The Penny, Prologue and Chapter 1

The Cool Side of the Pillow
Book 1
The Penny

Prologue

The street lamp barely lit the street on a November night in New England, softly illuminating a quiet and overly bored town, putting itself to bed at eight. The number of window lights never outnumbered your digits. Why anyone would pick this spot to spend their days, I have never figured out. Some were born here, inheriting the status of prior generations. Few found this place in a warm summer and regrettably never left. I think of the cold long winters and wonder what was in a person's head that said, 'this is a good place to live'. It makes you a little weary of the folks that are still comfortably trapped in this seasonal ice block. Sure there are worse places to be, maybe.
As for myself, I'm just average, there is nothing special about me. I find myself a perfect match for this place. Too perfect, down to the tone and delivery of the dialect I speak. But I know that some part of me either believes in, God I hate to say it, reincarnation or some form of remembrance of a past that I once had. The feeling that I was someone else, not the precise puzzle part, that fits into this design.
Sleeping is one of the few things I can say I do well. In a town like this it appears to be an occupation. What else can you do? It wouldn't be so bad if it weren’t for the dreams. I never used to remember my dreams. I would only get a glimmer of them on a very rare occasion but all that seemed to change as time passed. Now I dream every night, or I believe these are dreams. It's as if I am suspended above, looking down into the private lives of people, stealing their intimate moments in time. The scenes play out in my sleep- filled with people I don't know and places I've never been- then they are gone. And in the end, as the curtain falls, the only fragment I am allowed to capture, a small and baffling image of a coin I stole from my father. The truth of the unfairness of a life is to be allowed to recall only the dreams of a possession you already have. Is it a dream at all? In a world of lost imagination I guess it is fair to never step beyond the realm of reality, even while you sleep.
The coin is a rather large penny minted in Philadelphia back around 1802, that's the date pressed on it anyway. Worn smooth and soft it must have passed through
hundreds, maybe thousands of hands. What is the legend of this coin? I'm sure it has participated in countless transactions; the little girl's dress kept neat and hung only for Sunday service; the shoes of a boy that some how ended up in the shore waters of the Pacific; the change from a cash box in a tavern that ended up in the waitresses tip jar that came from the machinist with black stained fingers who worked the never-ending weeks in his ear-wrenching shop. He never heard her say, "thanks." As he walked to the door she turned and glances at his curved back hearing in her head, “the ones with the least leave the most". This moment of compassion evaporates, forever.
I can't prove these things, and you can't say I'm wrong. Something has directed this coin to me; its destination was no accident. Time and circumstance brought it to me with a decided purpose, an agenda, a specific necessity. Someone made sure it ended up in my possession and it wasn't my father.
When I was young, very young, the attic in my family home was an adventure. Ours was an average family, definitely not rich, therefore the attic was only partially finished. It was defined by four rooms. The one to the south was finished. Sometimes this room would be claimed by my brothers as a personal bedroom. The two rooms at the opposite end were lined by knee walls with crawlspaces to the outside and faced with drawers. You could crawl behind the drawers from one end of the floor to the other in these dark unknown caverns. This was where a friend, whose name need not be mentioned, and I found the treasure. It was unbelievable that my father never knew about the box of bullion neatly tucked back in the far reaches of that dark and mysterious cave. The plain grey box with no lock was seemingly filled with the weight of ten bricks. It was hard to extract from its hiding place where I was certain the pirates had stowed it after they landed their ship on the river shores and sneaked into my parent's house. This was the mind of a small boy about to liberate a third of his parent's savings. An innocent act that would nonetheless, take years for my father to pardon.
The box was not locked, and being the great explorer of my attic, I opened it to find the coins my parents had hoarded up in this unknown corner of the attic. My father had a keen eye for coins of value and historical significance. Being the proprietor of a restaurant had afforded him the opportunity to come into contact with the many coins that traveled back and forth between the hands of his patrons. It was this collection that I discovered, a vast quantity of early silver coins and a few others no lesser in value. The silver coins fit neatly into vending machines, these were the greatest find! The others were overlooked except for the large brown coin. I still to this day have no idea why I chose to take the penny. Too large for any useful reason to a young boy, I could not spend it. I just wanted to hold the cool piece of pressed copper in my hand.
