by Dorien Grey
They talked a few more minutes until one of the kids called for her to help with something, and she reluctantly said good-bye and hung up.
* * *
Forgetting to disconnect the bedside phone for the first time in nearly a week, Elliott was jarred awake by ringing at 1:25 a.m. Angrily snatching it up, he barked, “What?” As usual, no response, then a hang-up.
Opening the nightstand drawer, he tossed the handset into it without thinking to turn it off and scooped the cradle in on top of it, then slammed the drawer shut, flopped over on his side and tried to get back to sleep, covering his head with a pillow to drown out the muffled voice of the phone company robot telling him how to make a call. After two minutes, he got up and yanked the plug out of the wall.
* * *
Since parking anywhere near the DePaul campus was nearly impossible, he’d arranged to meet Steve at the Fullerton el stop and walk down to the concert hall, located in a classic Colonial-style red-brick, white-steepled former church just off Halsted. It was a first time for Steve, who expressed his surprise and pleasure at both the size and the quality of the orchestra.
As they had beer and burgers at a nearby Irish pub after the concert, the subject of Aaron did not come up until he asked Steve how things were going at his work.
“Pretty good. Bruce hasn’t spoken a word to me since the party. Breaks my heart, but I’ll live. And I did check around to see if anybody had ever heard him mention having a brother. No one had.” After pausing to order another round of beer, he continued, “So, how are things coming with the building?”
“It’s nearly finished. Actually, I’m running a little behind in finding a new project. But I’m meeting my broker tomorrow to discuss listing it.”
Steve looked at him with an expression Elliott couldn’t interpret. “And what do you think Aaron’s going to think about that?”
“About what?” he asked, though he knew the answer the instant the question was asked—he’d tried to avoid thinking of it but had known he couldn’t do so forever.
“Well, if Aaron is counting on you to help him, let’s hope he doesn’t think you’re walking away from him.”
“I won’t be walking away from him,” Elliott protested, then experienced a slight mental shudder as he realized that might be exactly what Aaron would think. “I still intend to try to find out what really happened to Bill.”
Steve gave him a small smile. “Let’s hope Aaron understands that.”
* * *
They spent the night at Elliott’s, and he was relieved when their sleep was uninterrupted and uneventful. After their morning coffee, while Steve was in the shower and Elliott was fixing breakfast, he called Larry to verify their eleven o’clock meeting at the property.
Steve had started a new painting and wanted to spend the afternoon working on it, but suggested a dinner-and-video night at his place; he had recently signed up for Netflix and was expecting delivery of a couple of movies, including one Elliott had expressed an interest in seeing. Elliott agreed and volunteered to stop at the store on the way over to pick up some steaks.
Dropping Steve off at his apartment, he arrived at the property about ten minutes before eleven, parking on the new concrete pad in back. Rounding the front of the building, he found Mrs. Reinerio coming down the steps on the arm of a strikingly handsome young man around twenty. Elliott waited at the bottom of the steps until they reached the walk.
“Elliott!” she said warmly. “So good to see you. I’d like you to meet my grandson, Andrew.”
Shaking hands and exchanging greetings, Elliott took favorable stock of the young man, automatically switching on his “gaydar,” but, sensing nothing, switching it off again just as automatically.
“So, you’re off for the day?” he asked, turning to the obviously—and, he was sure, justifiably—proud grandmother.
“Yes. Andrew is on a break from his studies at Northern Illinois. He’s taking me to lunch at the Walnut Room at Field’s.” She leaned forward and, putting a hand on Elliott’s arm, said in a semi-whisper “I still can’t bring myself to think of Field’s now being Macy’s. It’s just not natural.”
Elliott grinned. “I agree,” he said. “Well, you have a wonderful lunch, and we’ll talk again soon. Nice to meet you, Andrew.”
“You, too,” the young man said, and they proceeded toward the street.
Elliott went inside and unlocked the doors to the three interior apartments. He saw no need to show Mrs. Reinerio’s, since it was identical to the one above it. He then returned to the front steps just as Larry came up the street toward the house.
“Very nice!” Larry observed from the sidewalk as he took in the front of the building. Opening the gate, he came up the walk, his gaze moving from detail to detail.
As they did a walk-around of the entire building, Larry commented favorably on various features of the remodeling.
“Probably a good idea, not putting up a garage,” he observed. “The new owners can easily do so if they want enclosed parking.”
The instant the words the new owners left Larry’s mouth, Elliott felt an almost electric shock that made him jerk.
“Are you okay?” Larry asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied. “Just a sudden chill. Maybe I’m catching a cold.”
“A lot of that going around this time of year. Take care of yourself.”
Elliott found it difficult to bring his mind back to the present, but he managed, and they completed the circle of the building. As he unlocked the door to the one-bedroom ground-floor apartment, he felt the hair rising on the back of his neck. A quick glance showed Larry was apparently not aware of anything unusual.
They were in the bedroom when there was a loud bam! from the front of the apartment. Larry looked mildly puzzled. “What was that?”
Elliott managed to say, “Probably a car backfiring.” Apparently satisfied, Larry went back to an inspection of the bedroom closet.
