Audio Recording
Speaker: Cival Court
Today is Saturday and the time is 10:43 a.m. Location: my room. The first of many recordings. Coming back from camp on Friday afternoon, I learned that a new family appeared about two weeks ago right after I left for camp. Dad seemed excited because the husband, umm…Carson Yazzie, has prospective homeowners lined up for the new housing.
Mr. Yazzie applied and was immediately hired by McKirkley Realtors making his job occupation a realtor. This indicates he is the subject and a candidate for (pause) alienesse? (Rustling in the background) Today, I’m going to visit the Johns. They’ll have more information on the subject.
~end of recording
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
“Same day and the time is,” Cival said into the recorder as she checked the time on her watch, “1516.” Pausing, she looked around verifying her where she was, “Location: outside down Main Street near the coffee shop where the Johns play chess.” Finished with the primary information, Cival tucked the recorder into her sundress pocket. After all, she didn’t want to explain why she was recording the Johns’ answers. They would blab everything to everyone. She already caused enough problems for her family, she didn’t want to create more. Putting on a friendly smile, she skipped over to where the Johns were playing chess. Of course, Cival immediately want an iced coffee as she saw Quirke’s chai tea and Campbell’s coffee with cream, but the investigation was more important. “Hey, Johns! Who’s winning?” Cival said glancing at the chess board to see more black than white pieces on the board.
“Me,” said Campbell never breaking his concentration on the game.
“BS, you may have captured more men but you’re falling in my trap,” Quirke grumped glaring daggers at the plaid-wearing man across from him.
“What trap? You’re dying. Admit it,” Campbell retorted while moving his rook along the board and taking another pawn of Quirke’s. Upset on where the game was going, Quirke quickly made his move and gave his attention to Cival. The young girl was a lot more interesting than his old time friend who he stared at for many years. “So, what are you up to, kiddo?” he inquired.
Not needing to be subtle with the Johns, Cival got the root cause on why she ambled over to speak with them, “Nothing much. Just got back from camp and heard about the new family. What was their name again?”
“Oh! You’re talking about the Yazzies!” Campbell excitedly said breaking away from his campaign of destruction, “That Carson already has buyers snapping up those houses!”
“Ouch!” Quirke yelped when he received a hard punch on his arm from Campbell. Ignoring this, Campbell waved his hand in his face and continued, “Didn’t I tell you advertisement was the way to go? He came from the city and look what happened.”
“You didn’t have to hit me!” Quirke complained while rubbing his arm, “And besides, it doesn’t mean he is the one bringing the buyers. Could be just beginner’s luck.”
“Oh, put a cork in it. Not only is he pulling in buyers, his wife…” Campbell snapped his fingers trying to remember the lady’s name, “Viola has some connections.”
“Whatever,” Quirke rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Cival. Smiling like the mischievous old man that he was, Quirke leaned towards Cival. “Hey, Cival, interested in boys yet?” he asked.
“Oh,” Cival said awkwardly. Knowing Quirke was asking if she liked any of the local boys and not movie stars she had seen on the screen, Cival’s answer was vague, “A little.” She didn’t want admit publicly that she had no one locally in mind. Keeping it vague, Cival said, “A little?”
Quirke laughed knowing full well the girl was uncomfortable. He loved playing matchmaker. He said, “Well good. They have a son about your age. I hear he’s a looker.” Quirke glanced over to his pal and asked, “What’s his name?”
“Forgot. You know I’m not good with names unless I have a face to go with them,” Campbell answered.
Backing away, Cival held her hands up to defend herself, “Before things become more awkward, I’m going to go. See y’all later.”
“Ha,” Quirke grinned knowingly and waved goodbye, “Take care yourself, Cival!”
“Bye!” Cival said as she walked away. Once she was out of sight, she pulled out the recorder and shut it off. Grinning at her own success, she trotted down the street back home. The Johns were almost always a great source of information.
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
Audio Recording
Speaker: Cival Court
It’s Sunday and the time is 21:54. Location: my desk. I tried to find information on the internet but I didn’t find anything fundamental. The Yazzie name by itself is Native American. Kinda of feel sorry for the kids with a last name like that. Yatzhe! Nothing else which would mean nothing or everything.
