by Peter Ponzo
Chapter 39
"And they ain't lookin' for me?"
Josey was curled on the couch, wrapped in a heavy robe, her shaggy face peering past the turned-up collar.
"No, I didn't tell them where you were. Thought I should check with you. See how you felt about it."
I was nestled in my favorite armchair, in a nightgown. Charles was fussing in the kitchen.
"I'll go!" she said emphatically. "Lordy, if they can do somethin', cure me, I'll go in a minute."
"You must understand that you'll be scrutinized, probed, surrounded by scientists who may be more interested in your—"
"Sounds good! I'll go!"
Charles returned from the kitchen holding a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches, spiced black olives and a glass of red wine. It was past midnight and I had left Atlanta immediately after seeing Henderson, arriving home by eleven p.m. so I was starved. The aroma was marvelous. I began to munch before the tray had been placed. The spicy black olives seemed a ubiquitous component in Charles' culinary machinations. I suspected they were the source of the color in his secret black salad dressing.
"Miss Josephine," Charles said, "I would be wary of travelling in your ... your current state of ..."
"Scare the hell outta the passengers, right?" Josey was obviously in good spirits. "Big hairy ape, sitting in first class, eatin' a banana. When can I leave?"
I was pleased that Josey had somehow accepted her condition. It no longer required the fits of sobbing and the wringing of hands. I stopped eating for a moment and turned to Charles. "Any sign of Hans?" I said.
"No, Miss Fleetsmith. He obviously left via the broken window, in the basement. I covered the window with a plastic sheet, put fresh sheets on the bed and left a light burning, as you instructed, giving him the opportunity to return, if that is his wish. However, I must apprise you of the danger—"
"Yes, Charles, I know. But he's in trouble and needs our help. I'm sure that's why he came—"
The phone rang. I looked at my watch. The phone? At this hour? It’s midnight.
Charles answered. "You have reached the residence of Miss Francis Fleetsmith," he began. "Oh, yes, certainly. I'll see if she is awake." He covered the phone and whispered, "Dr. Henderson."
I jumped up and slid into the chair next to the phone.
"Henderson? Dr. Henderson?" I whispered into the phone. "It's rather late, don't you think?"
"I was just hoping ...," Henderson said, "... uh, well, I phoned the motel and they said you checked out without staying even a night. I was just hoping you might still be awake. I'd like to apologize for this afternoon. I don't know ... this problem. Oerschott's body, gone. There's an investigation here. I'm ... I'm being investigated. It was my project. Well, I just phoned to apologize. I was an ass, I know. So much on my mind. My wife. Oerschott. The F.B.I."
"Hold on Dr. Henderson. Your wife? The F.B.I.?"
"Please, call me Doug. Douglas Henderson. I must have sounded like a ... a …"
"Asshole is the word that comes to mind," I said.
He laughed. "Yes, that's a pretty accurate description. And talking about assholes, I really do appreciate the gift you left on my desk. They're working on it as I speak."
Now I laughed. "Working on it? Just how does one work on apeshit?"
"It contains dead cells, apparently rejected after modification by the virus. My staff weren't too excited about it, but it's all we have to go on, now that Oerschott's body is gone."
"I assume that Werner Oerschott left on his own two feet, as did Hans von Oerschott?"
"Yes, that is our current position. At first we thought the body was stolen. Seems impossible, with all the precautions taken at the CDC, but I guess it's easier to break out than to break in. Anyway, that's when the internal investigation began. I was in charge and the body was stolen, so I'm being investigated. Now that we suspect that regeneration occurred and Oerschott left under his own power, I'm less of a suspect ... but it's been a trying day. I'm so sorry I took it out on you."
"Where does the F.B.I. come in?"
"Three bodies, similar fatalities: Canada, Atlanta, Little Rock. Now the F.B.I. has a team wandering the halls, questioning my staff. I feel terrible."
"Canada, I should point out, is an entire country. And your wife? You mentioned—"
"Sorry, that's another matter. But it did change my normally personable character. I really am a sweet and charming fellow, you know." He was smiling. A very small smile. "It's just that, today ... well—"
"I have good news for you, Douglas Henderson," I said excitedly. "I've found the missing link."
"Excuse me?" he said.
"Miss Josephine Cowley. I've found her."
I looked over at Josey. She was beaming. Charles was rolling his eyes.
"You actually have her? I mean, there? Now?"
"Matter of fact, she's lying on a couch, very comfortable, wrapped in a robe ... and she's quite willing to come to Atlanta."
Josey was nodding enthusiastically.
"Excellent! Really quite excellent! Can she ... uh, can she communicate?" he said.
"Want to talk to her?"
"Please!"
I handed the phone to Josey who almost fell off the couch in her haste to grab it. She placed the phone to her ear, curled into a neat ball and slid the robe down from her shoulders revealing some hairy cleavage.
"Hello, honey," she said in a husky voice. "Why don't I come down and see you sometime?"