Damn it, Aaron! Don’t do this! he thought, so strongly he was aware his tongue was shaping the words, even though he made no sound.
As they moved to the second ground-floor apartment, Elliott strained to pick up some sense of John’s presence, but there was nothing.
This time, they were in the kitchen when the sound came, like the slamming of a door in the next room, but all the doors were open. Larry looked at him and scowled, but said nothing.
“Air in the pipes,” Elliott lied. “Thought we’d gotten that fixed.”
By the time the sound came again, in Mrs. Reinerio’s original apartment, Larry’s impatience was clearly evident.
“Look, Elliott, it seems like you’ve got some sort of real problem here, and I think you’re going to have one hell of a hard time selling the place until you get it taken care of. I wouldn’t even feel right about listing it.”
“I understand,” Elliott said, working to keep his voice calm. “I really don’t know what’s going on. We did have some air problems with the pipes,” he lied again, “but I was sure we’d resolved them.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me for saying so, these noises don’t strike me as being air in the pipes. You might have some sort of real major structural issue here.”
“Come on, Larry, you know me and my crew. We go over every inch of a property before I buy it, and I’ve been in the business long enough that I can spot a problem when there is one. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation, and we’ll find it and fix it.”
“Well, I suggest you do.” Larry looked around the room, shaking his head. “When you fix it, let me know and I’ll come over and take another look. There’s no point in trying to do anything more here today.”
As they reached the building’s front door there was yet another loud bam coming, Elliott knew, from Aaron’s apartment. Larry merely looked at him.
“So, do you want me to keep looking for another project right now?” he asked. “Or should I hold off until you get this one resolved?”
&n
bsp; “No,” Elliott said, “keep looking. We’ll be able to list this one before long. I’d stake my reputation there’s nothing structurally wrong with it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Larry said, extending his hand as they reached the bottom of the front stairs.
* * *
Watching Larry close the gate behind him and head down the street to his car, Elliott concentrated on calming down. His primary emotion was anger at Aaron, not only for, in effect, trying to blackmail him—Larry was right in saying no one would buy a property with something obviously wrong with it—but for not trusting Elliott to do what he had committed himself to doing.
As his calm returned he could see why Aaron might think he was going to walk away—there was no real reason for Aaron to trust him. Elliott knew he was a man of his word, but Aaron didn’t. And if he did decide to just walk away, there would be nothing Aaron could do about it. Making sure the property couldn’t be sold before the issue of Bill’s death was resolved was the only card in Aaron’s hand, and apparently he knew it. Elliott certainly did.
Reentering the building, he made sure all the doors were locked then left. No raised hairs, nothing.
It again struck him as peculiar, as he got into his car, that he had not sensed John at any time during the incidents, and he wondered why.
During the drive home, every time he started to think of the morning’s events, he had to make a concerted effort to switch his thoughts to something else. It wasn’t easy.
* * *
Even as he prepared to leave his condo to go to the store before going to Steve’s, he thought about calling to cancel. Despite his efforts to head off thoughts and speculations about Aaron and the implications of his ability to interfere with Elliott’s selling the building, they kept pouring in, putting him in a foul mood.
He weighed the possibility he would inadvertently inflict his mood on Steve against the hope that Steve’s company, a good dinner, and a movie would bring him out of it. He most certainly didn’t want to sit home and continue his mental battle.
* * *
Steve didn’t say anything, but he picked up on Elliott’s ill humor the minute Elliott walked in the door. He subtly did his best to bring him out of it, which Elliott appreciated. As his mood mellowed, relaxing on the couch with drinks and hors d’oeuvres, he was aware of Steve’s discretion in not mentioning the meeting with Larry. He was sure Steve sensed the reason.
By the time Steve returned to the living room with refreshed drinks, Elliott’s frame of mind had lightened to the point where he decided to broach the subject just to see Steve’s reaction.
“I met my real estate broker at the property today.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“It didn’t go well.” He reached for the plate of cheese and crackers.
“Aaron, I gather?”
“You gather right. I was concerned he was going to actually break something.”
“You think he could? I mean, I know poltergeists can…” His voice trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
“I don’t think Aaron is a poltergeist. I think, as you said, that he’s afraid I’m going to abandon him.”
“But you’re not.”
Elliott finished the cheese and cracker and took a sip of his drink. “You know that, and I know that. Aaron, apparently, does not know that. He still hasn’t resolved the issue of Bill’s leaving.”
“Yeah, but Bill didn’t just leave. At least, he surely didn’t mean to.”
“Still…”
Steve shook his head. “I’m really sorry. What did your broker say? Did you tell him about Aaron?” He paused, then added, “Strike that. Stupid question.”
“I’m not sure exactly what he thought was going on, but luckily spirits and poltergeists are not the first things that pop into people’s minds when something unexplained happens.’
Steve grinned. “Do you have any idea just how truly bizarre this whole thing is? Here we are, two grown, supposedly sane men, talking casually about some dead guy being afraid of being abandoned. I mean, that’s got to set some sort of record for weird.”
