by Peter Ponzo
"There must have been earlier articles in the Gazette," she said. "I mean much earlier, when the Bourden house was still standing, about the Bourdens themselves and their unfortunate demise."
"I did read some stuff when I was working on this history, but I can't remember what it was."
"I'm not surprised. Your memory is as run down as your furniture. I guess it matches -"
"Yes, I know. It matches the apartment. So why don't you come with me, tomorrow. We'll go over the articles and you can commit them to memory." Liz laughed and Porgy opened his eyes, panted happily and wagged his tail.
Bryan stared at the ceiling and hummed softly.
"You know, I was thinking," he said. "If the willow tree really did kill all those tenants, like Jaffre said, it was long after the Bourden house was torn down. The tree no longer existed. How can a tree kill anybody when the tree isn't even there?" He looked at Liz and frowned. "Old man Jaffre is crazy."
"The newspaper article did mention a workman who died, remember? You read it only a minute ago. You can surely remember that."
"Yes. I remember that ... uh, Butch or something. A branch fell on him, wasn't that it? That was an accident. Maybe we should forget about this. I'll stash my short history in the desk and forget about it until - until next year. Maybe we can spend the next three weeks doing something more interesting. How about a trip to the lake? We can camp for a few days and -"
"Bryan," she said sternly. "Are you saying it's not worth the effort? I say we go over the articles in the Gazette. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning." Liz looked at her watch. "Now it's late. Gotta go. Mom's waiting. She won't go to sleep till I get home and it's already past her bedtime."
Liz pushed Porgy off her lap and got up to leave and Bryan jumped out of his chair, stumbled and grabbed her.
"Kiss me goodnight so I can get some sleep too," he laughed. Liz put her arms about his neck and kissed him. They walked to the hall closet and he watched her put on her coat. She pulled her long blond hair, shook it back with a toss of her head and straightened her collar. Although she wasn't ravishingly beautiful she had a face he could watch for hours. He stared at her now, her blue eyes sparkling, full lips, a smile that was as wide as her face. She often smiled and was always in such good spirits, loved to have fun, do things out-of-the-ordinary, wild and crazy things, on the spur of the moment. He was such a stick-in-the-mud. Just being with her made him feel better. He hadn't realized how much he had missed her. Now that he looked more closely she really was beautiful, ravishingly beautiful.
"Stop staring," she whispered and opened the door and stepped into the hall. "I'll be here by ten. Be ready. Have the coffee hot. Make your bed. Don't step on the soap. Wash behind your ears. Brush your teeth."
"Okay ... I'll remember to do all those things. I’m really glad you’re back. Say hello to your Mom. I assume she enjoyed Jamaica too, and -" He watched as she walked to the top of the stairs, pausing to look at the plywood sheet leaning against the wall. "It fell over," he explained, pointing to the sheet of wood. "I just put it against the wall. It keeps nosy people from the upper floors. Nosy people who are unraveling the mysteries of the willow tree. Anyone caught climbing the stairs will contract a bad case of willow wiggles."
"Willow woggles," she corrected. Liz stared up into the dark stairwell. "Have you ever been up there?"
"Nope. Nobody has. Not for a long time, I think."
Liz walked to the foot of the stairs and peered up into the dark. Bryan watched as she climbed tentatively onto the bottom step.
"Don't go up there," he warned. "I don't think it's safe. Besides, it's too dark. No lights. Maybe even wobbly stairs."
"Get a flashlight," she said, still staring up into the dark stairwell. Bryan complained with a short grunt, but Liz had already started up the stairs. He ran back into the apartment and returned with a flashlight. Liz was gone. He stared up into the dark and pointed the light. The beam was faint and kept getting fainter.
"Liz? Are you up there?" He whispered the words, shook the flashlight, it brightened and he started slowly up the stairs, shaking the light as he went.
"Up here, Bryan," he heard her call. "I'm on the next floor. Can't see a blessed thing."
He hurried up the stairs and shone the light down the hall. A door was open and he walked to it, slowly, looking to either side as he went and feeling along the wall. He looked into the open door, but it was too dark to see so he stepped just halfway through the door holding the waning light before him. It looked much like his apartment, which made him feel a little more comfortable, so he stepped into the room, quickly, stumbled over something and dropped the flashlight. He was lying on the floor, in the dark; the flashlight had gone out. He heard noises from his right and he pushed himself to his knees and began to crawl backward toward the hall. Something brushed his leg and he jumped to his feet, scrambling toward the door. He heard the metallic rattle across the floor, the bang against the wall. The flashlight; it came on again. He stooped to pick it up and bumped his head against the door jamb, falling forward into the hall against a pair of legs.
"Listen clumsy, come to the next apartment. It's just like yours - a big mess."
