Walk-in

by T. L. Hart

  I am surrounded. I am embraced. I am welcomed without condition. As I immerse myself in the bliss and prepare to let go of it all, a tiny sliver of reservation insinuates itself into my consciousness.

  To my surprise, even here, wherever and whenever here is, there are decisions to be made. Not everyone wants me to stay.

  Voices whisper encouragement, promise absolution, grant permission. Yes I’m staying here. Safe here. I’m tired of all the confusion. I don’t want it anymore.

  Out of the sibilant yeses, one voice says, “Wait.”

  I recognize that voice. Secrets told. Bargains made. Jennifer.

  “I waited for you when you called,” she said in a voice that was a wordless sigh. “I gave you what I no longer required. You owe me.”

  “Jennifer? Jennifer Strickland from Dallas?”

  “I was.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “We have a link, you and I. Your connection to your new body is still fragile. You come in dreams too sometimes.” The chorus of others was like white noise when we spoke—vibrating and ebbing and flowing around us like a current. “We are connected by a promise.”

  “What promise? I don’t know what you want.”

  “You will in time. Earth time is a blink here; when the time is right you will give me what I need. Now or later, no matter.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I can finish what I need to do to be free again. I will wait for our bargain to be fulfilled. Then we won’t be connected any longer.”

  “Isn’t heaven beyond deals?”

  “It may be. I’ll know for sure when I get there.”

  “This isn’t heaven? Where am I?”

  The fog grew a little colder at my confusion, not quite so filled with nurture. The voices without voices receded a bit, their messages less distinct.

  “There’s no name or map for this place. It is a layover. A place where all souls wait for…whatever comes next.”

  “I don’t remember the bargain. Your brain was injured.”

  “You needed to be alive, so you needed a body. To find Jo. To find your killer.”

  “I get that part.” There was a faint pulling sensation, as if a drain had opened and I was water being sucked into a whirlpool. “I don’t know what you wanted from me.”

  “I was crippled there. Tied to a situation I didn’t have the courage to leave.”

  “Gregory?”

  “I loved him, I’m sorry to say. He took my resolve. I was trying to leave him before the accident—I was trying because of all I discovered.”

  “Why didn’t you? He’s no prize.”

  “No, he was a traitor. And I did leave him. That’s why I’m here.” The fog sighed sadly at her answer. “I was not a strong person. I had a lesson to learn. It was an expensive lesson.”

  “If you died to get away from him, what am I supposed to do?”

  “Help me make it right.”

  “I can’t even remember my own life. How can I help you?”

  “It will happen when time is finished. You’ll find what you need to know. I can see more from where I am than you can from where you are.”

  “But we’re in the same place.” And as I said it, I knew it wasn’t so. “I can’t stay, can I?”

  “You aren’t ready to be here, yet. You aren’t through.” Gentle and with a smile that was everywhere. “You can’t take back all you learned here. Just enough.” The voices were fading as I fell. “You’re passing through—you aren’t here now.”

  “J.C. wake up! What the hell are you tryin’ to do here, girl?”

  There were a million stars sparkling in the hot, black sky, still spinning ever so slightly as I looked up at them from the steps of the restaurant. The concrete was burning through the back of my shirt, and the air was greasy with the odor of fried tortillas. My head was woozy, but evidently my hearing was fine.

  Aggie Burke was bellowing at me as she knelt beside me, supporting my head in the cradle of one of her big hands, holding it as easily as a basketball. With her other hand she was trying to dial her cell phone, not very successfully.

  “God damnit, if you don’t wake up, I’m going to dial 911.”

  She cursed again, then switched to thanking God I was alive when I opened my eyes and tried to sit up. The thankfulness was a short-lived phase.

  “What kind of shit is this, J.C.?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry is not enough, not by a long damn shot.”

  “It’s not like I fainted on purpose, is it? I didn’t mea—” The memory hit me square between the eyes, with enough force to rock the world again.

