“Thank you all for coming!” Evelin cries, yanking the microphone out of my hand.
A mixture of cheers and boos fill the auditorium, directed at both me, and the questioner. Evelin lifts a hand in an attempt to bring back order. “Camton University, let’s all give Mr. James Gardner a warm round of applause for joining us this evening! Refreshments are available in the courtyard. He will be there for a signing shortly.” Applause fills the auditorium, but the young man’s shouting still reaches my ears as I walk toward the backstage exit. “It never even happened! Hundreds of New Yorkers remember planes crashing into the World Trade Center, not the Sears Tower! This was mass hypnosis! Mass hypnosis!” And a chill runs through me as an old memory comes back, of Ellis, Vance, Longdale, and myself all sitting around our favorite booth at the Venice Whaler, with Vance going on and on about a town in northern France that was convinced the Algerian War had never happened.
“I’m so embarrassed,” Evelin says as we exit the courtyard, moving toward the parking lot. Thankfully, there had been no more incidents during the signing.
“Don’t be,” I answer. “There’s at least one of them at every signing.”
“You don’t get tired of it?” She asks.
We pause underneath a lamp lining the sidewalk next to the parking lot and I turn to look at her. Evelin’s black hair frames a kind face. She looks up at me with searching eyes. Was she coming onto me? I feel hopeless at this, even more than usual since Samantha. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened after a signing. Still, the whole thing strikes me as odd. How can someone listen to a man talk for over an hour about holding on to a desperate hope that his dead wife wasn’t actually dead and still consider him to be remotely available?
I chose to ignore my hunch.
“Of the crazies? Yes, I get tired of them. But I never get tired of the idea that people have actually read something I’ve written, let alone enjoyed it. Or benefited from it.”
Evelin smiles, revealing bright, white teeth. A nearly perfect smile. “What a great perspective. We’ll have to arrange for you to come back as soon as possible. Maybe after this third book we keep hearing about?”
Something inside me deflates. The third book, the one about my imprisonment with the JAS, was long overdue.
“That would be wonderful.” I say.
She extends a hand—a purely professional gesture. I took her hand in my own and shake it. My instincts appear to have been totally off base. I guess it’s a good thing that I’d ignored them.
Evelin turns and gets into her car, and I give her another wave as she pulls out, exiting the parking lot. I glance around, feeling the chill of the air. Nearby, a group of female college students laugh loudly at some joke. The smell of marijuana drifts past. No matter where I am, college campuses always manage to feel remarkably similar. Almost like home. I scan the parking lot until I find my rental car. Shoving my hands in my coat pockets, I make my way toward it, my breath bursting out in plumes as I walk.
“Things have really changed around here, haven’t they?” I stop, nearly to my rental car, and turn back toward the source of the voice. Other than the group of girls, the parking lot outside of the auditorium is nearly empty, but it still takes me a moment to find the speaker in the darkness. A tall, black man steps out of the shadows. He’s wearing slim, form fitting jeans, and a battered jean jacket. His hair is done up in a short afro. He looks like he’s stepped straight out of a Spike Lee film.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“We met once, a while ago,” the young man says.
A strange feeling comes over me as if I’ve seen a ghost.
“How long ago?” I ask.
“Oh, a while,” the man says, pulling a battered cigarette packet from his pocket and deftly lighting one. “A friend of mine came to see you a while back. He gave you a package. Do you still have it?”
“What package?” I ask.
He blows out a cloud of smoke, gazing at me through the bluish haze. “It was a few years ago in New York. At a party.”
A shock of anger runs through me. Despite the lack of evidence, I’ve come to irrevocably link the flash drive to Molly’s disappearance. I rush forward, grab the young man by his jacket, and shove him up against the side of a van.
“What do you know about my wife?” I growl.
He holds up his hands, the cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. “Hey man, I don’t know nothin’ about nobody’s wife. I’m just passing on a message. Ya dig?”
