Third Eye Rising

This is a sequel of sorts to Of the Third Eye. Hope you enjoy.


His coffee was cold.

“My coffee’s cold,” he said to his partner.

“Well ask the waitress for some more,” his partner said.

From their booth at the end of the row, he turned around in his seat and looked down the length of the diner. He spotted the young, dark-haired waitress immediately - she was filling salt shakers behind the counter - but he didn’t see the older, fat one he’d hoped for. “Eh, maybe I’ll wait a while,” he said.

“Suit, yourself, Sam,” his partner said. Then he too leaned to the side to look down the row of booths. Only one other table was occupied at this mid-afternoon hour. He saw he could speak without being overheard. “Alright. Here’s the drill. It’s simple. We knock on the door. Tell the old lady we’re there to check the gutters. If she asks, we say her kid sent us, but they hardly ever ask. Then we get the ladder, bang around on the gutters for twenty minutes or so, come down and tell her they’re in good shape and that’ll be a-hundred and twenty bucks. That’s it.”

Sam took a sip of his cold coffee and grimaced. “That’s it? We don’t tell her we cleaned them?”

“No, man, we’re only up there for twenty minutes. Have you ever actually cleaned gutters. Man, that’s a job. The chick may be old and gullible, but if she was that far gone she’d be in a home. Trust me.”

“Okay, George, okay,” Sam said.

"Good, now I've made a list of places to hit today and tomorrow," George said smiling, "Man, you gotta love cell phones, you know? These days you can just about guarantee if somebody's in the phone book, they're old and easy pickin's. Then just narrow it down to the old, rich - but not too rich, you know - neighborhoods and 90% of the leg work is done for you."

“Oh, yeah. Okay. I see what you mean," Sam said. "But, George, what if the gutters are pretty bad? I mean, maybe we should do a little bit if they are.”

“Dammit, Sam," George snapped, "do you want to do this or not? I thought you needed the money.”

“Yeah, I do. Okay.” Sam said. He looked past his partner out the diner’s window. He saw a teenage couple getting into an old Pontiac. The guy had greasy hair, bright red pimples along his forehead and down the left side of his face, and a thin mustache. The girl had gorgeous, shiny jet-black hair, smooth pale skin and a small sharp nose. He saw she wore a pendant on a silver chain around her neck. It slipped neatly between the mounds of her breasts. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he felt strangely attracted to it. When he glanced up from it he saw her looking at him through the glass - smiling at him - and felt a chill.

Sam looked away embarrassed, but his gaze was quickly drawn back to the car. This time he took another look at the guy - who wasn't likely to notice Sam's stare since he hadn’t taken his eyes off the girl. He sat there behind the wheel just staring at her, absorbed, with a look both far away and intense. Something that wasn't quite lust, but not far from it.

“Hey, you want some more coffee? Here comes the waitress,” George said taking a bite of his BLT.

It was the older one. “Can I get you boys anything else?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, another cup would be good,” Sam said, handing her his cup.

“I’ll bring the pot, honey,” she said turning away.

After she’d gone, George leaned in. “Listen, my cousin, Jimmy, has a van that we can use. We just can’t tell him anything about what we’re doing, okay? If he found out he’d want a cut and there just ain’t enough to go around. So don’t say nothing about anything. I told him we needed it for a couple of days to help your brother move. I figure that buys us enough time to hit most of those neighborhoods north of town. Okay? Okay? You listening to me, Sam?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. No problem,” Sam said, looking back out the windows. The Pontiac had pulled out and driven away. He cursed himself under his breath for not seeing which way it had gone.

George heard him swear, “What’s that -- “

“Coffee,” the waitress said and Sam turned toward her with his cup in hand. He saw the sharp small nose and pale skin, then the pendant. “Fu--” He said and dropped the cup onto the table covering the table and George’s plate in cold coffee.

