by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 37
Early the next morning I was awakened by Charles.
"A phone call, Miss Fleetsmith. A Dr. Henderson, from the CDC in Atlanta. He asks that you return his call at your convenience."
"Mohammed comes to the mountain," I mumbled as I rolled out of bed.
" I suspect, Miss Fleetsmith, that Dr. Henderson wishes to enlist your aid—so you will undoubtedly be asked to go to him."
Charles stood discreetly by the window, looking out, as I dressed. I always have this impression of Charles hoping to catch my reflection in the glass, yet he always stands straight as an arrow, delicately holding the curtains aside, intent upon the condition of the roses in the garden. Normally he would leave the room immediately, but now I'm sure he has something urgent to say.
"Okay, you can look now," I said. "I'm as decent as I can be. What's on your mind, Charles?"
He turned slowly, letting the curtain slide from his fingers. He was going to play this scene for all it was worth. He spun on his heel, stuck both hands behind his back and stood stiff as an arrow, silhouetted against the sunlit window.
"There is an intruder," he said, simply.
"There was an intruder," I corrected.
"No, Miss Fleetsmith, there is an intruder."
"So get the Smith and Wesson and blow his brains out."
"A certain hairy ape has made his ... uh, bed in the basement."
"A certain ... you mean Hans? In our basement? Now?"
I ran to the door and bounded down the stairs. Of course! Why hadn't I thought of that? Hans had come to me for help so why would he harm me? And why would he leave unexpectedly? But hadn't I mentioned that he could stay in the basement? Use the bed there? So that's exactly where it went! Shit! I felt that, if I could communicate with it … with him, then—
"Miss Fleetsmith?" Charles was yelling from the top of the stairs. "Miss Fleetsmith!"
I didn't pause for Charles' inevitable monologue on the merit of caution, the value of prudence and the necessity for his close attendance. I didn't need his help. I was certain that Hans had no malicious intent.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs I could smell Hans' presence, an animal essence, a heavy odour, a certain je ne sais pas. I found it beside the empty bed. It was a steaming pile of dung.
"Shit," I grunted.
"Precisely, Miss Fleetsmith. I tried to warn you." Charles was standing at the foot of the stairs.
"Ugh! So why didn't you clean it up, before I came down?"
"Immediatley after I discovered the presence of the ... the doo doo, I heard—"
"The doo doo?"
"The feces, Miss Fleetsmith. After its discovery, the phone rang so I rushed upstairs. It was Dr. Henderson. I assumed that you would wish to know of his call immediately so I went to your room. I also assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that you might wish to analyze this ... this fecal accumulation as part of your Dermafix research."
I stared at Charles in disbelief.
We searched the basement and the rest of the house. Hans was nowhere to be found, but the remaining glass from the broken window in the basement had been violently removed; there were shards of blood-covered glass on the floor.
When I got around to phoning this Dr. Henderson of the CDC I got some secretary. She explained that: (a) I was to come to Atlanta immediately and (b) I was to bring all my research files and (c) a reservation had been made for me at a nearby motel and (d) I was to retain all my receipts so that I could be reimbursed for my expenses.
I made a note of the name of the motel.
"So where's Henderson?" I asked.
"Dr. Henderson is engaged in important research. I handle his calls."
"A motel reservation has already been made? What makes him think I'll hop a plane and fly to Atlanta?"
"Dr. Henderson is a very important scientist. If he wishes to see you in Atlanta, I suggest—"
"Tell him I'll think about it."
And I hung up.
"Not too wise, Miss Fleetsmith," Charles said. "Collaboration with the CDC has considerable merit."
"Then let this Henderson jerk call again and beg for my assistance."
The phone rang. I picked it up.
"Good morning, Fleetsmith residence," I said. I smiled at the response; it was Henderson. "Why Dr. Henderson, how good of you to call. Mmm ... Atlanta? Yes, let me see. Charles, could you check my schedule?" I looked at Charles who was rolling his eyes. I waited for an appropriate length of time then said, "It looks like I'll be free early next week. Oh, I see. Mmm, interesting, well, in that case I can probably cancel some engagements ... yes, okay, fine. Tomorrow afternoon it is."
He hung up without saying goodbye.
"Asshole," I said.
"What made you cancel all your earlier engagements, Miss Fleetsmith?" Charles was smiling.
"He said the body in Atlanta, the guy who died from Dermafix, well ... the body has disappeared."
"Aha! Another Oerschott," Charles said, "escaped from the morgue, a gorilla."
"Yes, another Oerschott. In fact, it's Hans' cousin, Werner Oerschott. The last they saw of him, he was inside a cocoon. But they have a theory of what's happened and want to compare it to my theory."
"What, pray tell, makes them think you have a theory?"
"Don't you think I have a theory?"
"Of course I do, Miss Fleetsmith, but how would they know?"
"Mmm, good question. Well, I'll find out tomorrow. Charles, get me on the next flight to Atlanta. I'll start packing."
"How long will you be gone?"
"The motel reservation, made in my name, is for two days."
I headed for my room. While packing I wondered whether my so-called theory would hold up to the probing of this Henderson asshole. And my research notes, left on the kitchen table: they were gone. That was strange. Where had they gone? Then it hit me. Hans! He had stolen them. That's what he was doing in the house. What good would they do him? He wouldn't understand a thing—but wait, maybe he knew somebody who could understand my research. Maybe this somebody would find a cure, a mechanism for reversing the devolution.
"Did Hans know a somebody?"
"Beg pardon, Miss Fleetsmith?"
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, talking to myself, my knapsack partly stuffed with a few clothes. Charles was at the door to my room.
"Nothing," I said, "just chewing my cud. Did you get me a flight?"
"Yes. It leaves in two hours."
"What! Two hours?" I saw Charles was grinning ear-to-ear. "Mmm, guess I'll surprise Henderson and show up a day early," I said.
"Yes, I thought you would appreciate an early start so I phoned the motel and got you in a day early... and, Miss Fleetsmith?"
"Yes, Charles?"
"Do be careful. There are gorillas in Atlanta."