by Anton Strout
10
By the time we finished helping out the Things That Go Bump in the Night Division exterminate the zombies, I was exhausted. I nearly fell asleep as I cabbed it back to the Lovecraft Cafй. It had been a long day of psychometric pop-quiz training, bookcase combat, and a grueling round of Whack-a-Shuffler. My bat reeked of rot from the Code Gray and I couldn’t wait to clean it. Once again, the Department’s “business as unusual” motto had held true.
I was too exhausted and repulsive to even contemplate investigating Irene’s place tonight. But then, the thought of investigating Irene’s home tonight or even things at my own-the clutter of packing crates in the living room, deleting Tamara’s latest volley of berating messages from the answering machine-all these thoughts further exhausted me.
As I entered the offices, I was so distracted with thoughts of zombies going squish and sorting out the women in my head that I ran smack into Director Wesker. Unfortunately, I had just pulled off one of my gloves and my hand slammed into a Moleskine notebook that Wesker was carrying. I recognized it as one of the many that were kept down in the Gauntlet, the Department’s ancient records archive. Before I had a chance to react or restrain my power, the electric charge of connection kicked in and images concerning the necromantic history of Benjamin Franklin started to fill my head. The images of a near-skeletal version of one of our nation’s heroes filled my brain. The sudden shock of seeing it was too great, and with my exhaustion, I couldn’t will myself out of it.
The vision snapped away suddenly and I came around to find Wesker holding the book protectively away from me. Having an object taken away from me was far more disorienting and draining than when I completed a vision myself, and all I could do was stare at him for a minute while I tried to steady myself. God, psychometry could be a bitch.
As usual, Wesker’s eyes were hidden behind his mirrored frames, and even up close, I still couldn’t see the hint of his eyes behind them. He shot me a smug smile.
“Out of my way,” I said, hearing the waver of false bravado in my voice. Wesker just folded his arms defiantly across the expanse of his chest with the book now tucked neatly beneath them.
“I don’t think so, newbie,” he said, then sniffed. “What’s the horrendous odor?”
“That would be me,” I said, holding up my ichor-covered bat. He gave it the same dirty look he usually reserved for my face.
“Rumor has it that you caused a little ruckus over at Tome, Sweet Tome.”
“Word travels fast around here,” I said, attempting to push back most of the edge in my voice. I reminded myself that I should keep myself in check around the divisional directors. Thaddeus Wesker was, after all, still the head of not one buttwo divisions, and he aspired to even greater posts than that. Not to mention that although I was in the safety of our own office, I still thought he might hit me.
Wesker unfolded his arms and dug his fingers into my right shoulder. “When the owner of one of the premiere occult bookshops in the country calls my department to report an assault against some of his rare books and even rarer creatures, I do have a problem,” he said. “One that I’ll be bringing up with the Enchancellors, I assure you.”
The mere thought of my name even being on the lips of our governing board worried me. I was happiest when I flew under the radar, learning my way through the ins and out of the D.E.A without the nervousness that came with constant attention. I had enough to worry myself over as it stood. Controlling my powers and reining them in were my priority, and that alone took up most of my concentration. I raised my slime-covered bat slowly and moved it toward the hand that was gripping me. Quickly Wesker released me.
“Do what you have to do, Director Wesker,” I said wearily. “I don’t care. Right now, as a member of Other Division, I answer to the Inspectre. I suppose he’ll reprimand me if I’ve earned it. All I know is that we were paying customers in that store, renting time in the Stacks, when this…bookcasething… tried to kill me. Seems I’m the only one who was wronged there,sir.”
I couldn’t see why anyone from the D.E.A., even Wesker, would side with a complaint filed by Cyrus Mandalay. Who really cared what an occult bookstore owner complained about? Wesker finally moved to one side. With a flourish, he gestured toward the rest of the office. He waved his hand in a shoo-ing motion.
“By all means then,” he said bitterly, “don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you have some paperwork to catch up on or office supplies to steal.”
