The Consultant

by Sean Oliver

“Albrecht’s body.” Jared opened the boiler room door and stood waiting on Willie. The other men stayed put. Willie wrinkled his brow and glanced at the men standing and waiting for him to look inside. He stepped to the doorway.

  “Lord a’mighty,” he said as he looked in.

  “Open it up again,” Jared said to him. Willie nodded and sighed as he stepped inside the boiler room.

  “Open what again?” George asked.

  Jared and Willie exchanged a look, debating. Then Willie pointed to the furnace. George shook his head in bewilderment.

  Just like that? Open it up? Again?

  It was far too casual, like something two old friends instructed each other to do in some shorthand.

  Like something they’d done before.

  “Jared,” George breathed, a tremble in his breath as he considered the horror that flashed into his head. “Jared…did….” George couldn’t even finish it, couldn’t say the words.

  Jared looked down, a young man with nothing in his body but a guilt and shame that he was well aware he’d never be able to overcome. He couldn’t look at George, who now didn’t know if he could ever look at his daughter or Beth McAllister again, given what he now knew. Jared began to follow Willie in to the boiler room.

  “Jared,” George said with terror building in his eyes. Jared stopped and George stepped close to him—a private moment in view of two others. “Don’t ever tell her. Never, ever.”

  Jared looked down as his eyes began to tear. He followed Willie into the boiler room as the door closed behind him.

  “God in Heaven have mercy on our souls,” George whispered. Moore stepped to George as he fought breaking down.

  “I don’t know what I’ve just seen here,” Moore began, “but I know no one was getting out of this without some loss.”

  “You’re right, Officer Moore—you don’t know what you’ve just seen here.” He brought his misty eyes up to Moore’s, watching for an understanding, and held on to them.

  “I actually don’t think I saw anything.” Moore kept their eyes locked. George offered his hand, which Moore shook. They both turned away from the boiler room and headed for the stairs.

  “After all the students are picked up, assemble all the teachers in the gym,” George said.

  EIGHTY-TWO

  GEORGE STOOD BY the gymnasium with Deanna and Moore. They were looking through the door window at the large, empty space. The overhead lights that reflected on the glossy floor of the basketball court were slow to warm up. They’d first washed the gym with a hazy, gray tone. They were now steadily on their way to becoming the hot, white flood under which one would expect to watch a sporting event.

  “I’m going in,” George said. “You guys stay out here.” He looked at Moore, to whom George was quite grateful. But he couldn’t come in. Hopefully he understood. He’d have to.

  Then he looked to Deanna. Her soft lavender-colored coat that was cut to her frame like she made the damn thing was smudged and streaked with dirt, oil, and whatever else the boiler room was coated with. Her hair was a mess, much of it laying across her face. He reached over and brushed it aside. She kept her head down.

  He stepped through the door and onto the glistening planks. The dome-shaped fluorescents buzzed overhead, made louder by the echoing of the cavernous space. He walked to center court and stood at the circle where a season of tip-offs brought his middle-school girls a division title last year. George found himself standing on the perimeter of the red circle, looking down at the painted phoenix that served as the school mascot. He stood alone at center court and waited. His entire body ached. It was getting more difficult to draw in enough air with each breath he took.

  Before long one of the stairwell entrances, in a corner of that empty gym, opened. The distant footsteps behind George grew and became the only noise in the world. He stayed in his solemn stance as the tapping of hard-soled shoes stopped beside him. A hand gently took George’s. He looked over to Ellie, one of the cousins. She smiled at him, her eyes red and puffy.

  “I…” she said and stood with her mouth trembling, looking for words. She was stifling something that seemed just under the surface.

  “It’s fine,” George said and rubbed her arm. He returned her smile.

  Another door opened from one of the corners. More footsteps. And then more. People filtered in and followed suit in standing center court, around the red circle. George scanned their faces as they stood. Everyone wore the same expression—there was realization in each of them, but in some, also relief. More than a few showed concern and confusion.

