Chapter Eight – Unexpected

The Charlestown View buzzed with life as fellow journalists busily worked on their stories.

Rumors started to spread as to why Corbin and Owen’s names were not on the roster. Some people thought it meant that they were both on the cutting block to get fired. Others thought that Corbin and Owen were just not given the big stories and were tasked with the daily news. Either way, Corbin didn’t like the attention it gave him. For almost a month, he was doing his research without anyone thinking to check on him and now people peered over the tops of the cubicles or talked to him sympathetically like his pet dog just died. He didn’t welcome the distraction.

The mood was light in the newsroom as everyone was in a playful competition with each other. Corbin tried to zone them out to continue his writing on Phineas Harrison. He felt like he had an advantage over his competitors after reading the assignments displayed on the roster. Mostly focused on economics, finances, and landmarks, some of what Corbin started to call the ‘boring sales pitch’ compared to the actual gusto that lied in personal histories. Everyone likes a good story, especially if it’s from an unlikely place like Charlestown.

Corbin wanted to let his story ferment like a fine wine until when the metaphorical cork is pulled out of the bottle, everyone can’t resist its sweet scent and rich flavor. The story of his research itself felt like an emotional and physical rollercoaster ride. The headaches that plagued Corbin’s ability to focus on Harrison’s past as well as his hallucinations of the fair woman with blond hair and blue eyes, even his encounter with the crazed old man, and the missing pages. All of it could be a book of its own.

William poked his gray head into Corbin’s tiny, little cubicle with dark bags under his eyes. “You know the hard thing to do if you have a good story is trying to keep it to yourself,” he said, “I got Martha Hendrickson hounding down my neck if I’m going to put the bird fountain in her front yard as a landmark in my article... Yeah and I’ll put a picture of myself into a collection in the Smithsonian, while I’m at it. ”

“Yeah, I’m sure that will be in the Civil War exhibit along with all those old photos of yours,” joked Corbin, stretching out his arms toward the ceiling.

William shook his head, irritated by Corbin’s bemusement, and walked back to his desk.

Corbin sighed and relaxed for the first time in the newsroom since he began his research, but a wandering, elusive figure that lurked around the high white walls stole away his positive feelings like a leech. He could see the thick brown hair of Owen Hemingsworth wandering back and forth until his sly, fox-like face poked its way into his cubicle.
Owen held a shocked expression on his face, sweat dripping down from the tops of his temples. He closed his open mouth and swallowed a thick lump that was stuck in his throat. He panted as if he had just run three miles and appeared surprised to see Corbin at his desk.

“What’s going on Owen?” asked Corbin, “Can I help you?”

Owen was uncomfortably silent. His eyes scanning every corner of Corbin’s little office. He then peered his head around Corbin’s back so he was able to see the portion of the desk behind him. After he appeared satisfied, he silently turned around and speedily walk away.

Corbin tried to stop him. “Hey,” he exclaimed.

Owen’s whole body shook and trembled to Corbin’s raised voice and then he slowly turned around to face him.

“What’s going on, Owen?”

Owen shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “Nothing.”

Corbin released an elongated and accentuated sigh, making his emotions clear to the young Hemingsworth. You are poking your head around like before. It’s going to be like the Fort No. 4 story all over again. He’s going to poke and prod until he finds out what I’m up to and then he’s going to try to have Mr. Richter use his story instead of mine. He took a deep breath and looked away. I can’t let him think that he’s getting to me, but I must be careful. He shook his head. “Okay,” he said, callously dismissing him.

Owen returned to his desk, frequently twitching his head to the peripheral presence of busybodies around him. His senses appearing incredibly susceptible to movement like the T-Rex from Jurassic Park.

Something’s not right with that guy, thought Corbin.

After Owen’s body left his sight, Corbin shifted his thoughts to the four missing pages in the inventor’s journal. Alright back to work. I need to have this story finalized … ASAP!

He contemplated his evidence, trying to make a good argument with it. Was the Oculus connected with Harrison’s disappearance or his wife’s death? He looked at his computer screen at the webpage that was opened. He tried to break apart the process it took to open a new page. The mouse click in the URL box that enables him to type in the URL with his keyboard then when he hits enter how that sends a signal to trigger the event that links to a server that links back with the webpage on the screen. The process seemed to come easy to him as if each hidden event and trigger was displayed on the computer screen like mechanical gears in a clock. I need to figure out what those equations mean on those pages. Hopefully that will shed some light on this.

It was the only way of understanding the word, Oculus.

Corbin even utilized the vast information at his fingertips on the web to help discover the definition to oculus and came up with many terms.

The top definition stated, ‘an eye-like opening’, which brought out words like ocular and glasses to mind.

Another definition stated, ‘a circular window’. Well I guess the window part was right, but it wasn’t circular in the sketch. Could the term have been used loosely?

Another definition stated something Corbin had to look up further, ‘the central boss of a volute’. After discovering it meant the curved design at the end of a stair rail, he started to think it wasn’t that one.

