by Dorien Grey
“No problem.”
“I’ll let you go have dinner,” Elliott said, and they exchanged good-byes and hung up.
Well, he thought, now Aaron can stop waiting. He felt an indefinable sense of sadness he couldn’t shake.
* * *
Thank you.
Aaron knows?
He does now.
And?
Impossible for me to describe.
Even in sleep, questions kept bubbling to the surface of Elliott’s mind.
How could Aaron possibly not have known that Bill was dead? Couldn’t Bill have contacted him once they were both…gone?
Good questions, and I wish I had some good answers either one of us could understand. That isn’t a putdown. It’s all far more complex than even I can deal with yet.
I suspect that when Bill died he just made the transition, as most people do. He had no reason to stick around. It’s much easier for the dead to let go of the living than it is for the living to let go of the dead. I suppose he knew he and Aaron would be together again eventually and, since time is very different for us than it is for you, it probably didn’t matter how soon.
But Aaron has to realize it, too, and so far he hasn’t. He hasn’t recognized that Bill is in a totally different place.
And where is that?
I’m not sure. I’ve never been there. For most people, dying is sort of like going through one of those revolving exit gates on the el—it only goes one way. I assume that’s what Bill did when he went through the gate. But sometimes, like with me and Aaron, some sort of trauma makes the gate jam, and we’re stuck here until we can resolve it.
Well, you resolved your trauma, and you’re still here.
Yes, but it’s my choice now. I can go through whenever I want, but like I said, when I do, I can’t come back, and I’m in no hurry.
But now that he knows Bill is dead too, there’s no reason for Aaron to stay.
You’d think so, but…he’s hesitating.
Why?
I’m not sure. I hope to find out.
* * *
Elliott awoke feeling surprisingly rested and oddly satisfied with himself. He was pleased to think he might have some small part in helping another lost soul—a rather melodramatic way of looking at it, he realized, but he liked the idea—find whatever it is lost souls seek.
And while part of him was still a little uncomfortable with the concept, most of him felt that he and John made a good, though certainly unusual, team. He didn’t want to make a career of acting as a surrogate for the—he preferred “non-corporeal” to “dead,” since dead implied a finality both John’s and Aaron’s existence proved inaccurate in the extreme—but it certainly had expanded his view of the universe.
This upbeat feeling of confidence lasted until, working with his crew hauling the old refrigerators and stoves from the top-floor apartments to the ground floor, he was alone in 3B. He had just bent to pick up a piece of paper that had been under the refrigerator when he heard the now-familiar three sharp raps—not on the door this time but on the cupboard directly above his head. He instantly became a mass of goose bumps.
What the hell is Aaron still doing here? he wondered as soon as he managed to calm down.
It happened twice more in the course of the day, always while Elliott was alone. None of his crew mentioned hearing anything at all.
As he headed home, his mood had swung 180 degrees from what it had been when he woke up. It was partly because he wanted to talk to John, wanted to talk to him now, and that he knew he couldn’t. He was angry that his contact with John was almost always initiated by John. Elliott could never—summon again came to mind, despite the visions of séances—John when he wanted to talk to him.
Even speaking that evening with both Steve and Cessy didn’t materially improve his mood. He deliberately put off going to bed in what he fully realized was the equivalent of a child’s sulk. He’d waited for John, now John could just wait for him. His behavior was completely unlike him, but that didn’t change anything.
And it was no surprise that, when he did go to bed, he couldn’t go to sleep. He kept looking at the clock, and the last time he remembered, it said twelve forty-five. But finally…
Hey, I’m sorry, but that’s just the way things are. And I don’t really think you’d want to start talking to me when you’re awake, would you?
No, but it’s frustrating.
I understand. But when you’re awake, there are just too many other things going on in your head. Hard to explain, but…
Yeah, yeah! So, what the hell is Aaron still doing there?
He doesn’t want to leave just yet.
Why the hell not? He spends four years in misery wanting to be with Bill and now that he can be, he wants to hang around here? Why?
Because he’s sure something is wrong with the way Bill died.
Does he know it was suicide?
He doesn’t believe it.
Based on what?
Again, you have to remember things are very different on this…well, this side, for lack of a better term. All I can say is that he’s like a slab of granite when it comes to even considering the possibility Bill might have killed himself. I’m still not totally tuned in to him, and he’s still a lot more emotional reaction than details.
I’ve sensed a definite switch in him since he learned Bill is dead. His grief was based on thinking Bill had left him willingly. That’s lifted a huge weight off him. But now he is absolutely convinced Bill would never have killed himself under any circumstances, even if Aaron had died first.
So what does he intend to do about it?
Well, he obviously knows about you, and that you helped me. I’ve gotten that much across to him.
So that knocking today was to get my attention?
I guess. I doubt he has any idea how to contact you directly, at least not the way you and I are in contact, and I’m not sure he could really.
Does he know I’m not a detective, just an ordinary guy? I don’t have anything special going for me.
Unless you count the fact you’re alive and he isn’t.