  More staff joined the circle. Arlene went to Ellie and they embraced. At George’s left, Doris Calhoun fought to remain stoic. George offered her a smile.

  “How are you?” he leaned over and asked. Calhoun pasted on a smile, then nodded. George reached out and touched her arm. He gave it a soft rub. She leaned toward him.

  “Alone,” Calhoun said. She then folded her hands in front of her and turned back to the circle as if the one word was too much. She didn’t look back to George after an admission so personal. She’d always been lonely, George knew that. Perhaps her acknowledgement of it was something significant. Or maybe something had happened because of the Smoke that made her lonelier.

  No one spoke. Sixty adults—all reflective, some hugging—were gathered in a silence none of them knew how to break.

  The metal doors opened again behind George. That was the entrance from the basement, and George turned to ensure it wasn’t Deanna or Moore that had come in. It wasn’t. Jared and Willie entered the gymnasium and walked to the circle. Jared was still sullen and withdrawn. Willie’s step looked unsteady and his face was contorting into a cry. They reached the group and stood with the others.

  “I think that’s all of us now,” George said, scanning the group. They remained silent and George had the floor. “Teachers, staff, I saw some of you embracing. I see a couple of you holding hands.”

  Willie fell forward onto all fours and brought his head down onto the floor. He wept quietly. He was murmuring something under his breath, through his sobs. George couldn’t quite make it out. Debbie the school nurse stepped forward and moved toward Willie. George held out his hand and stopped her midstride.

  “We all have a lot of work to do,” George said to her. “On ourselves.” She nodded and stepped back into the circle.

  “Mama…” George could now hear what Willie was saying through his breakdown. “Mama, oh, Mama. Lord, no. Mama…” Over and over, still face down.

  There was muffled sniffling and some gasps across from George. Security officer Carmen held both hands over her face and pulsed with grief upon hearing Willie, her cries like staccato pokes through her barrier. Others looked over from the corners of their eyes. Cries began to trickle through the room. It was like the group was given implicit permission. They all began to reconcile what had gone on in the absence of their conscience, and in the service of one another—each in their own way. George surveyed the room and saw so many of his faculty for the first time. Everyone stood bare.

  “We’ve all done terrible things,” he said. “But it wasn’t us. And we have to find ourselves again, and each other. Go forward.” He turned from the group and walked back toward the basement door where he’d left Deanna and Moore. Halfway across the gym he became significantly lightheaded. He stumbled but caught his footing and continued on.

  Deanna and Moore were leaning on the wall, waiting just beyond the basement doors as George came through and stopped by them.

  “What now?” Moore asked.

  “They’ll figure it out,” George said. He tried to continue down the corridor but stopped after a step. He could feel perspiration saturating his entire body. He couldn’t command his body to walk further.

  “Dad?” Deanna said. He put up a hand.

  “Just need a minute,” he said. Moore knew better than that.

  “Come here, big fella,” Moore said as he stepped to George. He took his arm
and guided him to the wall. “Lean right here.” George put his arm on the wall and tried to slow the spinning in his head. Moore stepped away and got on his cell phone.

  The gym door opened and the staff stepped through. They started down the corridor toward George who was still propping himself up on the wall. Dino Mirabelli put a hand on his shoulder. George turned and rested his back on the wall and faced the teacher.

  “Thanks, coach,” Mirabelli said. George winked at him, then slid down the wall to a sitting position. The rest of the teachers came through and stopped in the corridor, watching George. Deanna and Moore knelt down on either side of him.

  “Just stay here,” Moore said to him. “Got some help coming.” George, nearly panting, reached out and patted Moore’s hand. He couldn’t will his mouth to form words.

  “Mr. Anastas, you okay?” a voice asked from the assembled group of teachers. George gave a thumbs-up to the concerned pack.

  Deanna took his hand and held it.