Liz was standing over him and he jumped to his feet when she spoke. She immediately marched down the hall and disappeared into the next apartment. He got to his feet, the flashlight burning dimly in his hand and followed, entering the next apartment very cautiously. Liz was standing by the window. The moon was full and she had pulled back the curtain. The room looked eerie, the pale light streaming through the cracked panes of glass. He looked around: there was one chair and a small table with three legs, the fourth leg was on the floor, and a torn carpet was lying across the table. Liz was walking to the bathroom.
"Let's look in here," she called. Bryan complained again but followed, shaking his flashlight which kept getting dimmer and going off and on, erratically. A shower curtain was hanging in shreds from a rusted metal rod. He shone the light around the room. The walls were streaked with mud; long wavy lines of dirt which radiated from the toilet.
"Will you look at that," Liz whispered. "Like I said, it's just like -"
"Yeah, I know. Just like my bathroom. Liz? Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
Liz bent over and ran her hand along the edge of the toilet.
"Bryan, put the light here. I think something's been creeping out of the toilet. Look at these stains. They're still wet."
Bryan pointed the light at the toilet, holding it at arms length. Liz was on her knees peering into the toilet bowl. It looked like her right hand was down in the bowl, in the water. Bryan was about to say something.
Suddenly Liz gasped and stumbled backward, bumping into Bryan.
He dropped the flashlight and it went out.
"What is it?" he shouted. "What is it?"
"My foot - something grabbed my foot!" Liz cried.
"Let's get out of here!"
He turned sharply and bumped into the wall. Liz pushed him through the door and kicked the flashlight as she followed. A thin beam of light wavered and illuminated the floor. Liz looked down at her foot, stopped, then laughed shakily.
"What? Why are you laughing?" cried Bryan, now almost to the hall.
He walked warily across the living room to the bathroom and stared at the floor. Liz stood there, hands on hips, smiling. Her foot was wrapped in the shower curtain drawcord.
"Uh, just the cord. Liz? C'mon. Your mother's waiting for you to put her to bed."
He backed away from the bathroom and felt his way across the living room and past the kitchen. It was exactly like his apartment and he miraculously made it to the door without tripping. Liz followed, holding the flashlight which glowed faintly then went out.
He walked her down the stairs to the front door of the apartment building. Mrs. Perkins was peeking through her door and Liz bowed politely as they passed. He waved goodbye and watched
her car leave the parking lot, stop abruptly to avoid hitting a shadowy figure in a dark coat, then continue out onto the road, headlights flashing a goodbye. Bryan walked back in and sat on the bottom step for some time. He was breathing heavily. The top floors really weren't meant to be invaded, not in the dark, not ever. He pushed himself to his feet and climbed the stairs. Mrs. Perkins' hair was barely visible through the crack in her door, but not her face. He didn't bother to bow.
CHAPTER 13
the DIARY
The next morning, promptly at 10 a.m., Liz pulled into the parking lot. She stopped for only a moment to stare at the WILL T WERS sign, shook her head and climbed the stairs. Mrs. Perkins opened her door only after Liz had passed. Liz heard it close again and smiled. Too late Mrs. Nosy Perkins. When she reached the fifth floor she stared up the stairwell towards the sixth floor then knocked on Bryan's door.
"I'm ready. Let's go," he said. His hair hadn't been combed and his shirt collar stuck out from under his sweater. Liz straightened his collar and whispered something into his ear.
"No! There's nothing up there!" he cried.
"Oh, come on Bryan. It's light now. We can see where we're going. Let's just see what's up there. Aren't you just a wee bit curious?"
"No, I'm not even a wee bit curious. The top floors aren't meant to be invaded, never, ever." He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms, but it was no use. Liz had already started up the stairs, two steps at a time. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and followed. Liz had continued past the sixth floor and was heading to the seventh.
"Hey! Liz! Up there is even more dangerous. These old walls may come crashing down. It's ten stories high, you know that?"
He heard her climbing and followed, grunting and complaining with each step. On the tenth floor he stopped and sat down, gasping for breath. She could search through the rooms all she wanted to. He would rest here. It just wasn't worth the effort.
The hallway was flooded with light from a window at the end. He always thought all the upper windows were boarded. One day he would walk around the building and see. But not soon.
The carpets were dirty but intact. Much of the wall was cracked and the plaster was falling off. Somebody had scribbled graffiti on the cleaner parts of the wall: graphic portrayals of sexual acts and small verses to accompany the artwork. He leaned forward to read the nearest verse.
"Bryan! Look at this!"
Bryan jumped to his feet, embarrassed, and stood against the wall in front of the verse. Liz was waving something, a small box ... a small book. He leaned forward, still standing against the wall.
"A diary. The secrets of the Willow Towers deaths," said Liz with a smile.
