Heart to Heart: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective

by Don Pendleton

  "You did not paint these," I told her.

  She bristled, said, "Of course I painted them. Do you think they came from the blue?"

  I said, "Maybe. But you are not the master. This work did not come from Francesca II. That's the real secret about you, isn't it. The other Francesca, the working Francesca, the daytime Francesca who experiences only slight intimations of this Francesca, she is the master."

  She responded with haughtiness, "Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Ford."

  I told her, "We're going to discuss another painting; come on." I dragged her to the double portrait dubbed Soul Mates by my art critic friend, the cop, demanded: “Tell me about this one.”

  She sniffed, looked at the floor, replied, "It captures neither of us. I am ashamed of this painting."

  "Then why do you display it as the crown of the show?"

  "Did I do that?" She looked around, seemed to be losing herself, leaned against me, said very quietly: "Help me, Ashton. I need to come out."

  This was, yeah, Francesca I coming out.

  I held her in my arms and kissed her out of there, then commanded: "Stay here! Don't let her back! She is trying to undermine you!"

  The voice was weak but steady as she replied, "Yes, I... I think I understand."

  This is shivery stuff, understand.

  Maybe it does not read that way, and you have to experience it directly to get the full effect of it, but believe me I was shivering inside. Ask any psychiatrist who works with multiple personalities.

  I looked up and saw Alvarez hovering nearby. I caught his eye; he came on over. "Know what's happening?" I asked him.

  He jerked his head in an understanding nod. "Some of it, I think. Can I help?"

  I turned her over to his willing arms and I told him, "Keep her engaged. Discuss the paintings with her, anything, but keep this personality present."

  Alvarez understood, yes, quite a bit more than I would realize he understood until some time later. He took over without missing a beat, and I went to talk with Valentinius.

  The old soul was giving me one of his patented wise looks as I approached him; he knew I was coming; knew why I was coming.

  Before I could get a word out, he said to me, "Good work, Ashton. And just in time. We must depart soon. Hai Tsu has been ordered home. We must leave before her."

  I probably already knew or guessed the answer, but I said, "Why?"

  He ignored it, told me instead: "All abodes are temporary after all. You will not need the paper I gave you. Perhaps it will be useful however if you should wish to clean up a bit behind us."

  I felt suddenly very humbled; looked around the magnificent room and the palatial furnishings; told him, "I am sorry I failed you, Valentinius."

  "Ah, but you have not failed me, my brother," he said generously. "I did not ask you here to rescue the abode. Another shall be found, when it is needed." He smiled. "Perhaps not for another hundred years, as you reckon it."

  I asked, "What's it all about, brother?"

  He smiled. "But you already know that, don't you. Never mind, it shall come to you in time." His gaze shifted to the exhibition and those grouped there in almost worshipful appreciation. "They are joyful, are they not? Because they are filled with the secret. Francesca's secret, and yours. Ah, yes. They are joyful."

  I said, working very hard at a thought, "Valentinius... is this what I think it is? Are all these people...?"

  He replied, "They are coming into understanding, yes."

  I said, "But...I always thought it would be...like... instantaneous."

  He explained, "If you board a plane in San Francisco, go promptly to sleep, awaken in New York—are you any wiser when you wake than when you fell asleep?"

  I said, "Well..."

  "But if instead of sleeping on the plane, if instead you bring a briefcase stuffed with work to be studied—say for a business conference at the end of the journey—do you arrive in New York wiser than you were when you left San Francisco?"

  I said, "See what you mean, yeah. These folks are catching up on their studies."

  "This folk," he corrected me.

  I said, "Oh shit."

  It was not exactly the understanding I'd been reaching for, but it reached me instead.

  I tried it on him. "These people are all pieces of you?"

  He said, "Oh no"—chuckled—"Dear me, no, not pieces of me, Ashton. Never mind, do not be embarrassed. You will understand when understanding is needed. Something else is more directly bothering you, I see. Hai Tsu is bothering you. Do not be bothered for Hai Tsu. She is not called home in disgrace but in recognition of admirable service."