Point. But I really don’t know if I’m ready to do this again.
I understand. But if you don’t, who will?
Elliott sighed.
Does he have any idea who might have wanted to harm Bill?
As I say, I’m getting far more feeling than fact, but what I am getting indicates he might. I’ll keep trying for something more concrete, and as soon as I get any details, I’ll let you know. So, will you help?
This time, Elliott rose close enough to consciousness to actually hear himself sigh.
I can try, I suppose.
That’s all I can ask.
* * *
Over the course of the next several nights, John reported vague bits and pieces of information he’d managed to get from Aaron. There were, according to John, strong feelings concerning a bad relationship Bill was in shortly before he’d met Aaron, and about Bill’s business partner.
Names, however, were not forthcoming and specific details nonexistent. Elliott’s frustration was only partly tempered by remembering his very early encounters with John, and realizing faulty memory seemed to be inherent in the recently deceased. On the other hand, Aaron had been dead for four years.
As always, Elliott threw himself completely into his work during the day, and with no further knockings, he was largely able to put Aaron out of his mind. The sandblasting took only a couple of days, and the tuckpointers were patching gaps in the mortar between bricks. He felt the place already looked like new, and he was delighted with it. As he had hoped, removing the white paint revealed that several different shades of brick had been used, giving the exterior walls a subtle mottled effect. Repainting the iron fence in front with high-gloss black enamel made it, too, look like it had just been installed.
On Sunday, after brunch, he drove Steve over to look at the progress and, at Steve’s request, took him inside. Since
all six apartments had basically identical layouts, Elliott showed him the Wolinskis’ apartment, from which the couple had moved only three days before.
Steve was impressed by the size of the rooms and their overall condition. As Elliott was locking the door, he said, “Can I see the one upstairs?”
Caught off-guard, Elliott hesitated a moment. “The one upstairs?” He knew full well which apartment Steve meant, and wondered what had prompted him to ask. “Uh, sure,” quickly adding, “but it’s identical to this one.”
“Oh, okay,” Steve said. “We don’t have to.”
“No, no, that’s fine, if you want to see it.” He led the way up the stairs to the second floor and deliberately headed for the door on the right, but Steve stopped him.
“No. This one.” He indicated the door on the left, the one to Aaron’s apartment. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Elliott fought off a wave of unease. “Any particular reason why this one?”
Steve looked mildly puzzled. “I’m not sure,” he said. “But this is the one with the guy in the window.”
Elliott opened the door and let him go in first.
“Exactly like the first floor,” he said as Steve crossed directly to the window and stood silently looking out at the street.
He stood there so long Elliott grew nervous.
“Elliott to Steve,” he said finally. “Come in, Steve.”
Steve gave a slight jerk, as though the sound of Elliott’s voice had startled him, and he turned around quickly with a sheepish grin.
“Sorry, Ell,” he said. “Really weird.”
“What’s really weird?” Elliott asked, though he already knew.
Steve shook his head and again looked puzzled.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just…”
“What?” Elliott prompted. Part of him wanted to know, and part of him didn’t.
“It’s just that I get the strangest feeling here…especially by this window. It’s a sensation of both sadness and waiting. Like, suddenly, I’m the guy I painted in this window and—” He stopped abruptly. “You must think I’m a real kook.”
“No, I don’t think you’re a kook.” Elliott went to stand beside him and slip his arm around Steve’s waist. “I think you’re what they call an empath—I heard that term somewhere. And I found out that a guy who lived here about four years ago died after his lover disappeared. I think you somehow sense it.”
Steve looked at him, then furrowed his brow. “Well, I suppose empathy could explain a lot of things that have happened in my life. I’m sorry about the guy in this apartment, though. Do you know how he died?”
Elliott wanted to reassure him, but didn’t want to get any further into the Aaron situation than he had to.
“A heart attack, I understand.”
“Ah. I somehow got the idea of suicide.”
Elliott found that an interesting, and oddly unsettling, comment, but let it pass. And he was further distracted to feel Steve’s hand, which had been around his waist, move slowly lower down. There was little doubt as to the message.
“Don’t tell me,” he said, grinning. “Being an empath makes you horny.”
“How did you guess?”
Elliott was about to kiss him when he noticed Steve looking around the apartment.
“But I think I can hold off till we get home.”
Elliott didn’t have to ask why.
* * *
He remembered, as a teenager, wondering why it was that, though he did it every night of his life, he could never actually remember the exact process of falling asleep, that moment when sleep actually arrived. That night, it seemed his head had barely hit the pillow before John was there.
I do like the word empath. It’s got a nice “Beam me up, Scotty” ring to it. But why didn’t you tell him?
Tell him what?
That you’re one, too. How do you suppose we ever got together?
Well, I sure wasn’t one before the accident.
Of course, you were. Most people are, or could be, to one degree or another. They’re just so self-absorbed they won’t or can’t open themselves up to it. I think the accident just made you a little more aware of yours.
Interesting theory, but still…I’m not comfortable with being different.
You’re comfortable with being gay, and being gay in a straight world is being different.