The reminder of my waiting paperwork stung hard, and as I walked past Wesker, I couldn’t resist a parting shot.
“It’s not my fault the F.O.G.ies won’t accept you,” I muttered.
“What was that?” he growled from behind me.
I picked up my pace now that I was past him.
“Nothing!” I shouted cheerfully. It was a small dig, but regardless of its size, it still tasted of victory.
At this time of evening, the offices were all but deserted. I washed my bat in the bathroom sink, collapsed it into its sheath, and then wound my way down the main aisle until I reached our desks. I sat down and wearily filled out the eight forms that an interdepartmental zombie exterminating excursion invariably generated, made three photocopies of each, and then dropped them in the right in-boxes. It was pointless not to do them right away-the director of Things That Go Bump in the Night was a real stickler for prompt paperwork, and he’d have his assistant harassing me at home if I wasn’t careful. I returned to my desk. The tower of paper sitting in my in-box had doubled since earlier in the day, but I ignored it once again and started gathering reference material to go over at home that I thought might prove helpful to Irene’s case. I grabbed a copy ofThe Complete Riddles of the Sphinx and a pamphlet entitledUnderstanding the Fates and stuffed them into my bag. That would count as my light reading for the evening. I was headed for the door, free and clear, when I caught something out of the corner of my eye and stopped. Irene was sitting in the chair next to my desk staring at me like a lost kitten. I don’t know how I had missed her, except for being totally distracted in my hurry to get the hell out of there. Anxiety filled her deep, blue eyes.
“Hello,” she said, hope spreading with a shy smile across her face. “Any luck today?”
“Some,” I said, setting my bag back down. “We’re pretty sure we found your last name…Ms. Blatt.”
Irene scrunched her face up in exactly the same manner Connor had.
“Really?” She seemed disappointed. I couldn’t blame her.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
She sat there in silence, shifted in her chair, and crossed her legs. Not knowing what to say, I made busy with my paperwork again. But something struck me. I let the papers fall to the desk. “Irene…have you been sitting here all day?”
She nodded.
“Hasn’t anyone talked to you…helped you out at all?”
“Other than Inspectre Quimbley?” she asked. “No.”
Irene had fallen through the cracks, lost among the red tape and bureaucracy that passed as business here at the D.E.A. There was too big a caseload for most of the agents here, and no one picked up the slack on walkins like Irene. So just leave it for Other Division. It made me furious.
“Is there somewhere I can stay?” she asked. “If it’s not too much trouble…”
I shook my head. “They’re not really set up to deal with otherworldly accommodations of this sort, only for detaining troublesome spirits. The D.E.A. doesn’t really function as a paranormal hostel.”
Irene looked crestfallen. I made a note to talk to Inspectre Quimbley in the morning. We needed to have a policy in place for these exceptions. If I didn’t put the wheels in motion, City Hall would delay us in setting it up for years to come with meetings and permits and permits to have meetings.
In the meantime, though, it made me feel terrible that Irene had been sitting here waiting patiently the whole day without another soul to talk to. I couldn’t just leave her. Members of the graveyard shift we
re arriving through the movie house entrance, but I wasn’t going to pass her off onto people she didn’t know. There was only one course of action that felt right.
“Listen, Irene. I don’t think you’ll want to hang around my desk all night. Heck, it’s my desk and I don’t want to be stuck at it all that long. And since I haven’t really made any headway other than finding out your name and address, I feel the least I could do is offer to put you up at my apartment tonight.”
“That’s really too kind of you to offer,” Irene said. If moderately corporeal ghosts could be said to blush, her face reddened and she broke into a wicked smile. “Are you sure?”
I glanced away, feeling a bit self-conscious about having made the offer and stuffed a random handful of papers into my bag. I didn’t know how the Inspectre or Connor would react to such a thing, but what other options did I have? “No, it’s no trouble at all. Like I said, the Department isn’t really equipped to host you for the evening.”