So many years have passed. When my parents were gone from this earth my siblings decided that I might as well have the rest of the pirate's treasure, seeing how I already had a good start on it. I have the plain grey box. I have seen no pirates, nor the friend who helped me liberate the treasure from the attic. This is how I came to have the smooth brown coin that only lets me remember the dreams of its keepers. The coin is mine, I carry it with me. But what I really think is the coin has me, and won’t let me dream of who I really am. It holds me from something. Is it trying to protect me or by keeping it myself am I protecting someone from it?




1




The lights of Manhattan looked as though the stars had fallen and laid patterns on the earth. Cars in near prefect lines cut paths between the commercial cathedrals. There was only silence on this side of the plate glass. On the seventeenth floor all the secretaries and white collars had filtered out the doors.
"Even the janitors must have the night off," he said to himself.
The tip of his #2 pencil randomly touched down on a blank sheet of paper, then he let go of the tail and pencil came to rest. Michael Sterling was the only one with no place to go. He could go home to his wife Ann, but she was rarely there. Always attending this function or that meeting and always out of town. Doing some do-gooder thing that he had to admit made him proud of her.
"If I could just spend some time with her, that would be nice."
He was feeling a bit unsettled and a little lonely. He rolled his chair back from his desk and stood to gaze out the window.
"I wonder where they are all going?"
The cars looked like matchbox toys and the people were minor dots speckling the sidewalks.
Work occupied his whole life now. He had no social life to speak of and he was bored with it. Ann was not to blame, she was always supportive. The idea crossed his mind to call her but he didn't like to interrupt her when she was busy, and he was sure she was.
"At least she doesn't fool around on me."
He shook his head and thought, "Why would I even think that?"
He knew he was lucky to have her love. He closed his desk drawer and turned off the desk lamp, and just sat in the semi-darkness. After a minute had passed he rose and went to the coat rack to get his coat. As he was trying to put on his coat he realized he had papers in his mouth.
"I’m taking work home I don't even have to do tonight."
Rolling up the papers, he tucked them into his pocket. Going down the hall he glanced at all the unlit glass panels of the other office doors. Why was he so alone in a city of so many?
He closed the elevator door and let his finger push the button that said twenty-eight. There was no reason to, and no reason not to. The elevator door opened up into a large lobby with marble floors. Tall green plants the size of small trees stood around the perimeter. The center was laid out with enough furniture to make you think you it was a furniture store. Off to the right a man was washing the floor. He stopped for a second to look at the interruption.
Michael looked over to him and said, "Sorry, hit the wrong button."
The man never said a word; he just went back to his work. Michael closed the door and pushed L this time.
"Is it mandatory to be a jerk if you’re a janitor here?" the sarcasm passed through his head.
Leaving the elevator he approached the front door and it swung open.
“Good evening Mr. Sterling," the doorman said.
"Good night John," he replied with a smile.
"That janitor could learn something from you," he held his mouth from saying the words out loud.
Michael walked across the street to the parking garage where he had parked his car this morning. Making his way through the quiet half empty cement structure to his car he passed a tall dark haired woman. As she unlocked her door she gave him a quick glance. Perceiving a little tension in her glance he shot a quick, "hello" to her. She turned to him for a second and smiled slightly with no words. Her long legs caressed by transparent dark nylons were very impressive as she slid into her car. She wore an impeccable short black skirt and Italian looking high-heels. He was surprised at how captivated he was by the woman's appearance. Except for the slight tension of meeting a stranger in the parking garage he could tell she would command attention in what ever it was she did. His car was parked three cars down from her car, he continued to it. He turned to open his car door as her black Mercedes backed from its space. You don't see cars like that around very often. He was naturally interested but proceeded to enter his car. Michael backed his car from the space and headed out of the parking garage.
