4.

4.

I stared at the reel-to-reel as it fell into a soft hissing click-click-click. After several seconds of listening numbly, I reached out and pressed stop.

Silence rushed in, even more oppressive than before. I stuck my hands into my pockets and glanced around the store. No shopkeeper. He must’ve gone, I decided, because there was no way he could still be around and not hear the tape playing.

And what had I heard on the tape? At the time I leaned toward an old radio drama of some kind. I’d listened to plenty of those over the years on the road between magazine gigs, on the AM stations. Re-runs of ‘The Shadow,’ ‘Suspense,’ and ‘Inner Sanctum Mysteries.’ They were corny as hell but entertaining. I especially loved how the hosts always shoe-horned their sponsor’s advertisements into the show. “Tonight’s tale about sex, murder, and revenge will give you a delightful chill . . . just like the kind you get from sipping a refreshing Lipton’s Ice Tea on a warm summer day!” Made me grin every time.

Thing was, the longer I stared at the old reel-to-reel, the less sure I felt about my instincts. There hadn’t been any theme music, any host introducing the story, no corny sponsor’s advertisements. Nor did I hear any voices other than the guy telling the story, or any special effects, though I had caught the sound of scuffling and a shout at the very end, and the weirdness of the story would certainly fit in an episode of ‘Inner Sanctum’ or ‘Suspense.’

I decided not to worry about it. Really, it was the least of my concerns. For some reason I’d been compelled to come back into Handy’s Pawn and Thrift instead of going back to my cabin . . .

and the .38

 . . . and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. Or maybe I was still in denial about how much I’d grown to hate my life. Regardless, the urgency I’d felt on the curb outside the store faded. I figured enough was enough. Time to leave and go to bed.

But I think I knew, somehow, the only thing waiting for me was my .38. I’d had it for a year or so (maybe longer?), and it had never been anything more than a stray thought in the back of my head. It had swelled, however, into an unrelenting pressure. An undercurrent surging beneath my thoughts. I wasn’t exactly thinking, I can’t go back because if I do I’ll kill myself, but subconsciously, I think the option had somehow become a real possibility.

So instead of heading straight for the door, I glanced around the sales counter some more. My gaze fell on the Magic Eight Ball again. I thought what the hell? I picked it up and shook it. “So. Am I stuck here for the night? Is this where I’m gonna finally find what I need?”

I gave the damned thing one more shake. Held it, and watched the milky fluid inside settle.