Wyatt, Richard

by Fathers of Myth

  “Yes, it looks just like him. But...That can’t be. I mean how could that be, Matt? It must be a look-alike or something.”

  “If I were to take you back to the exhibition, I could show you several old photos they have there on display with this same guy’s face in them.”

  “Are sure you’re just not imaging things?” She sounds as if she were asking a child the question.

  “I swear Kelly! Somehow I am going to try to make you believe me. I’ve seen several very old photos with my own eyes that contain this man’s face. I don’t know how he got there to pose for each photo; I just know he was there long enough to have his picture taken.”

  “I remember in one of the photos I saw, he was posing as one of the cops investigating one of Jack the Ripper’s murder scenes. In another photo he is shaking Hitler’s hand. Hitler is honoring him for creating the idea of the Nazi Swastika.

  I also found a photo where he is posing with Amelia Earhart by her airplane, just before she leaves on the flight from which she never returns.”

  “Now wait just a minute. I might be able to swallow that this guy was still around in the late 1800s during the Civil War, and then he just happened to move to England where he got a job as a policeman, and just happened to be present at one of Jack the Ripper’s murder scenes, where it just so happens a photo was taken. I might be able to swallow it if you gave me a week or two, but those were photos of the 1800’s.

  “Now you’re asking me to believe that this guy transported himself to the 1930’s to pose with Amelia Earhart in a photo and shake Hitler’s hand. I’m sorry Matt, but my faith in your story is beginning to take a nose dive.” Kelly hands me the postcards. Her face is flushed and she looks exhausted. I gently place my hands on either side of her shoulders and turn her directly toward me. I tenderly pull her chin up, till her eyes focus directly on mine.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I told you before, you and I are friends. I...”

  “I’m not asking you if we’re friends. Do you believe me, or do you think I’m crazy? I’m asking you if you can believe me right now.”

  She looks longingly back and forth at my eyes, until she finds the answer to my question.

  “Yes Matt I believe you. I am just trying to figure out what this is all about, that’s all.”

  “I don’t know what all this is about, myself. I do know that what I’ve seen is real. I just need some time to figure it all out, if I can. Will you help me do that? Will you stick with me just a little while longer?”

  “Of course Matt. But listen to me. Do you realize what you’re asking me to believe? I mean, just think of the implications of it for a moment. If this man was present, to pose at all the times and places that you say you’ve seen him in, he would have to be some kind of time-traveler or something. If he weren’t a time traveler, he would have to be at the very least, a guy that has lived an incredibly long time. That just seems too unbelievable to me. You see what I mean.” Although she is full of serious perplexity, she expresses herself with a very sweet repose.

  She does make a very good point though. Something I myself have thought, but have not heard myself speak it out loud.

  Kelly stands and then leans over the table towards me and whispers that she needs to go the powder room to powder her nose. I remain seated at the table, drifting off somewhere in my mind between past and present.

  Since it looks as if Kelly is going to be awhile, I decide to do the tourist thing and go out onto the Space Needle’s observation deck to take a look around.

  §

  TWENTY

  The automatic sliding doors open with a blast of wind that sounds like a freight train. I immediately unfold the collar of my jacket around my neck, and walk out onto the darkness of the deck. Seattle is displayed before me and below me, looking like a million candles flickering far off into the night.

  I stare out into the night, mesmerized by all the animated illuminations affixed upon this ebony panorama. It is interesting, I think to myself, how something seemingly so limited in color and shape, can be so captivatingly beautiful, almost hypnotic.

  I remember as a child I would squint my eyes and make believe the lights of the city were really the eyes of thousands of unknown creatures watching me. Or, there may be one gigantic monster that had magically illuminated itself as a warning, so that I would know its presence and go no further in its direction.

  I look out over towards the docks, and then further out into the open waters of the Puget Sound. A large ferry with its night running lights displayed, moves slowly across the water. The water is calm and reflects the Seattle skyline like a mirror.

