Rewriting Singularity Ch. 15

I woke around four to take a piss. The pipes were bang, bang, banging our song. Most of the alcohol was out of me, my head pounded from my New Year's over indulgence with every clang of the pipes. I opened the medicine cabinet and popped a couple of aspirin into my mouth and cupped water from my hand to wash them down. I closed the medicine cabinet and bloodshot eyes stared back. One twitched back at me. Shit. The pipes were working up to a crescendo, and this time there was an accompaniment: A loud rattle of boards. I wondered, was that Henry?

"Henry?! Hello, Henry!" I whispered loud enough for a ghost to hear, but quiet enough so as not to disturb Hec from his beauty rest. "You've been shy lately. Come out, come out wherever you are!"

I don't believe I'm talking to a ghost, I thought to myself as I sat down on the edge of the tub. "You know," I said to Henry, clearing my throat, "I'm looking for him-- looking for Johann. I think they may have found him."

The banging and rattling ceased. The house stilled, listening. The bathroom suddenly became moist, clammy-- my eyes out of focus, in a mist. The hairs on my arm came alive. Hot and cold. The room defied scientific laws. I seriously began to wonder if I was still drunk or maybe dreaming as I heard the unmistakable squeak of a finger on glass. The fog in my head and around me cleared. Every breath I took was visible. It was then that I noticed the mirror on the medicine cabinet all steamed up. I inched off the edge of the tub. Took one halting step to the sink.

Writing. There on the mirror. I stepped closer. It read--

Help him.

"Help me," I whispered. "I'm communicating with the dead."

---------------------

Hec bent over, bare-assed. What a beautiful view.

I rubbed the water out of my hair with a towel, observing true art.

We were back in Hec's room. All my things, his things, were there. And Pete. We had to get dressed sometime. I'd already told him about my run-in with Henry last night. He didn't seem surprised.

"Where's my purple shirt?" he asked. "The striped one."

Had to be a rhetorical question. I sure as shit wouldn't wear that shirt.

I blinked. I didn't think it was possible-- he bent over more. I couldn't resist-- I swatted him on the ass with my towel.

"Stop that!"

I swatted him again.

"Your gay-nus is showing," I teased.

"What?! What the hell is a gay-nus?"

"Double interpretation. First meaning: a welcoming puckered hole inviting entry. Second meaning: men who pine over tight, purple striped shirts."

"That's not funny."

"Yeah, it is." I sat on the bed, pulling on my Levis. "I'm hungry. Need sustenance."

"I'm naked. Need clothes."

"Ha, ha."

"Just a minute. I'll wear this shirt instead."

"Um, flannel. A new look." I raised one eyebrow.

"Well, fuck. A least it's not gay-looking."

"Well, you need something to pull the look together. While I enjoy that pantless look, others may see your new look as something akin to wearing assless chaps, which is gay-nus definition number three by the way. Put on those jeans. Yeah-- now you look manly. You're a manly-man. Too bad I'm hungry for real food or I'd eat you right now."

"What do you want for breakfast?" He picked my wet towel up off the bed and threw it at me. "Ghost-toasties?"

"Now that was an old joke," I said, pulling my t-shirt on over my head. "Can't you think of something more original?"

"At least I'm not resorting to asshole jokes." Hec smirked. "Gay-nus. That is pretty good."

"Have to write it into the script."

"They'd say that on TV?"

"Don't know. But you always have to put stuff like that in-- test the limits-- it's expected."

We headed down to the kitchen.

"So when are we supposed to meet these detectives?" Hec asked.

Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore.

I hesitated. "As soon as they locate Johann's plot and talk to relatives. Should be soon." Part of the truth. I omitted the rest. What was really taking all the time was locating his parents. I needed to call Linden and Jorge, but I didn't feel right discussing that here, in their home. We planned to go back into town tomorrow. I figured I'd call Linden and Jorge then.

"I'd like to talk to them."

"Sure," I said. "I'll call them later." Shit. But at least they knew I was doing this behind Hec's back and wouldn't say anything to him.

I had cereal. Hec had oatmeal. Kate and Chas were still in bed. Guess we weren't the only ones who had a late night.

"Snowed early this morning," Hec said, looking out the window as he rinsed out his bowl. "I'll need to shovel. Want to give me a hand?"

"Sure."

"When does their office open back up?" Hec asked, turning to me.

"They're open today." I kicked myself. Why'd I go and tell Hec that?

"That's weird."