On Monday, tomorrow, Mom is working. I’ll be staking out and observe the subject.
~end of recording
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
Carson smiled to himself, a proud artist showing his newest masterpiece to the world or rather the new family. This was the fourth house he sold to his friends and comrades, Carson pretty much had the procedure down to an art. He took in the family’s tastes and created a home they could love.
He made the foreignness of a new home into something that his peers would feel familiar with. In reality, Carson wasn’t a miracle worker. The current housing’s floors were quite strange to their previous establishments but he believed the new homeowners will fall in love with the wood-like floors. If not, rugs cover up well.
Checking the time, Carson realized he had time before the eleven o’clock furniture delivery. Any decorations not requiring furniture were already on display. Everything else was tucked away in the garage waiting for him and the delivery truck.
Needing to do something other than clean or rearrange for the umpteenth time, Carson stepped outside to use his cell since there was no reception inside the home. As soon as his feet left the threshold, he pressed speed dial and placed the phone to his ear.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Stage Left Agency, this is Heather. How can I entertain you today?” said a perky voice.
“Yes, I’m Carson Yazzie. I wanted to confirm the actors I hired for tomorrow.”
“No problem, Mr. Yazzie. Please hold for a moment while I pull up your account.”
With Chopin whispering in his ear, Carson surveyed the barren yard. One of the reasons he was chosen to be the liaison for his community was because he had the talent for interior decorating, but he rarely was able to extend it to exterior. His wife had that talent though which was the reason he claimed her. When thinking of her, her masterpiece, Garden of Flight, appeared before her face. It was that garden that made him seek out a previously unknown person. It was that garden that made him fall in love with a complete stranger. It was that garden that caused him to keep her away from his work. He didn’t want to share her gifts. Only those that she thought fondly of, family friends, are the one should be given such exordinary art.
Still, he needed to do something with the lawn. There was nothing but newly planted grass. The closest shrubbery was across the street in a field. Carson glared at it for sprouting on the wrong side of the street, and the bush seemed to shiver in guilt. Knowing that wasn’t possible, Carson became curious to why it was moving with no wind. He sauntered over to investigate but stopped in his path when he heard a strong male voice say, “Mr. Yazzie?”
“Yes?”
“This is Michael Holmstrom. The actors that I mentioned will be there tomorrow.”
“Oh, good. They know what to expect and do?”
“Yes, but if you want, I can tell them to meet you beforehand.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I don’t want to see them before,” Carson said while thinking he didn’t want them to meet each other either, “I wouldn’t act natural when it came time.”
Holmstrom laughed, “Alright, Mr. Yazzie. The first group will appear at eight-fifty and the rest will sporadically arrive throughout the day.”
“Good. I may want the same actors or new ones for the next open house. I haven’t decided.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Yazzie. We have varieties of actors for your entertaining needs.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Yazzie,” the speaker said with polite formality.
Ending the call, Carson turned back around, forgetting about the guilty shrub. Contemplating the yard, he reminded himself that first impressions are always important. He didn’t want to get sloppy. Deciding quickly, he called the landscaper who helped with the other three houses. Not only will the buyers, actors and everyone else fall in love with it, but they will see the possibilities of what the place could become.
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
Slathering on sunscreen for the second time, Cival hid behind overgrown bushes in the field across from her target. Upon waking up that morning, Cival had a game plan on finding the subject. It didn’t take much effort on her part. All she had to do was stroll into McKirkley Realtors acting spry to the extreme and ask how many houses the McKirklies managed to sell.
Mrs. McKirkley, manning the main office, happily talked about the godsend, Carson Yazzie. She spilled everything she knew about him and his family on where they lived, what he ate and wore, and houses he sold and currently selling. Cival never had to mention Yazzie at all.
Unfortunately for her skin, she couldn’t walk up to him the same way she did with Mrs. McKirkley. Aliens in hiding needed a different approach. Blurting out “Alien!” wasn’t going to get her far in retrieving the crucial evidence. Making a snap decision, Cival made a quick stop at her home for supplies to survive a day under a hot blazing sun. She knew a great spot to spy on the subject, a field with overgrown weeds and bushes across from where he was preparing for an open house.
