Caesar's Fall

by Dorien Grey

  But Bruno…

  Other than the Old Spice, there was no indication of how aware he was of what was going on, or of his active participation in it. All Elliott knew was what little John was able to tell him. What, specifically, Bruno expected Elliott to do or how he expected him to do it were ciphers.

  Elliott could understand that becoming suddenly non-corporeal must be an incomprehensibly traumatic experience, and that, based on his conversations with John, the period of adjustment from one state to the other varied widely from person/spirit to person/spirit. He hoped Bruno would make the full transition sooner rather than later, so he could get a better idea of what, if anything, was expected of him.

  You’ll get brain freeze if you spend too much time thinking about it. Just go along.

  Elliott awoke with a start, realizing he’d fallen asleep in his chair. Of course, the instant he woke up he lost contact with John, and though he went to bed shortly thereafter in hopes of picking up the conversation, there was nothing but dreams of lottery tickets and postage stamps.

  *

  He was just finishing dinner when the phone rang.

  “Elliott!” He immediately recognized Button’s voice. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

  Since he couldn’t recall the last time he’d spoken with Button by phone, and hadn’t seen him since the last party he and Steve had attended at Bruno’s, he was puzzled.

  “Not at all,” he said. “How are things going?”

  “I’m fine, really. I still haven’t completely gotten over Bruno’s death. I’ve known him since he first came to Chicago. Friends like him don’t come around all that often. I’m just so sorry we didn’t have nearly enough time to spend together ever since he won the lottery.

  “It…well, all the things involved with coming into all that money put a definite distance between us. Certainly not his fault. There was just so much going on in his life—a new relationship, all those new people.” He sighed. “I certainly don’t blame him. It was unavoidable, but regrettable. I’ve tried calling Ricky to extend my condolences but haven’t been able to reach him. I hope he’s doing all right.”

  “He is,” Elliott replied. “He has a new job and has moved.”

  “Well, if you see him or talk to him, please give him my best.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  “The other reason I’m calling is to see if you might be able to help me with something.”

  His curiosity piqued, Elliott said, “What do you need?”

  Another long sigh.

  “I’ve just been notified the owners of my apartment building are tearing it down to put up another of those ungodly concrete-slab, rabbit-warren condominiums. Since I’ve lived here nine years now, they were kind enough to offer me first chance at buying one of them, but nice as some condos may be, I find most of them have all the warmth and charm of an operating room—no offense, of course. Your building is very nice, but to me a condo just isn’t the same as an old-fashioned apartment.

  “Since I knew you restore old buildings, I was hoping you might know where I might find one. I prefer the north side, and not too terribly far inland, but I’m open to anything at this point. What I would really like is one like Bruno had before he bought the condo.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact…” He told him of the vacancy in the Armitage building.

  “Bruno’s old building?” Button’s voice reflected his surprise. “He told me you’d bought it, but it didn’t register until now. A wonderful building, if you can overlook the ghastly exterior paint job. And I loved Bruno’s apartment.”

  “That’s the one that’s available.”

  “What a fantastic coincidence!”

  Elliott couldn’t help but wonder if it was, or if somehow Bruno was trying to do his friend a favor.

  “When can I see it?”

  Hanging up after making arrangements for Button to meet him and Steve at Armitage at ten thirty Saturday morning, Elliott reflected on the apparent serendipity not only of Button’s call, but of how many by-chance events had brought him to where he was at the present moment. Had he not been hit by a car, John would not be a most intriguing part of his life. Had he stayed home instead of going out the night he met Steve…

  He really liked Button, though he didn’t know him all that well, and he knew Steve did, too, the few times he’d seen him at Bruno’s parties. If Button took the other apartment, it would save the time and expense of having the rental agent find a tenant.

  Steve, when Elliott called to tell him, was in favor of Button as a potential upstairs neighbor and commented on the luck of the timing. They agreed Elliott would go to Steve’s from work Friday, and on Saturday morning they’d make one or two trips to Armitage with some of Steve’s things before meeting Button.

  *

  Nice idea.

  What’s that?

  Button moving into Bruno’s old apartment. I’m sure Bruno would be pleased.

  How is he doing? Getting anything more out of him?

  Not in so many words—and I mean that literally—but there’s a definite change. He’s getting himself together, and that’s a good sign, but I’m still not really tuned into him enough to be able to pick up anything specific. There is something I can’t quite grasp yet, but apparently it’s pretty important. I think it has something to do with you, and Ricky.

  Maybe he knows about my having gotten Ricky the job with Adam and Jesse?

  Maybe, but there’s a little too much of an edge of urgency for it to be that, I think.

  Interesting. See if you can zero in on it a little more. I don’t have a clue of what it could be. Maybe if…

  The conversation snapped like a dry twig, and Elliott was instantly fully awake. Someone must have spilled the bottle of Old Spice on his dresser. What the hell was going on?

  He turned his head to look over at the dresser, which was exactly the way he’d last seen it. Not a thing out of place, no overturned bottle of Old Spice, which in any case was in his medicine chest above the bathroom sink.