  “You were talking about Jo.” Joy and fear fought for ownership of my voice. “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah I guess.” Aggie didn’t look too friendly in the glare of the pink neon sign illuminating the outer steps into the restaurant. “The question is, how do you know Jo? And why did talking about Cotton and Jo make you turn into mush?”

  “I’ll try to explain later,” I swore, not meaning it for even a second. “Tell me about Jo and I’ll explain everything.” The promise was a lie, point blank. I didn’t know the truth, myself. No way I could make this make sense to anyone. “Where is Jo?”

  “I don’t think you are in any position—literally—to be having this conversation.”

  She had a point, I had to admit, as I lay on the steps. My head wasn’t clear yet either. I was having little flashes of something downright strange; whispery little voices in the back of my mind—or what was left of the back of my mind.

  “Let me get you home,” Aggie said. “I’ll drive you and we can pick up your car tomorrow.”

  “And you’ll tell me about Jo.”

  “We’ll talk about Jo and Cotton,” she promised, not too kindly. “Yes indeed. We are so going to have that conversation.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was a rocky night. Some people pass out from too much alcohol. I think I went down from too much reality in too short a time. All the pain of a bad drunk without any of the fun.

  Aggie hadn’t spared time on the niceties of admiring my apartment.

  “You feeling all right now? Need a glass of water or anything?” she asked in a tone that suggested she didn’t really want to know either answer. She settled me on the biggest, cushiest chair in the room. “J.C., I have a simple question: What in all hell is going on with you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean exactly.” I was stalling, hoping for a minor miracle. All I wanted was for her to answer all my questions about Jo and not make me come up with an explanation she wouldn’t believe in the first, second or third place. “Just too much alcohol, too much heat. I can’t imagine why I fainted.”

  “Cut the crap.” Looking up at her standing over me—way over me—made me glad I remembered she was my friend. Saying she was “intimidating” at the moment was a polite way of saying she was scary as all get-out. “My momma may have raised an idiot, but it wasn’t me. Why did mentioning Cotton and Jo have you fallin’ out on me?”

  “Will you sit, for God’s sake? I’m not quaking in my shoes because of your towering presence. This isn’t going to be an easy thing to explain.” And man, did I not want to try. “It would make matters so much easier if you would tell me about Jo and let it go at that.”

  “You think that’s likely to happen?”

  “I’m thinking no.”

  “Smart for a blonde. What color are you under all that bleach?” Aggie massaged the back of her neck and stretched it as if it hurt a lot. “You’ve been riddling me since the day you strolled into the Outreach. Acting like we were old pals. Talkin’ like you knew me. Sayin’ things you shouldn’t know to say.”

  She plopped down on the ottoman at my feet and laced her fingers together, pointing at me with her forefingers extended like a kid with a pretend cowboy gun.

  “You don’t know me from Adam.”

  “I don’t know how to explain this so it makes any sense, Ag. Your
Baptist upbringing doesn’t have any room for what I’m going through.”

  “My Granny is a Baptist, J.C. I’ve backslid, as she would put it. Since I figured out I was gay in college, I’ve accepted the possibility everything might not be covered in the old family Bible.” She dropped her still-clasped hands to her lap. “Are you a medium or some such shit? Channeling? I read about that.”

  “Close enough for now.” Why hadn’t I thought of that? Psychic abilities are a hot commodity right now. People got to guest star on Montel by being psychics and no one—well, at least not everyone—thought they were crazy. “I have had contact with the other side, now that you mention it.”

  “Contact with Cotton?” I didn’t like the glint in her eyes.

  “Among others,” I hedged. “You wouldn’t know them.”

  “So it’s like that movie with the kid and Bruce Willis? You see dead people too?”

  “No, of course not.” I understood her sarcasm. “I just kind of hear them or know things they know. Not all of it, just a little sometimes.”

  “This is nuts,” Aggie snorted her disbelief. “If you can talk to Cotton, why are you asking me about Jo? Ask her; she was the expert.”