“Really?” Irene asked as she rose. “I should think they’d be used to this sort of thing.”
I couldn’t stop futzing with papers or rummaging around inside my bag. Why was I feeling so uncomfortable? Hadn’t I been told there would be situations stranger than this when I had signed on with the Department? If Connor had been around to consult, I would have felt more at ease, but he had left. That was a small part of my nervousness, but it also had to do with the fact that this would be the first woman in my apartment since the Tamara debacle. Well, ex-woman. I knew if Irene was to have any peace there, though, my answering machine would have to stay muffled in the drawer.
I smiled at her. “Yes, you would think the Department was used to this type of thing, wouldn’t you? But…well, it’s several things, really.”
“Like what?”
I stopped futzing and turned to face her. She deserved my full attention. “You’re different, Irene. The Department is used to all kinds of weirdness, but you don’t really pigeonhole for them neatly. You seem too alive to be dead.”
Irene’s solid shape began to go semitransparent as she became agitated. I could make out one of the night shifters coming on duty straight through her.
“Well, Iam dead,” she said with a bit of angry sarcasm. “Doesn’t that count for something with you people?”
“Please, let me explain,” I said, and without thinking, I attempted to take her less-than-solid hand. My gesture made her more solid, and I felt that electric charge again when my hand passed through her. “The directors and agents here deal with the deceased in an almost entirely bureaucratic way, and nine times out of ten, most ghosts are far less…living than you. Far less interesting and far less alive.”
“I see,” Irene said.
“Dealing with you, as an apparition who is still clinging to human emotions and feelings, well…they’re not up to it.”
“And what about you?” she asked. “Why are you up for it?”
“Maybe because I’m still new here,” I offered. “Maybe I’m too dumb to know any better yet.”
I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it and say something more reassuring.
The silence grew between us as the sounds of the office coming to life with the arrival of the late shift rose up around us. As the silence began its journey into unbearable, I snapped out of it.
“Would you like to get out of here?” I asked and grabbed my bag.
She looked relieved and nodded. “Yes. I would like that very much.”
I led the way out of the Department, past the oblivious moviegoers in the theater who were watchingThe Thin Man, and into the coffeehouse proper. Mrs. Teasley was still there, her cat softly purring on her lap and her fingers deep in a pile of still steaming coffee grounds. She smiled as we walked past, and then Irene and I were out on the street.
I wondered about how Irene would fare walking all the way to SoHo given her less-than-corporeal form. Would other people move out of the way for her, or was there a danger of them accidentally walking through her and setting off widespread panic in the streets?
“You’d better stay close,” I said, and moved directly in front of her so she could follow me safely. But in fact, people naturally avoided her on the street, as if some untapped part of their minds knew something extraordinary was at hand, and wanted to get the hell away. Animals, however, noticed her. Before we hit the end of the block, four dogs had looked at us oddly and started barking. As we turned left onto Broadway heading downtown, the crowds thinned, and the rest of our trip went without incident.
I fumbled with the lock like a nervous teen bringing a new girlfriend home when his parents were out of town. I told myself to stop being ridiculous and finally managed to get the key in, then lead Irene down the main hall to the charming wrought iron elevator.
“It’s beautiful,” she said as she entered it. “So turn of the century.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I love it, too.
“I’m always reminded of a simpler age,” I continued, “of times gone by.”
Irene smiled. “That’s a very romantic notion, Mr. Canderous.”
As we rode the rest of the way up to the slow rhythmic clanking of the elevator, I couldn’t help but check her out. The curve of her mouth was adorable. God, was my love life so messed up that I was finding any woman-even a dead one-attractive? Color me necro-curious.
Few people visited my home, and I had never knowingly had a ghost in my apartment before-certainly not one as intriguing as Irene. She possessed what my father had referred to as “carriage”-a special way of presenting herself that spoke of worldliness, a personal grace that seemed innate. I hadn’t run across many women who pulled it off these days.