  I asked, "Where is that home? Lemuria, Mu, Atlantis, Isis; by whatever name, where is home for Hai Tsu?"

  He laughed, told me, "You very nearly stumbled into it, my brother. At the very edge of infinity one could say."

  I said, "I thought infinity could have no edges. The infinite is unbounded, isn't it, so what's with edges?"

  He replied, "Infinity is both bounded and unbounded, edged and unedged. How would one define space and time beyond the lip of a black hole, eh? Both space and time become infinite, mass and energy become infinite, infinity itself finds new infinities within itself. Is infinity not also present at the outer edge of the black hole? So what is that infinity within the hole?"

  I told him, "You left me back there at the lip, my friend."

  He laughed again, apparently enjoying the little exchange. "Consider then that the black hole is not fixed in the panoply of heaven. It moves as do all existent things. Think of that, eh? A portable infinity?"

  I cried, "Damn! Right here inside this mountain!"

  "Do not leap at truth that way, Ashton. It may leap away from you in consternation." But I could see by his reaction that I'd leapt a bit closer than he intended me to. "Suffice to understand that there is room in our infinity for Hai Tsu and her infinity, but that you in present form could not survive hers."

  "So how does she survive ours?'

  "Ah, but that is one of her imperatives you see."

  "And that is why she was called home." I'd already decided.

  He replied, "Well...but not in disgrace."

  I said, "In discretion."

  "You could put it that way."

  I told him, "I saw something strange in another chamber earlier today. Looked like steel tubes or cylinders fused into solid rock, work tables made of the same stuff. What...?'

  He showed me his hands at shoulder level. "Obviously a work room of some sort."

  "The cylinders..." I persisted.

  "Well..." He smiled. "Even a portable infinity must have its portability, eh? No. Do not think of them as engines." Guy was reading my mind, right off the top. "I fear there is no correlation in this language. Think of ionization chambers however and you will be closer than engines."

  I asked him, "What's going to happen to this mountain when they blast out of there?"

  He laughed again. "There shall be no blasting out, Ashton. Oh no. The effect shall be very subtle."

  I was feeling like a first-grader trying to get the drift of a doctoral thesis on creation theory. So maybe I was reaching for more comfortable ground when I changed that subject to ask my mentor, "What did you expect me to do with that power of attorney?"

  "Oh well, you see...there had been a betrayal, Ashton. The careful work of centuries was being undone for greed and—"

  "Why didn't you tell me all this right up front?" I asked almost angrily. "Maybe I could have approached the thing from a better angle and—"

  "No no, Ashton, you have not grasped the central problem. You have done precisely as I hoped you would. The paper was designed purely to put you in touch with the situation and to forestall, if necessary, any interference with the work to be done here. The work I would say is now in its final hour—and you have already done that which needed doing, by a hand such as yours, with an understanding such as yours, with a heart such as yours. Do you see now?"
r />   I thought I was seeing, yes.

  I told Valentinius, "It all has been for Francesca."

  "Yes."

  "She needed me to..."

  "Yes, go on, follow it through."

  "She had lost herself. You hoped I would help her find herself. Before..."

  “Yes, before...?”

  "Before she arrived in New York."

  "Precisely! Oh I am delighted with you, my brother."

  I said, "But it really isn't over yet, is it?"

  He replied, "Well there may be a final detail awaiting some small resolution. I shall be depending upon you, Ashton, to do in your heart what you know must be done. As with my old friend, Tom."

  I said, feeling a sudden queasiness, "Uh huh. So why don't you tell me about old friend Tom."

  "He was betrayed by his own flesh. What else must I say?"

  I replied, "Like, uh, how difficult it is to confront one's own errors? Tom could not confront Jim's errors?"