Michael drove to Killeran's Pub, a place he went occasionally. He would sit quietly and be able to enjoy a fine imported draft here. He chose a stool close to the front of the pub where the radio would be playing a game if he was lucky enough to get there at the right time.
"Good evening Mr. Sterling what can I get for you?"
"Evening Jacob, something dark, cold and in a frosted mug, and would you please call me Michael."
Jacob smiled, calling Michael Mr. Sterling was an expression of humor for him.
"How you doing tonight Mike?"
"Not too bad and yourself?" Michael replied.
A grimace of a smile came over Jacob's face and he said, "Every day is a great day for me."
Michael chuckled a bit and just shook his head.
"You get to hear my Yanks throttle the Braves earlier?" Jacob taunted, grinning.
"No," Michael said, "some of us have to work."
"Yes, I can see that," Jacob said shooting back a little sarcasm of his own.
Jacob and Michael had a few of these sessions over the bar through the years. They would talk and listen to the games on radio every so often. Michael would side with the team opposing the Yanks just to give Jacob someone to taunt. He enjoyed the sport they made of it.
A few minutes passed and another person entered wearing more casual clothes. He had blond hair and a striking hard face.
He approached the bar where Michael and Jacob were and greeted the men.
Michael turned and said, "Hi Alan, long time no see."
Alan replied, "Been out of town."
He sat next to Michael and ordered a scotch and water.
"Catch the game?" Alan asked.
"No," Michael replied, "Jacob and I have been through this already."
He cast a smirk at Jacob.
Alan's eyebrow over his right eye lifted a bit but he didn't need to ask what that was about.
As the door to the pub opened the three men's eyes turned to the entrance. Michael’s eyes opened the widest. The woman walked slowly past Michael and Alan and perched herself on a stool leaving only one stool between herself and Alan. The three men looked at each other for a second. It was not common for a woman to come into this pub by herself this late in the evening, especially a woman this stunning. Her hair was long and dark flowing down her back. Her green eyes could hold you in a trance. The three men were instantly transformed into boys. Michael leaned into the bar a bit and looked down to her.
"Hello again," he said.
She turned slowly and looked directly into his eyes as if she could see into his soul and said, "Do I know you?"
Michael recomposed, "Well, no, but I guess we share the same parking garage."
She never flinched when she said, "Oh," as she turned her eyes back to the wall behind the bar.
"I'll have a martini," she said.
Jacob stood there in a daze then he cleared and said," Coming right up." He heading over to the other end of the bar to mix her drink.
Michael leaned forward again and said, "Sorry miss, I didn't mean to disturb you."
She slowly turned and cast a small smile and said, "You didn't."
She had complete control of all three men in the bar and they never even had a clue. Michael's premonition about her was correct and it would do him no good. She would always get what she wanted and not even conceived by Michael, he was what she wanted.
After an hour went by Alan stood up and leaning towards Michael and said, "You had better stay away from that one."
"I think I'll be okay," Michael replied and smiled at Alan who was now heading towards the door.
A couple of minutes passed and the woman turned and looked at Michael.
"Can I buy you a drink?" she asked.
The seductive smile on her face was tempting and Michael being cordial said, "Sure."
He ordered another draft from Jacob and lifted his glass to her. Thinking all the time in his head, "It's just a beer, nothing wrong with that." Michael thought she was leaving when she got up off the stool but she slowly walked over to him and stood so close he had to pull back a bit.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked.
"Be my guest."
He pulled the stool out from the bar a little.
"I was feeling a little paranoid back at the parking garage, I'm glad you came by when you did."
"Parking garages can make you feel like that."
"I’m sorry," he said, "my name is Michael."
She reached out with her hand and grasped his and said, "Carla, nice to meet you."
She seemed to hold on for a long time or maybe it he who held on, he wasn't sure and didn't much care. He lost track of time when their eyes met.