"Not really when you think of it. All sorts of investigating to do on New Year's Eve-- Linden complained to me once-- more like twice-- that they never get holidays off like every one else and even the day after they always work cleaning up loose ends."

"Why don't we give those detectives a call right now, before we get started."

"Sure." I was full of sures. What the hell?

We went to the phone in the hallway, and I dialed thinking, please don't be there, please don't be there.

Second ring: "Linden and Domingo Investigating, Incorporated. Connie speaking. How may I help you."

"Hi, Connie. This is Jake. Are either Linden or Jorge around?"

"Well, Mr. Domingo is out of the office, but Linden can take your call. I think he's expecting you."

"Ok, I'll hold."

I put my hand over the mouthpiece. "I'm on hold," I said to Hec. "Linden's there."

I waited only a moment before I heard Linden's voice. He still sounded like a kid to me on the phone. I could never get over how someone so harmless-looking could turn into a pint-sized Mike Hammer. "Hey, Jake?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Hi. Checking on the progress on locating Johann and his family."

"Well, we found Johann and a few of relatives," Linden said. I could hear the click, click, click of a keyboard on the other end. "Closest one's his brother's great grandson. Frankly, I didn't expect him to know much about this Johann so I was surprised to find out that this fellow did."

"You don't say."

"Yeah, I don't say. Speaking of which, did you tell him?"

"No."

"And he's standing right there?"

"Yes."

"So you can't talk?"

I didn't answer.

"So, that's a no then. Well, I'll stick to telling you what I found out about Johann Galle-- which is a hell of a lot more than I thought I'd dig up on a dead man. I confirmed most of what you told me about Henry Lester through records. I don't have much to add to that, but Johann-- he was a bit of a celebrity. Did you know that? He was an astronomer who wrote some pretty heady stuff. This relative I talked to, Ralph Galle, has pictures-- lots of them-- with Johann Galle and famous people-- Walt Whitman, John Muir, Elizabeth Stanton. And get this-- even though he was a scientist, he dabbled in the Kabala."

"Did this Ralph know about Henry?"

"Well, he didn't come out and say it, until I pushed-- but yes-- the family knew, but after Galle became ill, Ralph said, he had a woman in his life."

"What?"

"They got married."

"Oh, hell."

"Pardon me, Jake," Linden said, "but you're taking this hard for a person looking into a man who's been dead over a hundred years."

I looked over at Hec. "He said that Johann got married."

"Seems like he'd have written it in one of his journals," I said for both Hec and Linden to hear. There wasn't a hint of that in Johann's journals. It doesn't make sense.

"Were there other journals?" Linden asked. "Check. Look at the dates, check for any gaps."

"I'll do that."

"There's more," Linden continued, "and it gets better. From what this Ralph Galle told me, the marriage wasn't really a marriage. Ralph Galle was said the family was arguing about Johann's estate before Johann died. Ralph said that he married this woman and made a deal with her-- that way he could pass his estate on without a fight. She was much, much older than Johann and died two years after he did. It wasn't hard to find records on her. He left everything to her, and she left everything to-- get this-- Henry Lester. I guess Johann had plenty. Jorge is going to talk to someone in the Lester family today."

"What was the woman's name that he married?"

"Liebowitz," Linden said. "Her name was Emily Liebowitz."

I nodded.

"Thanks, Linden."

"Don't mention it."

"Talk to you later."

"One more thing-- regarding your idea that the spirit of Henry can't rest until his remains are with Johann's. According to Ralph Galle, they already are. Johann Galle was cremated. His wife gave his ashes to Henry Lester after the funeral."

"This Ralph Galle is sure about this?"

"Positive. He said he's sure because that was the other reason why Johann Galle married Emily Liebowitz: Johann Galle knew she would give his ashes to Lester, and his family, his father in particular, would never do it."

"So how do I help him?"

"You're starting to weird me out here, Jake. You're talking to spirits now?"

"Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but Henry told me, um, to help him. I thought the 'him' he was referring to was Johann."

"I've heard stranger things, I guess." Linden paused. I heard more keyboard clicking. "Maybe he was never buried with the ashes. Did this Hec you're dating find any jars or boxes with ashes lying around when he was cleaning?"

"Har, har. No."

"Well, put on your thinking cap, Jake old boy. The mystery continues. I'll continue investigating on my end. On everything. And Jake? You need to call me again soon. And I know it's none of my business, but I'm going to say it anyway: Tell Hec. Believe me. You have to."