  “Can we do anything to help,” Mirabelli said to Moore.

  “Just give him some room,” Moore said and the group took a step back. George slid his legs out in front of him. “Wow. When’s the last time everyone actually did what was asked? Looks like you got your staff back tonight, George.”

  “And some of them became heroes tonight,” George said through breaths. He looked to Deanna and smiled. Tears were streaming down her face as she held his hand.

  Everyone stood silently in place. Beside George, Moore whispered affirmations and Deanna her love. Eventually the scramble of footsteps was added to the soundscape. Garbled walkie-talkie transmissions amid hurried voices and commands would soon follow, then a stretcher.

  P.S. 21’s staff members stayed in the basement the entire time and lined the corridor walls as the paramedics took their patient out. Deanna and Moore followed, a step behind the gurney, as George made it out.

  EIGHTY-THREE

  PEOPLE DIDN’T STOP telling Deanna how beautiful she was that day. The July humidity frizzed her long curls; she looked in every mirror she passed and thought her head looked like a ratty ball of shit. Didn’t bother her as much as it probably should have, though. Nothing much had. She was impenetrable on July 7th.

  She was sitting for the first time in a while and her feet were killing her. From her special seat at her special table, she thought she might be able to slip half of each foot out of her heels for some relief. The drape around the table covered her.

  But she couldn’t. Her one dictate to every bridesmaid was no fucking flip-flops on the dance floor during the reception. Feet hurt? You suffer. This wasn’t some trashy Sayreville wedding with boxed wine and barefoot sluts sweating it out to “I Will Survive.” You kept your damn heels on as long as your feet were at the country club. And don’t expect that damn song to come on, either.

  The day was fantastic. Far from perfect, sure. Deanna was still feeling the air without her father. It was different, everything was. Places were different, songs sounded different, voices did, too. She didn’t know one person’s life could color so much in her own.

  Jared and Deanna skipped the ceremonial dances altogether. Deanna didn’t want a place in the evening’s program where her dance with George would even be considered. She didn’t want sadness for anyone. She knew her mother would be tortured sitting there alone. Her uncles were helpful and never left Rosemary’s side.

  The Trisha thing was a tangled mess of details she couldn’t understand, though she had fought hard to.

  But then she decided she would not.

  She would never find a place in her mind where any of what happened in her life that year would fit comfortably, so she would move past it. Couldn’t forget it, but she worked to try. She’d gotten no definitive answers on Trisha and the cops still had it as an open case. She knew the P.S. 21 thing swept her best friend out to sea, but that was about it. She built distance from it, and built a wall around herself. Deanna Anastas doesn’t crumble. Losing George brought her close, but there she stood, a smile in every photo. And Trisha—well, there was an education in that loss, for sure. They were the most wrenching months of her life.

  But, sister, I’m gonna live. And I love you for showing me how to do it.

  Screw it. She slid the heels off under the table skirt. It was ecstasy—so worth being a rule breaker. Maybe a conformist.

  Where was this kid? Sneaking another whiskey at the bar? That’s fine. He’d be back in the room for the entrée, her new husband.

  Husband. Wasn’t as weird as she thought it would be. It was just new. Everything was. She wanted Jared to get the hell back to their table so she could talk to him about life anew.

  Jared leaned on the bar, looked into the ballroom, and noticed everyone was smiling, laughing. That alone was an accomplishment.

  The previous three months had been the real work. That thing that overtook him, that life he played host to, was gone. Of that he was sure. But the memories of what happened during that time didn’t leave with it. He remembered every day. He remembered stealing his mother’s wedding dress from his parents’ garage and filling it with a thousand Trishas.

  He couldn’t blame that on anything mystical. He did that—Jared. He’d known that if Deanna stayed at that school she would be in increasing danger as April 5th neared. He’d known she would’ve been removed if she didn’t leave. A transfer wouldn’t happen that soon, not midyear. Anyone who knew Deanna knew that telling her to do something was a great insurance policy against it ever happening.

