by RP Halliway
That was only mildly reassuring. “We’re supposed to meet him tomorrow for breakfast. Should we stay? Or should we just get away?”
“I’ve never heard anything from anyone about him being a danger,” Roger said. “I think you’re fine. And if you want to get the answers you seek to find, you may have to put yourself in situations that feel a bit . . . unusual. You know, out of your comfort zone.”
As far as Silas was concerned, everything since he’d seen Evie’s face in his dream had put him out of his comfort zone.
“Thanks, I guess,” Evie said. She knew Roger was right.
“You are very welcome,” Roger said. “And make sure to report back to me.”
“Oh,” Silas jumped in, “Postice was a bit ‘disappointed’—his words—because Evie and I don’t have backgrounds in science, apparently. Postice was hoping for a detailed update on your thesis.”
Roger laughed at the thought. “You can explain what you understand.”
“Honestly, I don’t think I understand much of it right now.”
“And I understand some,” Evie said, “but definitely not all of it.”
“Do your best. And if Postice wants more, that is good news for me. That sounds like job security!”
She hadn’t even set her phone down when it rang again.
“Oh, hi, Chris,” Evie said. “Everything seems to be going well so far. We are almost at the hotel. Yes! Two rooms! I’ll call you back when we get settled.” Evie hung up as the hotel marker appeared on the GPS.
Chapter 17
Silas opened the door to his room at the Plaza. “This is what it’s like to have money? I could get used to this.” He walked to the bed and fell backwards on it, sinking into the soft mattress and covers.
“I don’t think I’d want to,” Evie said, surveying his room. “Too much extravagance for me.”
“Will you be requiring room service?” the bellhop asked.
“Not in my budget,” Silas said.
“Oh, everything is covered,” the bellhop said, keeping the same passive expression on his face. “All room amenities are covered during your stay.”
“Understood,” Silas said. “Thanks, but nothing for me tonight.”
“I’ll take a look at the menu,” Evie said, as the bellhop carried her bag toward her room. “I could eat.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
“See you in the morning,” Evie told Silas.
“See you,” Silas said, suddenly feeling very tired from the long drive and day’s events. In the few moments between falling into the bed and hearing the door close, his eyes shut and he fell into a deep sleep.
***
Silas rolled out of the bed, after unsuccessfully trying to crawl out of it. He’d slept like a rock. He rummaged in his suitcase for a change of clothes. Noticing his last set of clean clothes, he made a mental note to do laundry at some point.
Silas showered and dressed, and shortly after eight-fifteen, Evie knocked on his door. “Almost ready?” she asked.
“Yep. All set. I need to do laundry at some point, though.”
“Luckily, the hotel offers laundry services,” she said.
“Like they do my laundry for me? I don’t feel comfortable having the hotel do my laundry.”
She shrugged. “Well, to get laundry service, just use the bag in the closet.” She motioned toward the large closet in the room.
***
Silas pulled into Postice’s driveway shortly after nine AM. The morning sun made it easier to see the estate. The veranda couldn’t be seen when parked at the front of the house, but was briefly visible on the drive into the small patch of trees.
“I think I saw him,” Evie said, pointing toward the veranda.
“Most likely an early riser.”
“Probably. He doesn’t seem the type to waste a minute of his life.”
They parked and walked up the concrete steps.
Postice greeted them from the corner of the veranda. “Welcome. I took the liberty of placing breakfast out here.”
“Thank you, and good morning,” Silas said as they walked across to the veranda to greet the old man.
“Take a seat and eat.” Postice waved the cane toward the chairs, but raising it up only a few inches, displaying much less energy than last evening. Silas hoped this meant that the old man wasn’t as angry as before.
Evie grabbed some toast and jam and Silas took a small plate with a poached egg on it, along with a small spoon.
“Eat up,” Postice said. “Don’t be shy. Make yourselves at home.”
Silas shot a look to Evie, and Postice intercepted it.
“You have to forgive me for yesterday,” the old man began softly. “I was angry, and tired, and surprised, and I took it out on you. Madsad if you will.”
“You did sort of scare us,” Silas said, meeting Postice’s stare.
“I had no intention of such things,” Postice said, his gruff face turning more neutral. “In fact, I was looking forward to your visit with great interest. The longer I waited the more disappointed I became. But it’s no excuse for how I acted.”
“We should have phoned you sooner,” Evie said.
“It’s my fault,” Silas said. “There was this history museum—”
“Oh!” Postice actually laughed. “The tourist trap?”
“It was way better than we expected. The display is truly remarkable.”
“Interesting. I might have to make it there myself someday.”
“If you are interested in history, especially Civil War, take the extended tour,” Silas said. Somehow the mundane topic helped them get more comfortable with the old man.
Postice let the couple eat their breakfast without rushing them, even though Silas could tell he had many questions that needed answers.
“I Moved here for this view,” Postice said softly, not to anyone in particular.
Evie noticed the cane wanting desperately to point, but Postice kept it still.
“Nothing beats an early morning coffee out here,” he said.