  “It’s not like that. I can’t just ask questions and get a direct reply.”

  “Tried a Ouija board?”

  “Please Aggie. Just tell me about Jo. I need to know. Who is she? Why did Cotton die and not Jo? What’s the big secret?”

  “Cotton was murdered.”

  “Yeah, I know about that.” I tried to rush her to tell me what I wanted to hear. “I read all that in the paper. I never saw a word about Jo.”

  “It’s funny what the cops do or don’t release to the press when famous people want things hushed up.”

  “Jo’s famous?”

  “Her husband. Ex-husband now. Max Sealy.” She waited for the lightbulb to brighten over my head without reward. “Max Sealy, Baseball Hall of Fame, MVP of the American League three years running?”

  “I’m dense, but I don’t get the connection.”

  “Okay. Let me take you through it, really slow.”

  I nodded, encouraging her to go on, although my stomach was twisting and churning like a television commercial for industrial strength acid reliever. All in all, I decided I much preferred the fainting approach to stressful news.

  “Cotton and Jo Sealy were in the middle of a hot affair. Jo was married to former Mr. Baseball, who retired and made a ga-gillion dollars selling cars.” She pushed a handful of long, narrow braids back behind her ear. “See how this is not a good idea already?”

  Not only could I see it abstractly, a little buzz of Cotton’s consciousness was humming back to wakeful mode. A face, not quite recognizable, but dark-haired, materialized in my mind’s eye for a split second before blinking out.

  “Jo was planning to divorce him so she and Cotton could move in together, but she was scared. He hated queers more than he hated Democrats. She said he’d never let them be together. She was determined not to let Max find out about them before the divorce.”

  “But then, Jo decided she was being followed, got real paranoid about it.” Aggie stood and then sat down again. “Cotton laughed and said it was just a guilty conscience from her sinful ways. Jo said she was sure that she was being followed and insisted someone was watching her. None of us paid her any attention.” She paused. “We should have.”

  “Cotton and Jo were together at the clubs the night of the murder, planning their future together…”

  Walking together, hand in hand, laughing. Fog swirling around us. My God, it’s us in the dream. It was me and Jo! Then, someone in the fog. A yank and Jo’s gone. It was me and Jo.

  “He killed Cotton? You think Jo’s husband killed Cotton?”

  “She was beaten, smashed in the head with a blunt instrument.” Aggie looked hollowed out. “He is in the Hall of Fame for how well he could swing a bat.”

  “But what about Jo?”

  “I’m not really sure. Her story was that she was zapped with a stun gun and left in the alley.”

  “You don’t sound as if you buy her story.”

  “Never made that much sense to me. Cotton was real crazy over her, but I had a few doubts myself.”

  “What kind of doubts?” I didn’t like the way this was headed. “I thought Jo was the love of Cotton’s life.”

  “Oh, no doubt about that. Cotton was a goner for real.” Aggie shook her head. “Just was never as certain that Jo was totally motivated by true love. I kinda had the idea she liked the parties and the idea of hanging out with the cool kids as much as anything. Sorta strange to make the leap from sports wife groupie to lez chic groupie. ’Course old Max was on the long slide down, if you know what I mean.”

  “Not really.”

  “Until he retired, Max Sealy was on every A-list invitation, at every party that counted. Wined and dined and fawned over. But in this town, you get older, retired, a new guy comes along and you start getting moved down the pecking order. You and your pretty little wife. Quite a blow to the ego, don’t you think?”

  “I bet you didn’t share your suspicions with Cotton, did you?” If I was this pissed with half a memory, I’d hate to think about my reaction in the full blush of new infatuation. “You wouldn’t have dared.”

  “You’re right about that. I was a coward.” She hung her head like a beaten bloodhound. “If I hadn’t been such a chickenshit, Cotton might still be alive.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” I felt compelled to comfort her. After all, her guilt would have to be a little less since I wasn’t quite as dead as she thought I was. “You knew better than to throw rocks at her girlfriend. It wouldn’t have done anything but come between you.”