“What the hell, man!” George yelled grabbing his napkin. Sam looked back up at the waitress. He saw her gorgeous, shiny black hair. He saw her slight smile. He looked into her eyes. They were dark and clear and deep. How clearly they must see. How much of this world. The hidden places. The cold, lonely places. She could see it all. She knew his --

“What’s all this?” The other waitress said brushing between Sam and the dark-haired waitress. She dropped a thin, dirty cloth onto the table and began sopping up the spilled coffee. “Go see to the other customers, dear,” she said, and, then, once she’d gone, “I’m sorry, boys, she’s new. I thought sure she could come over here and pour some coffee without any trouble. I tell you, I don't know what to do with her. She's a nice enough girl, quiet, and she means well... I just don't know. Folks do tip her, though, and we share those." She laid the towel down into another puddle and looked over her shoulder at the younger woman. "Oh, to be young," she said more to herself than to the two men and continued to pat the table. “And that sister of hers... I --”.

“Okay, that’s enough,” George said. “it’s clean. Thanks, ma’am.” He looked over at Sam. “And we don’t need no more coffee or nothing. Just bring us the check.”

When she had gone, George said. “Dammit, Sam, I can’t have you getting all stiff over some chick and causing a scene that’ll get us noticed. You here me?” Sam looked at him stone-faced and nodded. “Alright. Good. And you’re lucky none of that got on my shirt. I like this shirt and I don’t need no damn coffee stains on it. Now go pay the bill and let’s get outta here.”

"Okay," Sam said flatly, sliding out of the booth.

The cash register was at the far end of the diner and Sam quickly realized that the young, dark haired waitress was talking with some customers at a table between him and it. He approached her slowly. As he moved closer he could see the booth was occupied by two teenage boys both of whom seemed to be competing for the waitresses attention. He saw how they glowed when she laughed at something they'd said and how they softened when she gently touched one and then the other on the shoulder. Suddenly he envied the boys in a way he’d never envied anyone. To be there before her. To listen to her. To look upon her. Her eyes. They’d caught him. In the brief moment he’d looked into them he’s seen... Seen what? Depth? Stillness? A knowing? Something very much like... Power.

Then, as he approached, he knew. She was aware of him. He could see that her attention was focused on the boys in the booth, but at the same time... Something... Somehow... He felt her watching him. Like some part of her stood apart from everything else and was focused on him. Only on him. Like he was all that mattered. Like he was important.

He remembered a vacation his family had taken to the gulf coast years before. He was five or six. The youngest, much younger than his brothers. He’d been the surprise, the late gift, the accident. His parents were sleeping beneath their large, blue and white beech umbrella and his brothers had run off - looking for girls or weed - and he was left alone. A group of girls about his age were building a sand castle not far from where his parents slept and he’d wondered over to them only the be forced back by taunts and tossed globs of wet sand. He tried building his own after that, but with no bucket or shovel a squat wet mound was all his could manage. Finally with nothing left to do, he leaned against his “castle” and stared out into the water. Wave upon wave upon wave rushed ashore, occasionally depositing stringy, black seaweed upon the beach. Wave upon wave. Others, children and adults, played in the shallow, foamy wash. Wave upon wave. Heat beat down upon him and he imagined the coolness of the water. Wave upon wave. The endless crashing of the rolling water. Wave upon wave. In...Out. In...Out. The ocean breathed before him. Wave upon wave. Calling to him. Wave upon wave. Wave upon wave. The blue depths. The mysterious place of birth. Wave upon wave. A homecoming. Wave upon wave. Wave upon wave. Wave upon wave.

When he reached the booth the waitress stepped to the side to let him by and the boy on the bench slid over to make room. He sat and stared up at her feeling the smile rise on his face. This was it, he knew. Finally. He looked away from her for a moment at the faces of his two companions and could see his own joy reflected in their eyes. What had he been thinking? There was no competition here. No battling for attention. There was no need. Here there was plenty.

The pendant swayed as she leaned in and softly spoke. The three of them listened drawing themselves closer to her. There were things that needed doing. There was purpose. Life was set and never more would there be question or doubt.

He noticed only briefly the blue lights flashing out the window and the men that came for George. He heard George swearing and calling a name he almost recognized. But just as soon as it began it was over and things went back to normal.