  "Oh he confronted them. And saw in them the seeds within himself. Tom also, you see, though a good man and staunch friend, was not above small betrayals."

  I really did not want to discuss that matter any longer. I didn't want to discuss anything whatever in fact. I was beginning to feel sick in the stomach; I knew that I was not going to like what lay directly ahead in this night.

  But I knew too that I could not or would not do a thing to alter it.

  I left my angel standing there and went over to collect Francesca.

  At least, I thought, I would get her out of there before the walls came tumbling down.

  But I was wrong about that too as you shall see.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: From the Heart

  I don't know if I have made it sufficiently clear at this point that I was very much in love with Francesca. That may sound a big gratuitous considering the brevity of the relationship—and I have already told you that I had never put much store in the idea of love at first sight—nevertheless, all that notwithstanding, things of the heart often defy logic or rationalization—and if I had resisted the idea in the beginning, certainly I surrendered to it entirely during that episode in the tidal cave.

  It is possible too, I believe, to be crazy in love and not immediately know that you are, especially if those moments are crowded with cross-purposes as mine had been during that furious pace of events during the thirty-odd hours that I had known Francesca.

  Whatever...I was very deeply in love and knew it at

  this time, and I was strongly disturbed over the implications of my little talk with Valentinius. I still did not understand as much as I would have liked to understand, feeling mainly a vague sense of danger or impending loss. Bear in mind too that I was fairly reeling from the astounding revelations that had been pouring in on me—and there did not seem to be the luxury of time available for me to sit down and skull the thing through toward the best possible resolution.

  I admit it: I was just riding along with the thing and trying to keep some balance while doing so—all the while feeling like a surfer atop a killer wave rushing toward the

  rocks.

  Valentinius was very adroit at concealing truths within truths as he spoke. Angels do not lie, do they? I would think not. But there are ways to tell the truth and still achieve the same effect as a lie. So I was not at all sure as to where I stood in relation to the truth, where Francesca stood, where anything concerning this house stood.

  I knew only that I wanted to get her out of there. No discredit to Valentinius intended; I had done a bit of work with the mentally disturbed before and knew how very delicate could be the catharsis in schizophrenia of the type being suggested by Francesca's behavior. Angels maybe are better at this sort of thing than anyone, but still I think I would have preferred to have a second opinion with medical credentials behind it. Whatever the work or goal of this assembly at Pointe House, I did not feel that it should be regarded as a life or death matter for the woman I loved...or for any mortal for that matter. I always figured that heaven could wait for the dispositions on earth; what else does heaven have to do after all? We down here are the ones with the time problem.

  So call me dumb or insensitive or overreactive or whatever; I was doing what I think any sane man would do in the circumstances: I wanted to get my love out of that insanity.

  She still seemed a bit confused, not exactly sure where she was and what was happening, but she was intelligently discussing the paintings with Alvarez and seemed to be maintaining a grip on her own identity. One of her problems I think was that she did not recognize those others present—or maybe she did and that was causing the confusion, because she kept looking from John the Ascetic to his painting while discussing it with Alvarez.

  I stepped up behind them and put an arm on her, asked her, "Do you remember painting that?"

  She encircled my waist with an arm and drew close, like a little girl seeking comfort from Daddy as she replied, "Oh yes, I remember it well, but I didn't realize that I was painting from memory. I thought it just came to me. Several of these, Ash—look at these down here..." She was pointing toward the canvases of Karl and Catherine. She glanced about and located the real subjects. "See, these are actual people. And I'm sure I've never seen—oh well, maybe I could have if..."

  I said, "It's okay. How would you like to get out of here for a while?"

  She gave a weak smile to Alvarez and said, "The sergeant just suggested the same thing a moment ago. Are you guys taking turns, drawing lots, or what?"

  Alvarez turned beet red.

  I tried to cover for him, telling her, "Well Bob is prettier than me, but I'm more constant. Don't ever date a cop, Francesca, unless you need a ticket fixed or he first introduces you to his mom. On second thought maybe Bob is the exception. He titled your double portrait Soul Mates."