“Oh my god!”
The cry comes from somewhere behind me. I turn to see the cluster of girls staring at me from across the parking lot. Among them is the purple-haired girl who had asked that question near the end of the talk. I step away, loosening my grip, and give them an innocuous looking wave before turning back to the young man. “What message?”
The man cocks his head at me, completely unaffected by my outburst. “Don’t lose the package. If you misplaced it, find it. If you gave it to someone, get it back. But whatever you do, don’t lose it. Does that jog your memory?”
I feel myself grow suddenly cold. “Sure, I remember.”
“And you know where it is?”
“Yes,” I lie.
He flicks his cigarette onto the ground and grinds it out with his heel. “Good.”
I stare at the young man, a jolt of recognition rushing through me. “Quincy?” I ask.
The man steps away from me, lighting another cigarette. “I don’t know no Quincy,” he says, then turns and begins to walk at a quick pace across the parking lot. I glance behind me to see the group of girls still watching. When I look back to find the young man, he’s already gone.
I step into my hotel room, leaving the door open behind me, and turn to take in the view. I’d gotten a room in a charming little Bed and Breakfast perched atop the Malibu cliffs. The air is clear and crisp, and the calm of the Pacific stretches out into the inky blackness of the nearly starless California night. Could that have really been Quincy? It is hard to be sure. I had only met Quincy the weekend of the road trip. I saw him once after that, at Vance’s funeral, and that was it. He had disappeared even more effectively than Ellis had. Of course, I hadn’t exactly tried to look him up. I’d done my own running away. If I were being honest with myself, the death of Vance and his two friends was probably the single most significant factor that led to my covering wars. I had wanted to spend as much of my life away from California as possible, even if that meant working overseas. For the most part, I’d been successful. But that young man couldn’t have been Quincy. If it was him, then he looked like he hadn’t aged a day.
The sound of my cell phone ringing shocks me out of my reverie. It’s Samantha. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath before answering.
“It’s almost midnight there. What’s wrong?”
“You need to stop doing this to your daughter.”
I sit heavily on the edge of the bed.
“Doing what?”
“Leaving for weeks at a time. It’s almost midnight and I only just got Ella to sleep. You want to know why it took so long? Because it’s Friday night and she wants to know where her daddy is.”
“I’m on a book tour. I can’t carve out every single weekend to fly back to Chicago.” It’s a weak excuse, and I know it.
“Says the man who fought so hard for our custody agreement.”
There’s bitterness in her voice. I’m going to have to tread lightly if I don’t want this to blow up into a full-fledged shouting match. “You wanted full custody,” I remind her mildly.
“I was convinced you were a stalker.”
“Let’s not do this again.”
“I’m still not convinced you aren’t.”
“I saw my wife.”
There’s a long moment of silence. “I know you believe that. I just wish you’d stop holding on to it. Even if she’s alive, she hasn’t come back again, and it’s been four years.”
“Thanks for t
he reminder. Can we get back to the point, please?”
“If you want to see your daughter on the weekends, then you need to be here on the weekends. She hasn’t seen you all month. When are you coming back?”
I run a hand across the stubble on my cheek. “This was my last stop on the tour. I’m flying home tomorrow afternoon. I’ll take her out tomorrow night for ice cream.”
“Good…” There’s a short pause. “But I’m not telling her until you’re standing outside the door. A girl can only take so much disappointment.”
“Tell Ella that daddy loves her.”
“Why don’t you tell her yourself?”
Samantha hangs up and I close my phone shut with a click. A girl can only take so much disappointment… Was she talking about Ella or about herself? Samantha had expressed some interest at times in getting back together. Her desire for Ella to have a happy, stable life was certainly part of that. But we both knew it wasn’t what either of us really wanted. Whatever hopes Samantha may have held onto, I’m sure my book had squashed them.
