Overhill and Dale By: Terry D. Scheerer


Overhill and Dale
By: Terry D. Scheerer

The well dressed woman stopped in front of the office door and gently tapped her front teeth with the highly lacquered, bright red nail of her right index finger. Tall, slim and still quite attractive in her late forties, the one flaw in her features was a pair of short, permanent frown lines, which ran vertically down between her eyes, while another set curled down from each corner of her mouth. They gave the impression that she was always somewhat dissatisfied with life.

She turned and looked down the obviously neglected hallway of the old office building and wondered again if this were the right thing for her to be doing. Several friends had assured her if she really wanted to find her ex-husband, that this was the place to get results, but she still had her doubts. The shabby building in this run down area of the city did nothing to instill confidence that these people would be able to do her any service.

Turning back to the door, the upper half of which was frosted glass, she read again the black lettered, gilt-edged words that were printed on the glass.

Dale and Overhill
Dimensional Time-Frame

The painted letters were cracked with age and the gilt paint had flaked off in a number of places, adding to the aura of neglect the whole building embodied. But, she had been told that these detectives were the only ones in the country who might be able to help her with her quest and she was, unfortunately, desperate enough at this point to try almost anything, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. She was still not exactly sure what a 'Dimensional Time-Frame Investigator' was, but considering her options, she realized that she had little choice in the matter. Her ex-husband had disappeared and if the rumors regarding his whereabouts were correct, the persons behind this door were her only hope of locating Jake again.

Making her decision, she straightened her shoulders, pulled the fur collar of her expensive coat more closely around her neck, settled her small clutch purse more firmly under her left arm, then reached for the tarnished doorknob. The knob was loose in the door and she had to rattle it about somewhat, before it would turn completely, but turn it eventually did and holding her head high, she pushed open the door. To her surprise, the door only opened about halfway before it banged up against an unseen obstacle on the other side and came to an abrupt halt, nearly causing her to bump her head on the door frame.

Cursing silently, she pushed against the jammed door, but it would open no farther, so she cautiously poked her head into the room around the partially opened door. Inside the small, crowded room two metal desks sat facing each other--against the side of one of them the half opened door now pressed--and a pair of four drawer, metal file cabinets stood beside each desk against the far wall. The cabinets and the desks were of the same, dull, faded grey color and appeared to be of military surplus origin. There was a narrow path between the two desks that led to another door in the far wall. The dingy room held not a single aspect of color or warmth, the walls being covered in a faded and in some places peeling coat of nondescript tan paint, which may also have once been military surplus. Behind the desks, hands folded serenely in front of them and each smiling peacefully up at her, sat apparently, Dale and Overhill.

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About the Author

A published writer since 2001, along with his work which has appeared in "The World of Myth," Terry D. Scheerer's short stories have appeared in such magazines as, "Dragonlaugh" and "Sword's Edge," and a book of his collected poetry and short stories was published by Gateway Press in August, 2005. Mr. Scheerer continues to work as an Editor and writer (as health permits) on a number of ongoing projects.
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