  The smell quickly faded, but he got out of bed and moved to the dresser. The scent was gone.

  He went into the bathroom, turned on the light, opened the medicine cabinet, and saw his bottle of Old Spice exactly where he’d put it after using it the last time.

  Knowing that Bruno was responsible made him break out in goose bumps. What was going on? And then he knew, cursing himself for not having remembered earlier.

  He returned to the bedroom and opened his sock drawer. There, in the back, under the pile of folded tee shirts, was the envelope Bruno had given him before the party with the request Elliott hold it for him. He debated on opening it but decided he was too groggy from his interrupted sleep. Laying it on top of the dresser for dealing with in the morning, he went back to bed.

  *

  It wasn’t until he was scrambling out of bed, the clock on the nightstand verifying he’d overslept, that he realized John hadn’t resumed their broken-off conversation when he’d returned to sleep. He gave the envelope on the dresser only a cursory glance as he hurried into the shower.

  When he returned to the bedroom to get dressed, he put the envelope back in the drawer beneath the tee shirts. It had waited this long; another day or two wouldn’t matter. As soon as he’d completed the thought he detected the faintest whiff of Old Spice, which vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  As always, work absorbed him from the time he arrived until the time he left, focused on refinishing the stairwell, stairs, and landings. It wasn’t until he was driving to Steve’s that he thought about the envelope.

  Since there was no indication for whom it was intended, he didn’t know if he should turn it over to Cage or Ricky or Walter Means. He thought about just opening it to see if whatever was inside might give him a clue. He could then put the contents in another envelope without anyone knowing he’d opened it.

  Once he arrived at Steve’s and they got on with their evening, he pushed
thoughts of the envelope to the back of his mind.

  *

  Though Elliott would have preferred to sleep a little later on Saturday morning, having once again not gotten to sleep before two a.m. thanks to their suppressed-through-the-week libidos, Steve was out of bed by seven, eager to get the move started. After a quick breakfast, they packed both cars and headed for Armitage.

  They managed three trips, arriving with the third load at nine thirty. Elliott taped a note for Button on the ground-level door leading to the apartments, telling him to come to the second floor. Leaving the door to Steve’s apartment open, they put the labeled boxes in their respective rooms then went to the kitchen to put shelf paper in the cupboards and drawers.

  “Hello?”

  “In the kitchen, Button,” Elliott called as he finished cutting a strip of shelf paper.

  “Elliott, I can’t tell you what a wonderful, wonderful job you’ve done with this building!” Button said as he appeared in the doorway. He was, as usual, dressed to the nines. “I’ve not been past here since Bruno moved to the condo, but I always avoided looking at that ungodly purple and tacky redone first floor.”

  Elliott grinned. “Thanks. Did you dress up just for us, or do you always wear a suit on Saturday mornings?”

  “I’ll be going to work when I leave here,” he said, stepping across the room to shake hands first with Steve, then Elliott. “I just told my assistant manager I’d be in a bit late today.” He went to the back door and looked out over the new patio, beaming. “This is beautiful! Really beautiful. I love it!”

  “Well, let’s take you upstairs to see Bruno’s old apartment.”

  “Oh, I know it well. But I would like to see what you’ve done with it.

  “You two go ahead,” Steve said. “I want to finish this cupboard. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  As they walked to the front door, Button reached out to touch Elliott’s arm.

  “I really had no idea you did this sort of thing for a living. I knew you were in contracting, but nothing like this. I’m truly impressed.”

  As they climbed the stairs to the third floor, Elliott was alert for the scent of Old Spice. There was none. Opening the door, he stood aside to let Button enter first. Button, after looking around carefully, went to the windows to look down on the street, and across to Oz Park.

  “I always told Bruno how lucky he was not to have nosy across-the-street neighbors looking right into his living room. I love it!”

  They went from room to room, with Button commenting favorably and familiarly on each one, and on the new kitchen appliances. Steve joined them as they were returning to the living room.

  “When can I move in?” Button asked.

  Elliott grinned. “Don’t you want to know what the rent will be?” Button’s happy expression dimmed just a little.

  “Well, yes, I guess that would be nice to know. I just hope I can afford it after all your renovations.”

  When Elliott told him the price he had discussed with Steve, Button immediately brightened again.

  “I’ll take it!”

  Suddenly, he paused, and a quick look of puzzlement tinged with sorrow crossed his face. Elliott was surprised when Steve gave him a strange look and a raised eyebrow.

  Turning his attention to Button, he said, “Something wrong?” Button shook his head quickly. “No, nothing. I just noticed your Old Spice and remembered how Bruno loved it.”

  Elliott, who had smelled nothing—and wasn’t wearing Old Spice—felt a definite chill.

  *

  After Button had left for work, with the agreement they would get together within the next few days to sign the lease, Elliott and Steve went back downstairs and resumed unpacking.

  Steve had just opened a box of dishes when he said, “And what do you suppose Button’s little observation means?”

  “About the Old Spice? No idea, but I’m getting a little concerned this whole thing might be getting a little out of hand.” Wadding up the piece of newspaper from which he’d just unwrapped a cup, he tossed it toward an empty box. It missed.