I hear ringing again and grab my cell phone. Why the hell was she calling me back so soon? I flip open my cell, but the rectangular screen is blank. It takes me a moment to realize it’s the room phone that’s ringing.
“Hello?” I say.
“Is this Jim Gardner?”
I feel my guard go up. The front desk wouldn’t ask me that since they know who is staying in this room.
“Who is this?” I demand.
“Oh, an old friend.” The voice is deep and vaguely familiar. “And erstwhile roommate.”
“Ellis?”
“The one and only.” Ellis Claymore answers.
I stand up from the bed, feeling a mixture of relief and surprise. I had mailed Ellis the flash drive months ago after finding it in the back of my sock drawer. But I hadn’t heard back from him, and after six months of waiting I’d written off the flash drive as lost for good. “How did you get this number?” I ask.
“Your agent, Mary Rowell, is a very gracious woman. Very accommodating. She wouldn’t hand out your cell number, but she was happy to give me the number for your hotel when I explained who I was. I’m calling about that package you sent me. I thought, since you were in town, perhaps we could meet up in person to talk. Do you have a day available?”
I think of Samantha, and Ella. And of the hell I will have to pay for cancelling on them tomorrow night. And then I think of the flash drive, and the inexplicable connection it’s tied to Molly in my mind. Of the strange warning I’ve received tonight from someone who looked just like Quincy, and of the obvious connection between Quincy and Ellis—they had dated for a while, so many years ago. Something is happening here, and I can’t just ignore it.
Shit…
Ellis continues over my silence without even a pause. “I would have come to the old stomping grounds tonight to see your talk, but I can’t get away very easily these days. Though, I’ve read your book, and it’s very interesting. I’d love to talk with you about it. Would you mind coming out for a visit tomorrow? I’m only an hour or two away. What do you say? Come see the old roommate? There’s a hell of a lot to reminisce about, don’t you think?”
I pick up my flip phone and quickly fire off a text.
sorry flight delay ice cream Sun night?
“I’ll delay my flight,” I say, breathing out a long sigh. I won’t be able to live this one down for a while.
February 12
The sky above Ellis Claymore’s home in the desert west of Palm Springs is a bright blue splashed with streaks of white. The house is a single story ranch home with Spanish style roof tiles and stucco walls. A chain link fence stretches out around the back, encircling a large plot of desert covering several acres. No trespassing signs are placed at intervals along the fence. Inside the fenced-in area, an RV is parked next to a low, concrete building. Behind the concrete building, the curve of a satellite dish is visible.
I make my way up a narrow gravel path, past cacti and other native species of plants that have been placed at intervals across the yard of hard packed dirt. A plastic green alien is perched on the front porch holding a sign that reads: Take me to your leader! The alien’s toothy grin seeming to give an ominous warning to any that would enter. I ring the doorbell. A repeating three-tone combination buzzes from inside the house: the theme song to The Twilight Zone.
The door swings open, revealing a large man of easily three hundred pounds, wearing a silk bathrobe, open at the chest, and linen pants cinched tight by a slender drawstring. His curly brown hair is thinning and parted in a terrible comb-over. His broad face is free of wrinkles and his eyes are bright and sparkling.
“Ellis?” I ask, feeling uncertain.
“Jim Gardner, as I live and breathe!” He throws his arms wide when he sees me, parting the bath robe, and his large, white belly bursts out of it like a puff pastry. “The prodigal son doth return! How in blazes are you?”
The booming bass voice that greets me takes me by surprise. Ellis has ballooned up to an elephantine size and his voice has expanded to match.
Ellis lowers his arms. He notices my gaze and gives me a smirk. “Too many of those damned moon pies. My doctor says they’ll kill me, but I am hell-bent on dying a happy man. I’ve always been a bit of a hedonist, but you know that. My god, it’s too hot out here even for Satan himself, let alone us mortals. Come on, hurry up or we’ll all melt!”
“Are you religious now?” I step past him through the doorway and into a clean, open living room with tile floors and garish, eighties-style furnishing.