  She smiled at him and said, "How nice. That's my title too."

  He gruffly said, "That's what I figured."

  I told him, "I think we really should get her out of here. Something's going down, and I don't like the smell of it."

  He said, "Me neither. Any time you're ready, I'm ready."

  But Valentinius obviously was not ready.

  He joined us, smiling all around, took Francesca's hand and said to her, "It is time for the unveiling, my dear."

  I quickly said, "Val...wait...can we put this off a while? I'd like to—"

  "It requires but a moment," he demurred. "Do not hasten to judgment, dear Ashton. It is the moment we have all been working toward. Trust your heart, my brother."

  "How old are you, sir?" Alvarez ventured bluntly.

  "As old as the hairs on your grandfather's grandfather, my son, and then some," Valentinius replied without breaking smile.

  "Somehow you just don't look it," the cop growled.

  "Thank you," said the angel. "Nor do I feel it. Now look, the exhibition is ready and we shall down with the veils."

  He led us all to the opposite wall and positioned Francesca where she had the full exhibition in view.

  John the Ascetic stood beside his portrait, Hilary and

  Pierre, Karl and Rosary and Catherine beside theirs, solemn in their sacred duty and staring at Francesca with an expression I could characterize only as transcending love. That accounted for only six of the forty or so portraits, but subtle changes were occurring in those others—it was happening right before our astonished eyes and Alvarez was holding his breath again.

  I said, "Francesca, don't—"

  "Now now," said the angel, his tone lightly chastising. "This is Francesca's moment, Ashton. Let her have it."

  He stepped back to stand about midway between Francesca and the exhibit, smiling with approval and reassurance and love and God I don't know what all was in that smile, but I suddenly lost all reservations about the thing.

  Francesca gave me an uncertain look. I nodded reassuringly and smiled at her.

  All the paintings had changed subtly.

  It was obvious now that all
depicted the same subject.

  The subject was Francesca herself.

  Even John and Hilary, Pierre and Karl—they too were now Francesca.

  Suddenly I knew why.

  Francesca took a tentative step forward. In a strangled little voice she asked, "What does this mean, Father Medici?"

  He replied, "The veils are down, my dear. Go to yourself."

  "But..." She took a step closer. "All are myself."

  "Go to the all then my dear."

  She cried, "Ohhhh!" and I feared for an instant that she would faint, but then she quickly reasserted herself and looked back at me.

  I was absolutely rooted to my spot, could not move, could hardly breathe.

  Valentinius went over to stand inside the exhibit, held out a hand to her, said, "Come."

  She looked uncertainly from him to me, and I knew what she was up against; this guy had raised a hand to me a short while earlier and said "come" and I had gone like a robot at his command.

  But this was not a command.

  There was a decision to be made here, and only Francesca herself could make it; I understood that.

  She cried, "Ashton! Help me!"

  I sent her all my love and adoration in a look that perhaps would have to last an eternity and told her, "I release you, Francesca. Do as you must."

  I heard it in my head from the angel: "Good, good! Thank you, brother."

  She had turned and was walking toward them.

  There was a strange shift or something in the fabric of that room; the walls seemed to dissolve, and the whole scene in front of me was like suspended in celestial air. The whole thing was shrinking, receding into the distance so that when Francesca reached Valentinius and turned back to look at me, it was as though from a great distance.

  The whole company—the entire cast of characters— were smiling at me, and there was triumph in those smiles, though perhaps triumph tinged with a touch of pathos.

  The picture kept receding until it was a mere point away off into nowhere—but just before that moment, a fleeting second before that moment, there was some sort of shift and all the figures except Valentinius blended together into a single image, then that image blended with Valentinius and collapsed into nothingness, and then the fabric restored itself—time and space reasserted its domain and raised the walls—and Alvarez and I were alone in the room.