  “Yeah, that makes me feel a whole lot better.”

  “And why didn’t this Max kill Jo too? You’d think he would have especially wanted to whack her.”

  “You’ve watched enough Law and Order,” Aggie said. “Who’s the usual suspect when a cheating wife is killed?”

  “But why wasn’t any of this in the paper? Why was there no mention of Jo’s attack?” I was outraged. “Why wasn’t he arrested?”

  “Great questions. Unfortunately, depending on your bias, it was about a couple of lesbians, and no matter how famous you are, priorities aren’t the same all over town.” Aggie was matter of fact.

  “Secondly, it was an open secret in this community that another of Cotton’s former girlfriends used to be involved with the lead detective on the case. He never did find any reason to have to tarnish Max’s reputation by putting Jo’s name in the paper and linking her to such a scandal. Officially, her identity was withheld to insure her safety.”

  “And is she safe?” My heart was thumping. “Where is she now?”

  “We didn’t exactly keep in touch. She dropped out of sight.” Aggie shrugged. “I guess you could ask Max Sealy. If he was jealous enough to kill someone because of his possessiveness, I’d bet he didn’t stop watching her because of a little thing like a divorce.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time I made it to Dr. Carey’s office at ten, Dallas was shimmering in the heat like a mirage. We were all excited that the weatherman was calling for rain for the next three days, even if it was likely to be accompanied by severe thunderstorms. Tornado watches were so frequent this summer that unless a funnel cloud was closer than five miles away, no one paid too much attention to it. I had an umbrella stashed in the backseat, but so far not a drop of anything except sweat had been seen.

  Andrew was a vision in tennis whites, from shirt to shoes, all seemingly chosen as if to accent his beard. I gave him a thumbs-up as I walked in.

  “Looking good, Andrew. Nice legs.” They were nice for a big man—tanned and surprisingly hard-muscled. “Are you playing in leagues this year?”

  “Only as a fill-in,” he said ruefully. “My knees are getting bad.”

  “I’d love to go play at the country club. Nice courts, but
since Jennifer never lifted a racquet, it might raise a few eyebrows—if any of them can move an eyebrow with all that Botox.”

  We were laughing and joking with each other until Dr. Carey put us back in our respective places. Nicely, but with a touch of authority.

  “Talk about the inmates running the asylum. The two of you might as well cancel today’s session and let me talk to myself.” Then she smiled, taking the sting out of the words. “J.C…. it’s still hard not to call you Jennifer, sometimes, just out of habit. Although as much as it pains me to admit it, you are becoming more like the Cotton I knew than I can believe. It’s really a bit eerie.”

  “I was wondering about that the other day,” I said, reminded of my fleeting thoughts, thoughts that skittered around in my brain only to be forgotten until something triggered them again. “How well did you know Cotton, Dr. Carey?”

  “I don’t think my relationship with her is important right now.” Her face and body language were colder than the air blowing out the central cooling vents. “My concern is with your treatment and well-being.”

  “Neatly sidestepped,” I said. “If you have information you are keeping from me, I think it would help my well-being.”

  “I’m not going to reinforce the possibility that you are Cotton by filling in the gaps in your memory with my own.”

  “I’m not asking that. All I want is to know who I am. If you can help me with a few details, is that really asking you to betray your precious code of ethics? Is this code my problem?”

  “That is very much the attitude Cotton Claymore would have,” Dr. Carey snapped, forgetting her stoic principles in a rare fit of temper. “She had a way of bending the rules to justify anything she wanted, personally or professionally.”

  “Sounds like you had more than a passing acquaintance with her.” I could see it in her eyes, a glimmer of anger that went beyond a casual association. “You knew Cotton pretty well, sounds to me. Why won’t you tell me?”

  “My relationships aren’t part of your therapy,” she said, chilling the temperature in the room by ten degrees. “My personal life isn’t on the table for discussion.”