“Alas, no. If only I could claim something so noble,” he sighs. “Countering the anti-gay religious rabble has forced me to read my Bible again. It’s more self-flagellation than anything else. Of course, that work is only done in my spare time, since even that topic is too taboo for my program, if you can believe it.”
He gestures around the living room. “It’s not much, but it’s been an oasis for me.”
“It’s very…” I remember our old shared apartment and how often I was cleaning up after Ellis’s drunken rampages, “clean.”
Ellis gives an apologetic smile and shuts the door behind us. “I wasn’t a very good roommate, Jim. Scratch that. I was a fucking terrible roommate. I was a slob and a drunk and I apologize. But I’m off the sauce now and have been for nearly a decade. Speaking of which, I would offer you a drink but all I have is tonic water and orange juice.”
“I’m fine,” I say. The living room is quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the purr of a nearby cat. I get a glimpse of an orange tabby before it disappears behind the couch. I set my backpack, the one with the bullet hole, down on the floor and run a hand through my hair. “You’ve got a great place.”
“Thank you,” Ellis says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But I’ve been fortunate. Far more so than I deserve. But enough of me. Are you hungry?”
“So, what did you find out?” I ask, taking a sip of my margarita. Ellis had recommended a restaurant in Palm Springs, a sort of Mexican-Asian fusion spot that, by the looks of it, is frequented almost exclusively by senior citizens and gay men.
“Can’t two friends grab dinner and catch up without making it only about business, business, business?” Ellis asks between bites of his kimchi quesadilla. He’s changed into khaki shorts and a white linen shirt with its top three buttons left open.
“We’re friends now? Ellis, we haven’t talked in thirty years. The last time was the day after Vance’s funeral. And that wasn’t because I never tried to reach out to you. I wouldn’t have known how to find you if Longdale hadn’t heard your show on the radio one night while driving through Arizona.”
“Artie Longdale?” Ellis lets out a chuckle. “That's a name I haven't heard in a long time. But enough of that. Tell me about Molly; how did you two meet?”
I give him a curious look. “It’s all in the book.”
“Of course I read the book,” Ellis says. “I
know that story. But I’d love to hear you tell it in person.”
“We met at a grocery store in Brooklyn over our shared interest in eggplant,”
“Ha!” Ellis’s laugh comes out in a roar. “Delightful. Absolutely delightful.” His laugh fades and his eyes grow distant. “You know, I would have loved to meet her.”
“I would have liked that as well,” I say.
A long moment of silence passes. I poke my fork at my plate of Korean BBQ tacos, feeling uncertain about my choice.
“As long as we’re talking about old relationships,” I say, “what ever happened to Quincy?”
“Quincy…” Elis mumbles, his eyes distant. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time either.”
“I remember seeing the two of you together at the funeral. You seemed good together. Did it last long?”
“We had the benefit of shared tragedy,” Ellis says, his voice quiet. “I thought we were good together as well. Until, one day, he left.”
“What do you mean, left?” I ask.
“His stuff was gone and I never heard from him again.”
I think of Molly’s go-bag, and a shiver runs through me.
“Now I see why you didn’t want to do the small talk. It’s dreary as hell. So let’s get down to business,” Ellis sits up, reaching into his pocket, and takes out a small package. “Your flash drive.”
I take the box from him and open it, revealing the horse-shaped flash drive. “Well?”
“Before I answer, I want to reiterate to you that I know the best hackers, code bashers, and crypto-heads in the business. Have you heard of the dark web? Of Tor?”
I shake my head, no.
“Well, these guys I know are the real people who spearheaded that project, not those hacks with the Navy.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling impatient. “So what did they find?”
Ellis waves a hand. “Nothing. They said it was gibberish, all of them.”
“They couldn’t crack the code?” I ask.
Incursion: Book Three of The Recursion Event Saga Page 11