“It is beautiful,” Evie said. “Your flowers are very pretty.” She looked at the yard with the very colorful plants in a small garden planted in the middle.
“My wife . . .” Postice paused, seeming to want to change the subject immediately. “I must hear your story!”
“The dream?” Silas asked, somewhat hesitant to draw out the man’s anger again.
“Yes. The dream!”
“Well, it started with me,” Silas said. “I dreamt of a face. But it wasn’t just a dream, it felt different. The image of the face didn’t—and wouldn’t—fade like dreams normally do. It stayed as clear as day—and it feels clear even right now. It felt so weird, important, that I felt I had to do something. So I went to an art studio and made a computer image of the face. And then I decided to try to find who it was. Long story short, it was Evie.”
Evie smiled at the story, gauging the reaction of the old man.
“I see.” Postice took it all in without further comment, seemingly waiting for more.
“After Silas endured a flurry of online harassment, we started chatting,” Evie picked up the story after Silas’ pause. “We talked for a couple days just randomly, and one day it seemed we both had the same dream the previous night.”
“Another dream?” Postice said, his voice rising up an octave. The cane producing a loud rubbery boom in the calm morning quiet.
“Yes,” Evie answered, somewhat shaken by the outburst.
“This time, we both saw a building with children, and something about reclaimed memories,” Silas said, taking over the explaining of the dream. “After we did some research we figured out it was Dr. Andrews in Virginia.”
“Dr. Andrews . . .” Postice said, shaking his head, almost disappointed to hear the
name. “And what was the dream?”
“It was a bunch of children being studied,” Evie said, sitting up straight now. “Running around, and a name—Timmy. A lot of conversations, but mostly all ending up with the name Timmy, and Robert also.”
“Leading you to Virginia?” Postice asked, making mental notes.
“Yes,” Silas said with an uneasy laugh. “We thought it was crazy! Crazy for Evie to fly from California to Ohio, and then for us to drive to Virginia, without any purpose other than to try to track down this dream.”
“And you met Andrews?” Postice continued his probing.
“We did,” Evie said. “And we met Timmy. He was experiencing the memories of a 90 year old man who died near the mid 1900s.”
“Was this the dream Timmy?”
“Yes,” Evie said. “Almost exactly like he was in the dream.”
“And during the tour we found the file of Robert,” Silas said, “and he was ‘separated’ from the program when he was eight because the memories faded and he couldn’t even remember that he’d had them.”
“Interesting.”
“Evie and I got a good tour of Dr. Andrews’ lab,” Silas said, “and what they were trying to do. But their work was to document the stories more than to ‘explain’ how it was working, or why. That’s when Dr. Andrews suggested that we talk to Roger.”
“Roger,” Postice repeated. The name sounded thick on his tongue.
“So we got his information, and went over to meet him.”
“And you learned of his thesis?” Postice asked, his gruff demeanor betrayed by the curiosity showing on his face.
“We were told most of the details, I think,” Silas said. “But it was a lot. I’m still confused thinking about everything.”
Postice paused for a moment, then raised the cane toward Silas “What’s missing?”
“What do you mean?” Silas asked, a bit nervous at the directness of the question.
“There is something missing! You don’t have all the information you need. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” Postice looked between Evie and Silas.
Images from the dream slowly filtered through Silas’ mind. Evie’s face. The lab. And . . . Silas’ eyes went wide. “The artifacts!”
“Yes, the artifacts! In the first dream, Silas and I are standing at some kind of archaeological dig, and artifacts are dug up. Cylinders, and they seem to match Roger’s cylinder idea. Three cylinders total, and some sort of holder for two of them.”
“And an etching of something.” Silas said. “I was so focused on Evie’s face and the lab that I totally forgot that part.” But how could he have forgotten? Now it seemed so important, the last missing piece of the dream.
“You both had the same dream about these artifacts?” Postice asked, shifting his stare between Silas and Evie.
“Yes,” they both said. “Very similar parts.”
“Dreams . . .” Postice trailed off, the old man growing silent and very still. “What else do you remember?”
Details began filling back in for Evie. “There were two distinct details in the dream. One was the mention of the ‘ancients,’ and the other was the three of something, the cylinders.”
“Three of something . . .” Postice repeated. Then the old man muttered and slammed his cane on the ground “Alfred!” he shouted loudly into the house.
A young man appeared through the double doors of the veranda. “Good morning, sir.”
“Alfred! Take the details from this young couple and do a search.” Postice rose slowly, using the cane to steady himself. “I am going to take a little stroll.”
“Very good sir. Do you need anything?”
“No thank you, Alfred,” Postice replied softly, somewhat surprising all of the younger people, “I will just do a little stroll.” He walked through the double doors and across the interior room, the cane echoing softly with his departure.
Alfred exited the veranda and shortly returned to Evie and Silas after retrieved a small tablet. “You have some details that need to be searched?”
“I guess?” Silas said.
Alfred held the stylus over the tablet at the ready. “Fire away.”
“Well, Alfred, I think we’re looking for a historical dig site,” Silas said. “Like the kind you see on archaeology shows.”