Yeah, but there are millions of us. How many serious empaths are there wandering around?
Probably more than you think. It isn’t something most people feel comfortable talking about. You certainly don’t.
Point. So, have you learned anything more from Aaron? Was he there today? If I’m supposed to be an empath, how come I’m never aware of him other than the knocking, which I’m glad he didn’t do while Steve was there.
Yes, he was there—he never leaves the building. He’s still not aware of much other than himself and Bill. But I have a couple of names: a Jim Babcock and an Irv Wilson. I assume one might be the guy who was giving Bill a hard time and the other one Bill’s business partner, though I’m not sure which one is which.
Damn! I should have asked Brad what the partner’s name was when I talked to him.
You still can.
Yeah, but I don’t want to bug him any more than I already have.
I understand. I can see if I can get it from Aaron. But he’s pretty much like an onion—peel away one layer and there’s another layer below that, and one below that…and, well, you get the idea.
But you are getting through to him?
Kind of hard to tell, but I hope so. Again, remember how hard it was for you and me to really connect. He’s still incredibly confused. Normally after having been…non-corporeal…for four years, he should be light-years ahead of where he is now. But he’s been so mired in his sorrow, he’s only now beginning to come around.
So, what do you suggest I do?
I wish I could tell you, but all I can do is convey information. What you do with it is up to you. If it were me, I might see if I could track those names down somehow.
* * *
When he woke up, he remembered the names John had given him: Jim Babcock and Irv Wilson. Wilson’s name somehow rang a faint bell. He couldn’t immediately place it, but was sure he knew it from somewhere.
As usual, once he got to work he concentrated all his attention on the job at hand, but realized on his drive home that the name Irv Wilson must have been simmering on some mental back burner, for he suddenly remembered from where—or rather, from whom—he knew it.
About three years previously, he had briefly dated a guy—it took him a moment to remember his name: Troy Fashow—with far more problems than Elliott cared to deal with. One of them, he remembered, involved repeated lengthy tales about a relationship Troy had had with someone named Irv Wilson. Wilson, according to Troy, was a textbook psychopath, and Elliott recalled, thinking rather uncharitably that Troy and Irv should have made a great couple.
He tried now to remember exactly what Troy had said about Wilson—not an easy task after three years. Slowly, bits and pieces came back. According to Troy, he remembered, Wilson had taken possessiveness to a new level. Since Troy’s own possessiveness had been one of the things that had convinced Elliott to drop him, he could only imagine what Wilson’s must have been like. And he definitely remembered Troy’s saying that Wilson had threatened him with physical violence on more than one occasion, and that he’d had no doubt the man was serious.
If Wilson had had a similar relationship with Bill Somers, Elliott wondered if it might be conceivable he had gone beyond threats. Bill had been with Aaron for a year or so when he died—rather a long time to hold a grudge, let alone act on it. Still…
He decided another talk with Mrs. Reinerio might be in order. While she may not have been exactly a confidante for Aaron, she undoubtedly knew a lot more about him and Bill than Elliott did. He also wanted to know if she might recognize the name Jim Babcock, and
whether Babcock might indeed have been Bill’s business partner. An outside chance, he knew, but he also had nothing to lose by trying.
* * *
His crew considered his decision to concentrate on the Wolinskis’ apartment first, so Mrs. Reinerio could move into it, to be a major disruption of the normal renovation process, but since he was the boss, they said nothing. Tuesday morning, Elliott took a few minutes to walk across the hall to Mrs. Reinerio’s.
As she let him in, he noticed she had begun removing pictures from the walls and packing smaller items into boxes in anticipation of her move. He really hoped he wasn’t making a mistake moving her across the hall in the assumption she would be able to stay when new owners took over. Even an across-the-hall move was somewhat traumatic, he was sure. The idea that she still might have to move from the building entirely was one he did not wish to dwell on.
Inviting him to sit down, she offered him coffee.
“Thank you, no. I have a thermos with me, and just had some.” Realizing she wondered what he was doing there, he quickly added, “For some reason, I can’t seem to stop thinking about your story about Aaron and Bill. You said that when the police asked you about Bill they didn’t mention how he died?”
“No, they didn’t, and they were very evasive when I asked. All they said was that his body had been found. I assumed it was some sort of accident.”
“Do you suppose it might have been suicide?”
She looked surprised. “Oh, no! I can’t imagine that! He and Aaron were so full of plans. I’m sure suicide would have been out of the question.” She paused for a moment, and her face grew pensive. “I guess it’s impossible to truly look into the heart of another person, but I simply cannot imagine he would have just left Aaron like that.”
“I don’t suppose you knew of any problems they might have been having outside their friendship. Bill’s work, perhaps?”
She gave him a small smile. “Not specifically, no. As I told you, Bill did seem not quite himself the last few times I saw him. But I know he worked very hard. While I’m always willing to listen should someone wish to confide in me, I never pry. From what I knew, everything was fine—which was why having him disappear like that was such a shock. It’s just so terribly sad.”