  I put a quarter in a coin operated telescope, hunch over and look through the telescope lens. Looking out toward the Eastside, I can see the traffic moving across Lake Washington by way of the floating bridge. The telescope goes black and requires another quarter. I am in the wrong business, I think to myself. I should buy me a few of these telescopes. At a quarter a minute I could retire by the time I am thirty.

  After feeding the telescope another quarter, I maneuver myself to peer out into the darkness once again. Just as my forehead rests against the telescope, someone grabs my throat from behind like a vice. Instantly and instinctively, I struggle to see the assailant’s identity. The more I struggle, the more the grip around my neck is increased. The pressure of the assailant’s grip becomes so intense, I feel myself beginning to blackout.

  Slowly, the hand around my neck releases its grip a little. Suddenly, a whispering sandpaper-like man’s voice begins. “You are going to die, Mr. Brooks.” I resist a little by reason of his words and the grip on my neck tightens severely in response.

  “You are going to die, Mr. Brooks, if you don’t forget what you have uncovered and you don’t stop searching for answers. I warned you in writing, and I have warned you in person. If it were up to the others, you would already be dead. This is your last warning, Mr. Brooks. Do you understand?”

  Stunned for a moment, I hesitate to reply. Suddenly, he violently shakes me to attention. “Do you understand, Mr. Brooks?”

  “Uh huh!” With his death grip still upon me, it is all I can possibly grunt out, signaling affirmatively by moving my head minutely up and down. The squeeze of his hand then increases and becomes so intense that I pass out completely.

  The dull thump of raindrops upon my face begs open my eyes. Lying there on the cold metal deck, I sense I’ve been awakened to a place I do not belong. It’s like I have come to life, laying upon some ghastly Dr. Frankenstein-like apparatus, where large raindrops are being used to repeatedly poke my eyes open to consciousness.

  Suddenly, my soul’s memory that had been imprisoned inside my dazed mind is now set free. I remember where I am and what has just happened.

  Immediately I leap up from the cold and wet wire floor and begin to head for the sliding door. I quickly find that I have leapt up from the floor a little too fast. My legs turn into noodles and my head becomes inebriated with dizziness. With the thumb and fingers of one hand on the temples of my head, I reach out for the rail and then seize it with the other. I wait here for a moment, until the unstable dizziness passes. As I wait for my mind to clear, I become quite aware of the deep aching of my throat, due to the trauma imposed by some unknown aggressor.

  I raise my head and look around my immediate space. I am alone in the darkness. Only small intermittent deck lights and the city lights of Seattle 600 feet below me, illuminate the night.

  Without warning, an ill-mannered wind gusts through the entrails of this magnificent metal structure and crescendos into a supernatural sounding howl. Being granted a few moments to catch my sanity, I head for the glass doors for escape from this nightmare. I slowly pace across the deck towards the door, one foot in front of the other. I stop and turn a complete 360 degree circle, in order to ascertain the possibility of further threat. I continue towards the glass doors once again.

  My heart pumps like a canon, as if it i
s about to fire my life’s blood, right out through my chest. Like sentinels offering passage for asylum, the doors automatically open. Accepting their invitation of refuge without hesitation, I quickly walk inside without looking back.

  As I return to our table, Kelly is waiting there with a little frown attached to the side of her face. Quietly, and without saying a word, I sit down. The Jack and Coke I had left behind is now watered down with melted ice. I hurriedly grasp it with both hands, tip it up and drink it down in one large gulp. Kelly patiently waits for me to finish my drink.

  “You got tired waiting for me and went exploring?”

  I have no response for her, since my mind is still in the quagmire of my misadventure.

  Kelly waits patiently for me to answer, her eyebrows succumb to puzzlement.

  “Something is wrong Matt. You look pale!”

  Unbeknownst to Kelly, I have been choked speechless. My reply to her questions remains barricaded somewhere inside my brain. Without speaking a word, I simply lower my collar and expose the barbarous signature left by my assailant.