Irene caught me staring and smiled. My face flushed. “Sorry,” I said. Few things in my experience were worse than being caught checking someone out. Thankfully, the elevator stopped and I quickly slid the accordion doors aside and gestured for Irene to step out.
“You’d think I’d never dealt with the dead before,” I said apologetically.
She whirled around, looking upset-and once again I was able to see straight through her. I could make out my apartment door through her down the hall. “Please don’t,” she said.
“Don’t what?”
“Please don’t refer to me asthat.” She sighed. “The dead. I’m afraid I’m not quite used to the idea yet and I’d prefer it if you’d just call me Irene.”
“I’m sorry, Irene.”
Stupid, real stupid. I excused myself and headed down the hall toward my apartment door. I had to make a better effort tonight to think before I spoke. I opened the door and flicked on the light.
“You’ll have to excuse the place,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to clean.”
Usually I was quite proud of my apartment, but not with the way I had left it. The main living space was still cluttered with crates, hiding the normally impressive Clue conservatory atmosphere I had been working so hard to cultivate.
“It’s absolutely marvelous,” she said.
“You think?” I asked, surprised by her reaction. “I’ve always wanted to live in a Nick and Nora film. I’m afraid my current look isn’t quite doing it.”
Irene walked across the living room, blithely passing through several unopened crates and boxes of every possible size. She stopped inside the middle of one of my brass-tacked leather sofas and looked around. I was surprised to realize that I desperately wanted her to be impressed. I watched as Irene crossed to the room’s focal point-towering bookcases full of the finds I had recovered over the years. Last night’s bag with the Intellevision and games was still there. I didn’t know what she had expected, but as she marveled over the shelves, I could tell it wasn’t this.
“You’re certainly well-read,” she said, looking at all my books and grinning.
“It’s all lies,” I said.
She turned, puzzled. “How so?”
“Well, none of this space is really me,” I said. “I’ve developed a space
for the type of guy Ihope to be-a man who wants space to think, to be cultured, and to be able to do it in comfort and style. It still feels a little like a ruse to me, though. I never feel quite at ease with the finer things I surround myself with.”
Still, I wanted Irene to appreciate it, and it looked like she did. I felt a rush of pride.
I cleared boxes from one of the leather Catalina sofas and stuffed handfuls of scattered packing materials into a tall wooden crate from which a Tiffany floor lamp poked out precariously.
“I’ve been meaning to get to all this,” I said. I straightened the lamp and secured it with a few handfuls of the packing material. “Really. It’s kind of gotten out of control lately with my caseload at the Department.”
Irene laughed, covering her mouth with one hand as she did so. “I completely understand your appreciation.”
“You do?” I asked. “How’s that?” I muscled a painting-shaped crate to the floor and shoved it toward the row of bay windows that ran down the other side of the room.
Irene started to answer, but paused instead and sat down in the space I had cleared. “You know, I’m not quite surewhy I said that.”
I stopped what I was doing and sat down next to her on the sofa. “Maybe you remembered something…?”
“It’s possible,” she said with a frown of concentration. “I’m really not sure.”
She was agitated by her lack of memory. I couldn’t imagine how I’d handle missing my entire memory. Hell, I got agitated when I couldn’t remember where my keys were, and Irene’s situation was worse to then th degree.
“Just relax and think,” I instructed. Maybe I could get something out of her with a little guidance. “You said it for a reason, Irene. Did something about my apartment trigger something for you?”
Her nose crinkled with even greater concentration as I watched, but I didn’t smile in case it distracted her.
Finally, with a hesitant look of triumph, she said, “I…I think I may have been a lot like you, Simon. A collector. When you were talking about how you never could find the time to take care of all these things or get them put away, well, it struck a chord in me.” She thought for a moment longer. “I think that’s something that I may have been doing with my own life. Or if I wasn’t, I think it’s something I would have been very much interested in doing.”