"I just moved here a few weeks ago; I haven't met many people here yet."
"This can be a lonely place if you don't know any one," he said.
"Yes," she said, "I just have to get out a little more."
She smiled at Michael.
They talked for an hour and Michael decided he had better go. He placed a couple of dollars in Jacob's tip jar and stood up.
"It was nice to meet you," he said.
"Don’t go yet, I like your company," she said.
"I have to get going, I have a little work to do at home."
"Walk me out then Michael?"
"Sure."
She rose from her stool and stood next to him. He could feel the warmth of her body. It pierced his whole body like he was standing in front of a fire.
She smiled and said, "Come on Michael."
His thoughts were running wild in his mind. He opened the door for her and she walked in front of him through it.
Outside he looked up and down the street
"I don't see your car."
Carla took his arm and said, "I took a cab; I don't care to drive at night. Would you mind driving me home Michael?"
Michael's mind flashed yes no yes no yes no, "Sure I'll take you."
She had his arm and was walking as close as she could get and still being able to walk. Michael was weary and excited at the same time but his plan was to bring her home and that would be all.
Carla's apartment was only a ten minute drive. During the drive Michael kept thinking, "I’ll drop her off and I'm on my way. I feel a little wrong just having her in the car."
"Just pull over here," she said.
Michael stopped the car and turned to face her.
"Well, again, it was nice to meet you Carla. Thanks for the conversation."
He cast a friendly smile at her. Carla reached over and pulled him near.
She kissed the side of his face and said, "Walk me to the door."
Michael got out of the car and walked around to Carla's side and opened the door. Her legs slowly emerged one at a time showing the bottoms of her garters. She smiled up at Michael and held out her hand. Michael took her hand and helped her from the car. He was very nervous now. Carla kept his hand in hers as they walked to the door. As they reached the door and stopped, Carla slid her hand and then her arm around Michael's neck.
"You can come inside," she said looking deep into his eyes.
"How did I let it get this far?" he thought.
"I can't but thanks for the offer."
He gave her a small hug and said, "A woman like you won't be lonely long."
Carla reached into her purse and pulled out pen and paper.
"Here," she said, "Call me."
She handed him the paper and turned to unlock the door. Michael stood there as she turned the key. The latch clicked and the door opened. Carla turned to him one more time and slowly kissed his lips.
"Thank you Michael."
"Sure, you take care."
He stood on the door step as the door closed wanting to stay but all he could see was Ann's face in his head.
"I can't do that to Ann."
He turned and walked to his car.
Carla made her way up the stairs to her second story apartment and unlocked the door. Going into the kitchen she found a bottle of wine and poured a glass. She walked over to the couch and sat down. Slipping off her shoes and laying her head back to relax.
"You will come back Michael. You will come back."
She opened up her purse and pulled out the penny. Holding it between her index finger and her thumb she closed her eyes and repeated the words again "You will come back".
Slowly and gently her thumb stroked the coin as she said the words again, "You will come back."
Michael hadn't driven very far when he felt the calling. He pulled the car over and tried to settle himself.
"Go back," was all he could hear in his mind.
"Go back."
He opened the car door and stepped out to get some air and hopefully to clear his mind. As he got out of the car another vehicle sped past, almost hitting him.
Louder the voice in his head came, "Go back. Go back."
"Why is this happening to me? I barely know her. Why can't I stop?"
Michael got back into his car and turned it around. He slowed and then stopped his car in front of her apartment. Carla got up from the couch and looked down to the street. She saw Michael's car parked in front. She walked to the table and placed the penny down.
"Not tonight," she said, "It can wait for another night."
After a minute Michael's car slowly drove off.
For some people the penny is nothing. They perceive the dreams as nothing out of the ordinary- just dreams, nothing more. Others find the dreams tormenting and are at their mercy. They may never know the origin of this plight. But not Carla, Carla found more; she found the power of this coin. She found the power to cast waking dreams. She would use this power as she had before to acquire what ever she wanted.