"I will. Soon."

"Soon."

I hung up the phone.

I should have told Hec then. But I didn't; we had seven inches of snow to shovel.

-------------------

Two days after the New Year's big snow, a lull came. Hec decided if we were going to make it to civilization again, we'd better go immediately, or there might not be a chance until early the next week. A new storm front was headed our way, and he wanted to make it to the city and back before it hit.

We took off with a tank full of gas, a lengthy grocery list from Kate and two presents to return. Hec told me that we were entering cell service hell, one bar maybe, and to dress in layers just in case something happened on the icy way home-- not that anything would, but he said winter travelers should always take precautions. I got a thirty minute lecture, by the end of which I was referring to him as Professor Lodge. He had an emergency kit in the truck-- in case we got stranded-- with candles, coffee can, down sleeping bags, flares and matches (in ziplock baggies, of course). I did what he asked, dressed the part-- I borrowed a pair of Hec's long johns, donned my old sweat-shirt, confiscated two of his thick flannel shirts, slung on my grey sweats pants, then stepped into these baggy jeans (that Hec had from years ago) and just before going out the door slipped on a big old fur-lined winter parka. I had two extra pairs of gloves stuffed in the pockets, black wool scarf wrapped around my neck and the god-ugliest stocking hat I'd ever seen on my head.

I swear I felt like the Mummy. Walked like one, that's for sure.

The ride there was uneventful except that we had to roll down the windows to keep from over-heating, and I still was sweating like Drew Carey on a Nordic Track. I wondered if it would have been better just to bring the extra clothes instead of actually wearing them, but Professor Lodge insisted.

Hec took the scenic route instead of Highway 57. We got to our destination, and I helped Hec out with Kate's groceries, then said I need to pick up something at Walgreen's. Hec needed to return Char's gifts and that was good for making excuses to bug out-- I don't do Victoria's Secret.

I called Linden from my cell outside the doors at Walgreen's. Too hot inside.

Connie put him on right away.

"Hoping you'd call me back sooner than this," he said. Good connection. Heard him clear.

"This is the first chance I got," I said.

"So you haven't told him yet."

"I know." I kicked a chunk of ice off the walk. "Well, don't need a lecture. I will, just, I wanted to know what I was up against. Listen, I might not have much time. What did you find out?"

"More like what we didn't find."

"Huh?"

"We found nothing for a Hec, Kathryn or Charlotte Lodge. No parents Hamilton Roger or Eleanor Ruth either. Nothing. No birth records, driver's licenses, car registrations, marriage certificates. Nothing matching the descriptions and information you gave. We started looking into the ideas that maybe they weren't US citizens or that Lodge isn't their last name. "

"Maybe it's the spelling."

"Checked every spelling. Not many similar. Came up with nothing. Then--" I heard Linden shuffling papers on his desk.

"Spill." I stomped my feet. Damn wool socks itched.

"Right after I talked to you last, Jorge called me. Talk about Twilight Zone moments...or Beyond Belief...this is more than just coincidence. Jorge did some more digging into old local archives, newspapers, property transfers, only this time looking for information on Emily Leibowitz, Johann's wife. He found her, but he also stumbled on something else regarding the Leibowitz family-- in 1995 a rabbi named Hamilton Leibowitz embezzled almost a million dollars from his synagogue's trust fund by diverting the funds into foreign accounts. No one knew until the couple disappeared and left their three children behind."

"Three children," I repeated.

"Two girls and a boy."

"Oh, shit," I said.

"Same first names."

"It's them." Then it hit me-- "Wait. Hec is Jewish?"

"Ah, yes. So am I." He laughed. "We don't bite or anything. Not hard anyway."

"That's not what I mean. It's just that I just celebrated Christmas with all the trimmings with his family."

"Believe or not some of us do celebrate Christmas as a secular holiday. And don't they run an Inn? Sounds like good business to me. Deck the Halls, and all that."

"Forget I mentioned it."

"Oh, I'll never forget that you said it. I'll wait and bring it up to embarrass you when you least expect it."

"Thanks."

"About his parents," Linden said. "Plenty of people have looked for them. We'll do it too. At least now that I've got names and at least some information to go on. I just want to hear it from you-- that you want to continue."

I watched the dark clouds gathering out of the southwest. The other storm was on its way and coming fast.

"Hold off," I said. "I'll talk to Hec."

"At last," Linden said. "The voice of sanity."