  Kelly looks at the macabre stamp of communiqué upon my neck. Instantly she makes a frantic inhaling noise, and jumps to her feet. With her eyes on high beam and her mouth open wide, she spits out a response.

  “Matt! What in the...”

  Raising my palms up in gesture before she can go any further, I make an effort to tone down her reaction.

  With an unusual and unreal composure of calm, I finally speak.

  “I was out on the deck.” I point over towards the glass doors exit. “I mean that is where I have been.” By the look on her face, I am far from making any real sense.

  “I know where you were, Matt,” she fires back, doing so better than any drill sergeant ever could.

  “Now tell me, where in the world did you get those marks on your neck?” She is trying to speak and be unemotional, but the moisture beginning to pool inside her beautiful eyes betrays her authentic heart. She is scared.

  “Oh those are just from that guy that threatened to kill me.” I feel so strange. I have been totally ravaged emotionally, but I feel totally calm. And yet I feel as waggish and giddy as a child. With this odd mix of emotion, my words are coming out of my mouth dressed as sarcastic.

  “Kill you? What are you saying? Who threatened to kill you?” she commands.

  “Oh you know; the guy that I told you about. The one that you said is a figment of my imagination.” I gesture a pointing finger towards myself, doing so in a most lofty cavalier manner. I am almost appalled at my blatant sarcasm at such a serious time as this. Of course I cannot be at blame. Some dark demon of sarcasm has been mistakenly let loose inside my soul. Thinking this to myself, I impishly smile.

  “Matt, would you please be serious for a change? Tell me what happened. Does it hurt?” she leans over and beginning to examine my neck in a tender feminine, motherly fashion. It reminds me of how my mother would react when she found a stray cat or dog that was wounded or poorly fed. I kind of like it, I admit to myself. Of course I allow myself to hope for better things, that Kelly’s feelings might blossom into something more than motherly.

  “Remember, the man that was in the Civil War photos and in the Jack the Ripper murder scene photos. Remember the 1937 newspaper article about the Hindenburg I told you about, and the picture of the guy with those weird eyes running away from the Hindenburg?” Not being sure where I am going with my explanation, Kelly nods her head and patiently waits for me to conclude.

  “That same man attacked and threatened to kill me, just a few minutes ago. He said that this was my last warning.”

  Kelly stares at me in silence, her mouth is cocked open as if she is allowing a doctor to place a tongue depressor upon her tongue, then asked to say ‘ahh’” She is dumbfounded.

  I see that Kelly is coming to the end of her silence and is about to speak. Just as her lips are forming the first words of her next expression, I cut in line of her before she has a chance to speak.

  “Now hold on, hold on. I know what you’re going to say.” I hold up my hands in a sort of premature protest.

  “You probably think that all of this is just a figment of my imagination, or that I’m crazy. That may be true. Of course I have always believed that figments of imagination were not capable of squeezing your neck until bruising marks appear, and rendering one totally unconscious,” I soberly express myself.

  “Matt, how do you know...”

  I interrupt Kelly as abruptly as possible; unwavering in my conviction, without appearing profoundly furious.

  “No Kelly! You have questioned my story long enough. You can see the marks on my neck. That should be proof enough. You should believe the rest of my story I have been telling you, because I say it is true. I am telling you, it is true.” I feel as if I am beginning to crumble from fatigue.

  “Ok, ok. I believe you. Listen, I’m sorry. I know that you are serious about this. I know that you’re not just making this up out of your head. I don’t think that you’re crazy or anything; a little paranoid maybe, but not crazy.” She smiles.

  “I believe you Matt, but did you see the man that attacked you? Did you see his face to be sure?”

  I bow my head, take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

  “Who else would tell me to stop searching for answers? Who else would tell me that this is my last warning, and they will kill me if I continue to search for answers? Who else would tell me that my life is in danger and that the others want me dead?