Elliott merely shrugged and nodded.
“And why us?” Steve continued. “What are the odds that we’d ever have met, let alone both of us being aware of things most people aren’t?”
Taking another sip of his drink, Elliott sat back and put his free arm on the back of the sofa, behind Steve’s shoulders. “No idea,” he said. “But then, we don’t know that this is really all that uncommon. I’m pretty sure there are lots of people like us out there. How many of them manage to find one another is something else. It isn’t the kind of thing people go around talking about a lot. Maybe—who knows?—there’s some sort of odd version of gaydar that helps empaths find one another. Maybe we’re just lucky, if it can be called that. The fact is that we both seem to have this whatever-it-is, and we’re stuck with it.”
Steve looked at him, lips slightly pursed as he considered what Elliott was saying. Then his mouth relaxed, and he said, “So, what do we do with it?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think there’s a handbook. We’ll just have to play it by ear.”
They were both quiet a moment, until Steve said, “What can be done about Aaron?”
Realizing he had said far more than he intended to, and that with this conversation he had opened a door that could not easily be closed, Elliott sighed. “I’m not quite sure,” he said, after a long pause. Dropping his arm from the back of the couch to Steve’s shoulders, he gave him a slight squeeze. “What I do know is that the last thing in the world I want is to let this whatever-it-is get in the way of my being who I am—just an ordinary guy. And I sure as hell don’t want to drag you into all this Aaron crap.”
Laying his free hand on Elliott’s leg, Steve said, “A little late for that, isn’t it? And I agree one hundred percent that we can’t let it start running our lives, either individually or…” He hesitated, looking for the right word.
Elliott stepped in with “Right. I don’t want us to turn into the Frick and Frack of the spirit world.” Withdrawing his arm from Steve’s shoulders, he drained his drink and said, “Now, what about those steaks?”
* * *
Breakthrough! I’m proud of you!
Yeah. Whoopee.
Come on, admit it. Don’t you feel better, now that you’ve talked about it, even though you still haven’t mentioned me?
And have no intention of doing so.
I understand. All in good time. But letting Steve in on Aaron should make it a lot easier.
Exactly how?
Well, you won’t have to evade the fact that there’s something strange going on with your current project, and now you can talk about it with someone other than me. And three minds—I was going to say “heads,” but I don’t technically have one—are better than one when it comes to figuring things out.
I know. It’s just that you have no idea how much I really want to keep all this paranormal stuff as separate from my real life as I can. And I consider Steve to be a part of my real life. The idea of getting the two worlds all mixed up scares the shit out of me, frankly.
I can understand that, too. But it doesn’t have to be any more complicated than you make it. Just keep your cool and everything will work out.
Except for this little matter of Aaron. Do you know what’s going on with him at the moment? I gather he’s pretty upset with me.
Not so much upset as frightened, which is why he tried to get to Steve.
I guess I can see that. But, please, try to convince him to stick with me and leave Steve out of it.
I’ll try. He’s getting a lot better at balancing his emotion and rationality.
I’d never know it from today’s display. And where were you while all this was going on?
Sorry. It’s a little hard to explain. Have you ever tried to walk against a hurricane? It was something like that. You haven’t talked to Brad?
Damn! No. I meant
to, but…I’ll try to catch him in the morning before they leave for church.
I’m sure Aaron will appreciate it.
Was that sarcasm?
No. Fact.
Well, let him know he’s made his point. But also let him know I won’t put up with any more of this knocking crap. If he starts bothering my crew, I swear I will walk away and let the house sit empty until it falls down, or just turn it over to the city and let Aaron deal with them. I can afford it.
CHAPTER 12
True to his word, Elliott called Brad while Steve was in the kitchen fixing another pot of coffee. He was surprised when Brad himself answered.
“Brad, hi. I know you’re getting ready for church, so I won’t keep you. When I talked to Cessy Thursday she said you were going to call me, and then I didn’t have a chance to try to reach you Friday or yesterday.”
“No problem. I didn’t get home until after midnight Thursday. I didn’t want to bother you on your cell phone.”
“Hey, never hesitate to use it. Did you find out anything?”
“That Wilson character has had two restraining orders against him, and there was one arrest for assault and battery—he broke some guy’s arm, but the guy dropped the charges. Other than that, nothing. He’s obviously a few bricks short of a full hod, but there’s really nothing solid enough to warrant further investigation. And there’s absolutely nothing other than speculation and hearsay to tie him in with Somers.”
Steve returned with a fresh cup of coffee, which he handed Elliott, who took it with a smile and a nod before returning his attention to the phone. A sudden thought out of nowhere prompted him to ask, “I know this is really unusual, but is there any way at all I can look at your file on Bill’s case?”
There was a long pause, then, “Short answer—no. The Chicago Police Department isn’t the Chicago Public Library. And all homicides and suspicious deaths are kept as open cases—they might go cold, but they’re still officially open—and as such are confidential. What, specifically, are you looking for?”
“No idea. And I’m not implying you didn’t do everything you could at the time. It’s just that after four years, and with a fresh set of eyes… Can you give me the address where Bill was found?”