Cival would watch for now while talking into her recorder on all of his actions. If anyone would ask, she’ll lie and say she wanted to learn more on realtors and how they operate. “People always act differently when unobserved,” would be her closing argument. She planned on not getting caught though.
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
After directing and setting up the furniture, Carson went around putting up the rest of the decorations. Time flew by and it took a knock at the door to break his tempo. Answering it quickly, Carson found a short stocky man standing on the porch. His sun-kissed wilting black hair laid on his dark tanned forehead and neck. Seeing the wheels turning through his brown eyes, Carson knew he made the right choice in calling Joseph Moreno. “You’re here, good. So, what do you think, Joe? What can you do?”
"I looked at it and I think you should go with potted plants for now."
"Potted?"
"Yeah, the place doesn't have flower beds and if you want it done quick, potted is the way to go. Also, it can be undone just as quick if the new owners don’t like it."
"Alright, I trust you. Just do what you think is best and ---"
"Aaahhhhh!"
Both men heard the scream from the field and saw a girl leap out of the bushes. A streak of orange fur followed her, and she scrambled away, all the while, struggling to keep a hold of her things and protect her skin from the cat.
Joe laughed, "You don't see that every day."
Carson smile, "No, but I wonder what she was doing there."
"Who knows? That was Cival Court, odd ball of sorts, so probably she is searching for who knows what."
"Right. Back to business. Do whatever you think is best. The new homeowners may even keep the plants and I'll refer you to them."
"Good. I hope this place sells. We need new business desperately."
"It will. I have contacts everywhere across the states that are looking to get away from the city. Wolville is perfect for that."
"I better go. I'll setup the plants and water 'em tomorrow morn."
"Thanks."
Joe got in his truck and left. Before going back inside, Carson looked at the field one last time. Fear crawled into his heart as he remembered the movement in the bushes earlier that day. The girl wasn't looking for something for that long, surely?
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
Cival slammed the front door shut and leaned against it as she caught her breath. The demon cat from Hell tore her up real good and it had taken less than a minute. Luckily, she now was home and safe. Pushing off the door, Cival made her way to the downstairs bathroom for the first aid kit. She dropped her backpack on the living room couch as she went by, not wanting to drag the heavy thing any further.
After cleaning and disinfecting her wounds, Cival flopped down on the couch and pulled her bag onto her lap. Wanting to listen to the recorder, she rummaged through the pack searching for it. Not finding it, she dumped the entire contents onto the coffee table in front of her. She padded the bag down making sure there was nothing else and began rifling through the scattered items on the table. After a few minutes, Cival admitted defeat. It wasn’t there. She lost the recorder.
~ \ ~ ~ \ ~
Audio Recording
Speaker: Cival Court
Today is Monday and the time is 0843. Location: the field. From what Mrs. McKirkley told me, supposedly at o-seven hundred, Carson arrived at the house from his home three houses down. The subject is wearing a suit, all the same color. I think the word is monochrome? It is his favorite style apparently. From here, all I can tell is that his hair is black, a stylish shaggy haircut. His skin is an olive brown. It's kind of a mix of Native American and Indian. Maybe?
0915: Carson stepped out to make a call. Ewww, there's a dead bird. Gross. Oh, crap! He's coming over. Wait, he stopped, started talking into the phone. Finishes and turns around facing the house. Makes another call, goes back in. I should have brought my homework.
1101: Moving truck parks in front blocking my view. Movers unload bunch of furniture. Three beds, sofa, chair, tables, more. It's almost like someone is already moving in.
1220: Movers leave. I don't see the subject anywhere. Must be inside.
1505: Joseph Cooper comes by and looks at the yard. Takes some measurements and knocks on door. Subject answers and steps outside. They talk some. Man, I wish I could he-- Aaahhh!
(Crashing and a cat's yowl can be heard then feet are heard slowly fading away. A man's loud laugh is heard. A few minutes have passed by when a truck's door is opened and slammed shut. The engine is turned on and truck drives away. Next, a door closes leaving only the noise of birds and cicadas to be heard for an hour. Next thing that could be distinguished was a pair of feet shuffling closer and closer. They stop. Noise becomes muffled.)
~~ending of recording