  “It’s one thing for you and me to know Bruno’s around,” Steve said, “but Button? Of course, I don’t think he has a clue as to what’s going on. He just smelled Old Spice.”

  “Yeah, well how come you smelled it and Button smelled it, and I didn’t?”

  “Maybe Bruno’s cutting you off.”

  After placing the plate he’d just unwrapped in the cupboard, Steve picked up the paper from the counter, wadded it and gave it an overhand-arc pitch directly into the box.

  “Nobody likes a wise-ass, Gutierrez.”

  *

  A little jealous, are we?

  What the hell are you talking about?

  And testy, too!

  You mean because Steve and Button…Button…knew Bruno was there and I didn’t?

  Yeah, something like that. But Button didn’t know Bruno was there. He just smelled Old Spice.

  But I didn’t! Why?

  Wish I could tell you, but I’m not the spokesman for everyone who’s dead. Maybe he’s unhappy because he wanted you to do something you didn’t do.

  Great! I… The envelope he gave me! He never did tell me what I should do with it other than hold it for him.

  See? That wasn’t so hard.

  I’ll open it when I get home.

  “Open what?” Steve was propped up on one elbow, looking at him.

  “Shit! I did it again!”

  “No problem. So, open what?”

  Elliott sighed heavily. “Bruno gave me an envelope to hold for him right before he died. I’ve been meaning to do something with it but haven’t had the chance. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “And who are you talking to?”

  “I’m talking to you. Who else is here?”

  Steve grinned. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “Can we talk about it in the morning? We really need to get some sleep. I’ll try not to wake you again.”

  “Okay.” Lying back down, Steve turned on his side away from Elliott. In a few moments, his breathing indicated he was asleep.

  Elliott was not so lucky.

  *

  “Time to talk now?” Steve said, handing Elliott his morning coffee and sitting beside him with his own cup.

  Taking a deep breath, Elliott said, “I suppose,” and began.

  Chapter 7

  When Elliott finished, Steve, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him for an instant, said, “Well, that explains a lot. Do you think you’d ever have told me about John if I hadn’t asked?”

  Elliott hoped his flush of embarrassment didn’t show.

  “Of course. I just don’t know when. It’s not the kind of thing that comes up easily in conversation: ‘Can you pass me the salt? And, oh, I’ve got a dead friend named John who talks to me in my sleep.’ That’d go over big.”

  “It would have, actually. I knew damned well something was going on. And I gather John is behind that identical dream we had a while back—the one about the mansion on the lake?”

  “Yep. He says he was experimenting.”

  “And I’ve been aware of—something—several times since we’ve been together. John?”

  “Probably. I’ve told him not to bother you, though.”

  Steve grinned broadly. “Bother? I’d love to have a real conversation with a ghost!”

  Elliott shook his head. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said. “And John isn’t a ghost. At least, not to me.”

  Steve cocked his head. “So, what is he?”

  “John.”

  They finished their coffee in thoughtful silence, broken by an occasional question or observation by Steve and Elliott’s response. Elliott was both relieved and pleased Steve seemed to take it all in stride, and apparently understood his earlier reticence about John.

  “So, what about Bruno?” Steve asked as he got up to refill their cups. “Obviously, he wants something. Do you know what it is?”

&
nbsp; “He gave me an envelope before he died and asked me to hold it for him, but there’s no indication on the envelope what’s in it or who it’s for. I’m going to open it when I get home.”

  Returning to the living room, Steve said, “Bruno doesn’t know how he died?”

  Elliott took his cup and shrugged. “Apparently not.”

  “You aren’t in direct contact with him, then?”

  “No more than you are, with the Old Spice. All I know is what John can find out. I gather being dead takes some getting used to, let alone the idea you may have been murdered. But I’m sure Bruno will eventually figure it out.”

  “So, what will you do about—Bruno?”

  Elliott sighed. “I don’t really know what I can do about him, and you have no idea how I dread getting caught up in these things. As for Bruno, first and foremost, I trust the police are looking into it. If he was murdered, they’ll find out who did it.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Oh, ye of little faith. We’ll just have to take it one step at a time.”

  *

  Congratulations! I’m proud of you!

  Thanks…I think.

  Come on, now. You feel better. Admit it.

  Well, at least I won’t have to lie about talking in my sleep. What’s going on with Bruno?

  It’s really hard to tell. He’s still adapting to his changed circumstances. And I can sense he’s starting to wonder about the details of his death. Mainly, I gather he’s concerned about something having to do with you.

  The envelope. I’m sorry about that. I should have opened it right away. I’ll do it as soon as I get home.

  I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.

  *

  Because almost all of the easily portable things—dishes and most of his clothes—had already been moved to Armitage, Elliott suggested Steve spend the week at the condo, bringing along anything he might need for work. Steve agreed, meeting him at the Armitage building after work Monday. Arriving home, Elliott found three calls from Cessy on his answering machine and realized he hadn’t talked to her all weekend. He’d intended to get to Bruno’s envelope as soon as he got in but decided he would call his sister first while Steve fixed them a drink.