  She’d only leave if she was pushed to the brink, and maybe not even then. Jared knew that, and he knew that her staring at hundreds of images of her missing best friend’s face might do that.

  Her dead best friend.

  The memories of actions performed when not in control of his own mind and body were just as vivid as if he’d chosen to act that way. He remembered puncturing a good friend’s tire and following behind until she realized. He remembered pulling over and perpetrating a fortuitous meeting, and coming to the rescue. She left her car in that spot by Grove Street and got right in his with him. He remembered every word of their conversation.

  And he remembered everything from that point forward. Jared couldn’t so easily compartmentalize what was him and what wasn’t. His hands belonged to him. And he felt the memory of everything they touched. He’d forever have to live with what his eyes saw his hands do.

  Jared could never confess any of these memories to Deanna. Would she ever find it in her to forgive him?

  In himself he might find forgiveness for keeping someone he and Deanna loved in his trunk until nightfall, lifeless. Might even find forgiveness for using his key card to get in the rear of the school and meet up with Willie, who was ready with the flatbed dolly. In light of the occupation of his body, he might forgive himself for having wheeled their unmentionable parcel to the boiler room. But he would never forget it. He hadn’t been able to muster anything more than a quick nod for Willie since that night. And that’s the best any of that would get.

  Deanna was remarkable over the few months leading up to July. She worked on Jared as much as she worked on herself. She worked on Deanna and Jared, together. It was strained. It was unfamiliar. They quit, then tried, then quit, then tried. They did that for weeks.

  But here they both were—in the outfits they’d chosen months before something bigger than them chose to destroy their worlds.

  Deanna smiled that day. And cried. But smiled. She danced, but also missed a dance with someone important. George smiled at everyone from a picture frame they displayed in the banquet hall. His loss was just another addition to the basket of things that would never be the same again. And there was more.

  Before taking the little respite from the party, Jared had leaned in for another kiss from Deanna. He told her she looked amazing in the dress.

  “Then it’s a good thing we did this today,” she said with a wink. “Would’ve needed a new size if we waited.” Then came the
smile—broad and alive. That’s what she meant.

  “When did you find out?” Jared asked though an excited smile.

  “Shhh!”

  “Why? We’re married.”

  “Yeah but we weren’t.”

  “Oh, please. We were engaged.”

  “Go run that by my Aunt Maria,” Deanna said. For comedy’s sake, Jared actually looked over to the aging picture of stoicism at table seven and considered doing it. He decided it wasn’t worth the joke after a look at the bulldog.

  “Jesus, will someone feed her already?” he said. He looked back to Deanna who was laughing.

  “Dick.”

  “Timing was pretty good, all things considered,” he said.

  “A week ago I didn’t know how I would get through this. Then a couple of days ago I bought a test, and I learned how I would.”

  Standing at the bar now, Jared warmed thinking about Deanna’s face when she had told him. Life would change most drastically yet again for them. But that wasn’t what brought him out to the bar to be alone. Change, in all its wonder and terror, was becoming old hat. It was something else. And he needed to be alone after it came to him.

  Deanna was wearing the glow of poems and greeting cards. That news got her through the day and she no doubt thought her father had some mystical hand in it all. Jared looked into her dark, gorgeous eyes when she had told him. They were afire.

  But she obviously hadn’t counted. Her joy was indicative of the fact that she, the one who’d discovered a pattern of corresponding birthdates and lost lives on her computer, hadn’t counted forward nine months from her discovery.

  Excitement about her private announcement had served her well on her wedding day, and Jared would let that stand. There would be some point in the coming weeks when a doctor would formally give her a due date. They could deal with it then.

  That night she was happy—standing admirably before everyone in her world.

  Jared took the last sip of his gin and tonic and allowed the thought of their future to outweigh calendars and rearview mirrors. He went back into the reception.