The last one had some relevance to a window, ‘A hole at the apex of a dome’. That’s like an ancient form of window. Hmm … although, it’s got to be the circular window one. It makes the most sense. So whatever Harrison was inventing must have been some sort of window.

A window that erases people’s reflections.

Corbin precariously looked around him, seeing if anyone else was spying on him or trying to read his mind. He grew paranoid with all the attention. He had to find a safe place to collect his thoughts. He grabbed his coat off his chair and clocked out for lunch. He walked down Main street to a small, local diner that he liked called Merv’s. He walked under the 50s style chrome plated roof and opened the glass door to find his sanctum. It was a warm, cozy place with patient and amiable people to wait on you, and well insulated heat that battled the wintry weather outside. The inside of the restaurant was set up in the vintage fifties fashion with red leather booth seats and chrome lined tables. A long oval shaped bar was lined with red and chrome bar stools. On one of the stools was an off-duty cop as well as a few other people who preferred the bar for a quick cup of coffee before they rushed back to their jobs. On each table in the small booths there was a tiny jukebox surrounded by salt and pepper shakers and ketchup bottles. A few were playing 60s songs and one was playing something synthesized and autotuned that Corbin assumed came out within the past decade.

As he stood waiting to be seated, Corbin couldn’t stop smiling. Finally, a nice quiet place to collect my thoughts. Merv’s didn’t really have a lunchtime rush being a diner in a small town. It was a calm environment and more importantly to Corbin it was quiet.

An old woman standing behind the counter noticed Corbin waiting by the entryway. She was wiping a few coffee mugs dry and placed them on a low shelf on her side of the counter. She looked up with her aged eyes and used her left hand to straighten her large glasses that enlarged the width of her face.

“Find a seat wherever you’d like, hun,” she said with a sweet tone and then returned her attention to the row of recently cleaned coffee mugs on the counter.

Corbin nodded his head in her direction and then found an empty seat that overlooked the road that connected to the View. The tables were lightly set with a white papery thin table setting accompanied with a napkin and some silverware.

“Hello, Welcome to Merv’s,” came a soft, sweet voice that made Corbin’s ears tingle.

The dark, blue eyes and sleek blond hair tied up in a ponytail, made Corbin’s heart race. He was speechless. It’s her.

She was dusting off her signature red Merv’s shirt underneath her tan apron and cleared her throat, apparently battling a cold.

“Oh…Hello, again,” she said. She fished her fingers into one of the pockets on her apron and pulled out a small spiral ring notebook and a pencil.

The words pricked at Corbin’s mind until he awoke from his stupor and replied. “H-h-hi.”

“You seem to be in a good mood today,” she said.

“Yeah, well... I’m writing a great story for the local newspaper,” he said nervously yet gaining confidence with each word, “I work for the newspaper...You know newspapers. Can never get to read them!”

She chuckled. “So Clark Kent … what will it be?”

Corbin gave her his order and then watched her disappear from behind the kitchen door. She works here? … Now just when I was trying to focus on the Harrison formulas, I get thrown this curveball? What was her name? Kathy? Kristen? … Katie! That’s right, her name is Katie.

Throughout his entire meal, Corbin found himself glancing over in her direction. His mind was pleasantly distracted as he finished his steak sandwich and fries.

She gave Corbin a refill on his soda. “So, what is this story about for the newspaper?”

Corbin smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know. I have these old equations that I can’t even figure out.”

She put her hands on her hips and gave Corbin a smile. “What kind of equations?”

Corbin shook his head. “I don’t know. They seem to be related to chemistry or physics. Plus, there is this drawing of a man looking into his reflection that I can’t figure out.”

She took a step back and glanced at him with a suspicious eye. “His reflection … like in a mirror?”

Corbin shook his head. “It’s more of like a window.” He sighed in defeat. “I don’t know.”

She picked up Corbin’s empty plate and basket. “Let me think about that one. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright.”

Corbin took a deep breath after she left. I can’t believe I just told her about the equations. What if she tells a friend? … Who am I kidding? … Who does she know at the View? … She just seems so kind and trustworthy. He shook his head. What is happening to me? He felt butterflies in his stomach and a tingling in his fingers.

She came back out a few moments later with Corbin’s bill. “Here you go.”

Corbin took it and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Well if you need help with those equations. I would be happy to look over them. I’m actually finishing up my masters in photography and I know a few things with chemistry.”

Corbin paused as butterflies entered his stomach. “Okay. Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

She chuckled. “I’m working right now.”

“Oh, I meant... uh...when, y-you get done with your shift.”

She looked at him differently. He was no longer a customer. He was more than that. “Yeah, I can go get a cup of coffee. I don’t get off until four.”

“Then I’ll be here at four,” he replied.

Kate took his payment and returned to the register. She half glanced back at him and smiled.

Corbin left a substantial tip for her and wrote on a section of napkin, “I’ll see you at four, Lois.” He hoped she would laugh at his Superman reference.

Corbin disappeared back on to the cold street, looking once more over his shoulder to see the mysterious girl helping other customers. Wow I enter hoping to find a quiet place to work on my story and come out with a date. Probably my most productive lunch yet.

Next Chapter: 9 - Coffee