my coconut! He was in no shape to get up just yet. Not until he first got his bearings. He stared off into the distance at the tumbling waves, watching them rush onto the shore in overlapping fashion.

The longer Trevor sat and thought about it, the more familiar the tone of that voice resonated within him. Like an impulse he couldn’t contain, he whispered, that sounded like…Janet.

As the words fell from his mouth, Trevor recalled the first time he laid eyes on her. It was at a high school football game. Snapshots of their past whirled through his already dizzy head. Their first date together. The time she dripped ice cream down the front of her dress at the church social. The two of them slow-dancing at the prom. The night he proposed to her at Miller’s Peak. Then, for the first time since the accident, Trevor let the film in his memory play to the end. Skid marks, twisted metal…the congregation at Sunset Hills Memorial Chapel.

Come…back…to…m-e-e. There it was again.

Trevor begged for mercy as he cried out, Please, for the love of God…leave me alone! There’s nothing I can do about it! The ocean engulfed his scream.

Fear left him shaking. Trevor closed his eyes and dropped back to the ground. He layed there for several minutes.

You okay, sonny? A gruff voice startled him. Trevor opened his eyes and looked up. He had seen the old man with the dog before. The man reached down to help Trevor up off the beach. His Golden Retriever lapped at his face.

Huh…what? Trevor’s head throbbed like a jackhammer.

I saw you fall about five minutes ago. Jiggers and I were near the pier. We got here as fast as we could. The stranger jerked his thumb toward the wooden support. Looks like you took a chunk out of the pier. Man, you went down like a big oak tree.

Trevor tried to respond but his breath