  No, I didn’t see his face, I didn’t have to. I know who it was. A blind man can recognize who they are talking to without seeing their face, and so can I.”

  “OK that makes sense. I was just thinking that it might be someone that is connected to another story that you have been working on, or have worked on in the past.”

  “Look, in my short career as a journalist, I have never received a death threat. Not until I come into contact with this gentleman. He is the only person, man or woman that has told me to stop searching for information about him or his associates. He is the only being that has ever given me, as he put it, a last warning. He signed that last warning with these marks on my neck.” I point to my throat as a credential of proof.

  “Who else could it be? What other mystery am I in a quandary about or trying to unravel? The only mystery I have been trying to solve is of this irksome fellow that is repeatedly forewarning me of death.” The sound of exasperation rattles in my voice.

  “I’m sorry, Matt.” She tries to express herself sympathetically. Kelly reaches over and holds my hand, then gently squeezes it.

  I sit back casually in my chair and methodically look out through the window. Out there in the black of night, the light stitched skyline of Seattle shows off its grandiosity.

  “You know?” Kelly sits back down as I begin to speak. “The thing I don’t understand is how he knows? How could he know that I have uncovered information about him? It seems to me the only way he would be aware of anything I have done or what you and I have found out, is if he has been watching us. He must have been watching and following us for a very long time.

  That means you are going to have to watch yourself from now on. Be careful and be aware of what is going on around you.” I look over at Kelly with a worried cast upon my face.

  “Why do I need to watch myself from now on?” Kelly begins to look scared

  “Think about it. If he has been watching me, he has been watching you too. He figures that you know what I know. For some reason though, he has seen it necessary only to approach me, for right now. For some reason he feels that I am more of a threat. But that’s good. Hopefully he will continue to think that way.

  You know that any good reporter will not back down from any story, even if they are threatened. That’s usually how the really good and important stories surface. I know a little bit of the story now, but I need to find more pieces of the puzzle though, so I can find out what it all means. That’s why I feel I n
eed to go to Maui. I think I may be able to find another piece to this puzzle there. Maybe, just maybe, I can find a connection between Charles Lindbergh’s ransom note and the threatening messages we were given. There has got to be a reason why Lindbergh’s note and our threats are almost exactly the same.”

  “You mean you are still going to Maui, even after your life has been threatened and then you were almost strangled to death? Matt, this guy is not kidding. He didn’t stick those black and blue marks on your neck, just to play a joke.” Kelly’s radiator of emotion begins to overheat. I smile a little as she softly rants; of course, the only way a beautiful girl can rant is softly. I am delighted at the passion that she is exhibiting for my safety and care. I relish her enthusiasm, so I wait for her to finish.

  “If he really wanted to kill me, he would have killed me by now. Don’t worry, everything will be alright.” I choose my words carefully. Actually I deceive her a little bit, in order not to betray my true feelings about the situation.

  “The way I look at it, is that the more we know about this guy, the safer we will be.”

  “Now how can you say that, he has threatened to kill you if you keep trying to find out anymore about him?” Kelly argues, definitely cynical of my store-bought rationale.

  “This guy has become kind of like our enemy, right?” Kelly shrugs her shoulders.

  “Well, you know the saying. The more you know about your enemy, the more successful you will be at fighting him.”

  “I don’t understand, Matt.”

  “What if you and I could prove that other people like us have had encounters with this man? What if we could prove that others have had threats and warnings by this same guy and his cohorts? If we could find out enough of the story to put into print, to bring out into the open, I doubt if this guy and his buddies would risk doing anything to anybody. Remember, these guys want to stay hidden in the shadows.

  “What if I were able to go to Maui and find the information that would connect Charles Lindbergh’s ransom note with our threatening letters. Not only would that give us more answers and more to go on, but connecting this whole thing with someone that has the fame of Charles Lindbergh will give us the edge. The more it comes out into the open, the safer we will be and the more these people will back off.”