“My name is actually Jeremy,” Alfred said with a small laugh. “And Wentworth is actually ‘Stan.’”
“What?” Evie said. “How can he get the names so wrong?”
Alfred continued his smile. “He doesn’t get the names wrong—he chooses to use these ‘wrong’ names. Apparently Wentworth was his first butler many years ago. And his personal assistants have all been called Alfred. It seems Mr. Postice enjoyed the ‘Batman’ TV show a little too much.”
“Don’t you mind being called Alfred?” Evie asked.
“Actually, it doesn’t bother me at all,” Alfred said. “I think it is his way of forming a connection with the past. Okay, historical dig site—got it.”
“And this one has a desert dirt mix,” Silas added the detail. “Sandy dirt.”
Alfred made a note on the tablet. “Sandy dirt.”
“And Ancients,” Evie chimed in. “Very clearly talking about ancients.”
“Ancients . . .” Alfred echoed, typing it in.
“An etching too. Some sort of lizard.” Silas remembered trying to clean the dirt from that detail.
“Lizard etching too.”
“That’s probably the main details,” Silas said. “Do you think that’s enough?”
“We’ll find out,” Alfred said, closing the cover of the tablet. He stood up and walked over to the far end of the veranda. “Mr. Postice is in the back garden. You may go meet him there if you wish. Or sit out here as long as you like.”
“Thanks.” Evie stood up and walked through the double doors. Silas followed quickly after, making sure to keep her close by—just in case.
They were met inside by Wentworth, and he directed them to the back staircase which led to the yard and garden. Taking in the surroundings, the house definitely wasn’t a mansion, but was rather large and quite exquisitely decorated. It seemed to Silas that great care was taken in the selection and placement of every piece of art and furniture in the house.
“Very beautiful,” Evie said, remarking of the interior of the house.
“It is,” Silas said as they opened the door and entered the back garden.
They slowly wandered around, taking in the landscape, and she was drawn to the colorful flowers in the garden visible from the veranda. He followed as he saw her walk over, and the young couple stopped to admire the entire colorful arrangement. Evie leaned down and took a long sniff, amazed at the bouquet produced by all of the individual plants together.
“Take one!” Postice commanded from a nearby sitting area.
She turned around, surprised by the voice, and shrugged at him, not sure what he was suggesting.
“Pick a flower!” he yelled again, giving her permission with the waving of his cane.
Evie understood and bent down and broke off a deep purple flower that caught her eye. Placing it behind her ear, the young couple then walked over to the sitting area.
Postice raised his cane in the direction of Evie. “Remarkable,” he said.
“What is?” Evie asked, confused and looking around and behind her.
“You remind me almost exactly of my wife. It is just remarkable, the similarity.”
She was unsure how the comparison made her feel. “Thank you.”
“And Mrs. Postice?” Silas asked.
Postice’s mood immediately shifted and his face fell. “Passed,” he said quietly, sadness dripping his voice. “Long, long ago.”
His sorrow broke Evie’s heart. “I am so sorry.”
“Dreams!
” he shouted angrily, shaking his cane as high up as his strength could manage, as if cursing the sky. “Damn Dreams! It’s all because of those damn dreams.” And then slowly softened and sat back, almost whimpering, or so it seemed to Silas and Evie.
Chapter 18
Postice took several large slow breaths staring at the ground. He seemed to suddenly remember his guests standing beside him. “Please sit,” he said, waving toward the chairs with his hand. Evie and Silas obeyed.
“I’ve heard your story. And I guess it is only fair that you hear mine.”
Evie looked at Silas. “We don’t mean to pry.”
“Nonsense. I’ve never told my story in all my years, but I feel you are the first to deserve the tale—kindred spirits and all.”
Evie felt a little overwhelmed. Almost undeserving to hear the story. But she leaned in, eager to hear.
Postice pointed a finger at Silas while holding the cane on the ground. “I had a dream much like your dream. An image I couldn’t shake. I can literally see it this very moment! That damned dream . . . ” He looked over toward the small garden.
Silence filled the air. Even the insects seemed to want to hear the tale.
“I was fourteen. Fourteen! Can you believe it?” He looked at Silas and Evie. “A kid of fourteen can’t handle that!”
Evie reached over and placed her hand on his, trying to comfort him.
“She was my comfort,” Postice said, covering Evie’s hand for a moment, and then continuing his story.
“My dream was simple—an image of some type of device. I was always able to draw, so I made a detailed sketch of the image from the dream. I kept that image, and looked at it almost every day—not knowing what it meant. I then went about my days—this was after the war, lots of work to be done—so I did odd jobs all over the neighborhood. Cleaning, mowing, raking, collecting cans and bottles, all kinds of jobs, you see. One day, I was turning in scraps at a plant, and some guy in a fancy suit was there. I’d never seen a guy like that before, in a clean suit, we were all blue collar workers then, and I listened in for a bit. I was always a curious kid, and still am, both curious and a kid, wanting to learn everything.” Postice produced a sly smile at his joke.