------------------------

He had to have a social security number to get a driver's license. He had valid license plates. And I needed some kind of confirmation.

Asking questions was out of the question. Snooping was something I was never good at. I knew I shouldn't, but I had to know. I raced back to the truck from Walgreen's, beating Hec. Part of me felt a bit disappointed he wasn't there, so I wouldn't be tempted to do it. I climbed in and sat for a few moments, eyes ahead. I swung my head left, right, in back. Nowhere in sight. I leaned over and popped open the glove compartment. I pulled out empty cigarette packs, candy wrappers, an old comb, miscellaneous papers. I rifled through them. There had to be something. There it was-- guilt and anxiety churned in my gut and the thrill of getting caught pounded in my chest--

I found the proof of insurance in the name of Kathryn Leibowitz as it started to snow.

-----------------

A blizzard started in about two miles from home, and the wind tossed the truck around like some angry giant. Visibility was reduced to the hand in front of your face. Hec knew the old road by heart, and he pressed on-- the truck moving at a crawl.

Me? I was all nervous partly from the ride and partly from what I just found out. I knew I had to come clean to find out what the hell was up with Hec. My heart pounded in time with the wiper blades.

Yes, I know it's a cliché line, but I had to say it: "I have a confession to make."

Hec flicked his eyes over at me, frowned and said, "Yeah?"

I blew into my hands, looking into the white mess ahead. "I did it."

"You did what?"

"I did what you asked me not to do."

I didn't even have to say what-- he just nodded, jaw set. Not sure why. Could be me. Could be the road. Could be the truth.

"I know," I plunged in, "you told me not to, and I meant what I said and I said what I meant but..."

"Jake Grey's not loyal 100 percent? Shit, that's almost as bad as Michael Myers' Cat in the Hat."

"That's Horton Hears a Who. Hello?! That's Jim Carrey! Don't even confuse the two. Don't you know your Dr. Seuss or comedians?"

Hec just looked over at me, frowned then scratched his arm and said, "I know." I noticed he did that when he was nervous. Mosquito bite nerves. At that moment Hec scratched like he just got bit. "I'm loyal. Just 99.9 percent, ok?" Of course I had to ask the itchy question too: "Know what? About Dr. Seuss or that I asked the private dicks to check out your parents?"

"Both."

I scratched my chin. Now he's Itchy, and I'm Scratchy. "You know what I learned?"

"Yeah." He frowned. "Nothing."

"Zero, nothing, nada?"

"That right?"

"No, actually." The snow was letting up a bit but my itch wasn't. I was nervous now. The whole thing had turned from me to him. "I told you the investigators were good. What I don't get is that you're not surprised. Who took the F out of flabbergasted? Hec Lodge? Oh, wait-- not Lodge is it? Is it Lilyhammer? Lima Bean? Lincoln Logs? Or maybe Liebowitz?"

He bit his lip. Wipers flip-flopped, snow crunched under the tires, but he didn't say a thing-- just white-knuckled the wheel.

"So, explain," I said.

"I knew this was coming since before New Year," he said under his breath.

"That explains part of your falling-down-drunk-and-puking state," I sighed. "Well, if you knew it was coming, you should have a lot of practice explaining this to me in your head. Say it aloud: I need to hear it."

"I know."

Our eyes watched the road through the tunnel of snow ahead instead of each other-- like we were searching the swirling flakes for the meaning of life. I guess it was part disappointment in each other and part desperation to be what the other wanted-- our bare hands came together at the same time, and we clutch them tight. Still staring ahead I asked, voice breaking, "Why the big secret? Why didn't you tell me?" I snuck a look at his grim, handsome profile and waited patiently for his answer. With one hand still on the wheel, he slowed the truck and turned. The tires spun a little, but he never lost control. Through the swirl of snow, I made out the house. We were home. He braked again; the truck idled to a stop, but neither of us got out. I worried my thumb against his hand as I waited for him to speak.

He turned to me, eyes fixed on mine. "It's not just my decision to make," he said. "I planned to tell you-- someday."

Our hands separated.

"Someday." I knew I shouldn't be getting self-righteous, but shit, sometimes the best defense is to go on the offense. And what better way than to make light of a situation. So I hammed it up. "Well, Halleluiah! Guess what?! Someday has arrived! Risen from the dead! Say hello to Someday!"

Enter Mr. Hand Puppet aka Mr. Someday. Well, two could change names. If Hec could, so could Mr. Hand Puppet.