She tossed her head and started down the stairs, two at a time, her hair streaming gaily behind. Bryan followed, slowly. When he reached his apartment Liz was sitting in a chair with the diary on her lap. She had taken a nail file from her purse and was prying at the tiny lock.
"Got it!" she exclaimed gleefully. Bryan pulled the next chair closer, leaned back, sighed and looked at Liz as she leafed through the pages, muttering to herself.
"Hmm, mostly garbage ... more garbage ... here's a boy friend ... oh my, really. Garbage again ... ah, here's something. Listen to this:
Kay and I spent at least an hour this afternoon on Willow Walk. The roses are in full bloom except on the front left side of the building where I guess they don't get enough light. I told the superintendent but he seems resigned to having those nasty weeds sticking up through the marble chips. He said he can't grow anything on that side.
Hear that Bryan? The side of the building. The evil willow tree!"
Bryan sniffed and leaned back in his chair. Liz continued to leaf through the book.
"Listen to this:
They were coming apart but we were very careful and stacked them by the furnace. According to Colby they were there for sentimental reasons."
"What are they ?" asked Bryan. He was tired already and couldn't think clearly. "What were coming apart?"
"Wait ... just a sec ... here it is:
The chairs were not real wicker chairs even though they had that appearance. But they were made from an old willow tree that once stood on the site of the Willow Towers.
Wait ... hmm, there's more ... yes, listen:
Kay got a scratch on her leg and a run in her stocking from one of the chairs. She insists that the chair attacked her. She laughed when she said it, but somehow she seemed almost serious.
Looks like that's it. The rest is about preparing for some New Year's Eve party, then it ends right there."
Liz looked up. "The New year's Eve party - didn't the article in the Gazette mention that the tenants all died at a New Year's Eve party?"
"I can't remember," sighed Bryan, closing his eyes.
"Yes. It did. I remember. The bodies were ... they were ... uh -"
"Wait, I'll find the paper." He opened his eyes and looked around. "It's still in the corner." He opened the newspaper and slid into his chair. "Here it is:
The bodies were crushed ... red welts ... covered with dirt.
Let's see ... something about Jaffre, then ... here. It says:
The demolished chairs were lying in shreds about the room. There were barely enough of the shreds to make up a single chair.
What do think about that? The chairs were made of the same old willow tree - they were lying in shreds, but not enough to make up a single chair."
"And Kay said she was attacked by a wicker chair," said Liz almost in a whisper. "The willow tree lived on, in those chairs."
She lay the diary on the side table and became pensive, placing her chin very slowly in her cupped hands. Bryan was staring at her. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again.
"Bryan? Do you believe in the soul? I mean, do you believe that a person has a soul? Can a tree have a soul?"
"What has that to do with the New Year's party?" He grunted, then, "Sorry Liz, I don't even know what a soul is."
"Of course you do. You mean you've never heard of the soul? I can't believe -"
"No, no, I mean, what is the definition of the soul? Is it some kind of inner being? Something ephemeral? Something spiritual without shape or form or substance? I don't really know -"
"Get your dictionary! We'll look it up."
Bryan rose, wearily. Maybe Liz had too much energy. Couldn't they just rest, just for a while? He slid one part of the large two-part dictionary from the shelf, Q-to-Z, and handed it to Liz. She flipped through the pages then stopped and read aloud:
"The divine principle of life in man. The moral or spiritual part of man ... considered as surviving death. "
"That answers your question. A tree cannot have a soul. It says the spiritual part of a man." Bryan leaned back and smiled.
Liz looked up and frowned. "Since I am not a man then I cannot have a soul. Is that what you're saying Bryan?"
"No, no. That's not what I meant. I just meant that ... uh, a tree can't -"
"Listen to this ... young man." She continued to read from the dictionary:
"The animating principle of a thing. Understand? Of a thing, not of a man."
"Ha!" cried Bryan, pleased with himself. "That's it! You're a thing."
Liz was not amused. Bryan leaned over and tried to give her a kiss. His chair tipped and he fell, wedged between the two chairs. Liz got up and walked to the kitchen.
"Okay," she said backward over her shoulder. "Let's see you animate."
Bryan crawled from between the chairs and followed her into the kitchen. Liz was pouring coffee into two mugs, frowning. Bryan put his arms about her waist and kissed her neck and she grinned then began to laugh.
"You should have seen yourself ... stuck between those two chairs."
"They have soul, them there chairs. Did you see them animate?"
Liz smiled and handed him a coffee; they walked back to their chairs.
>
"Liz? Why did you ask about soul? Are you thinking that the willow tree had this animating principle?"
Bryan lowered himself into his chair, carefully holding his mug in front of him. He was almost seated when the coffee spilled. "Damn!" he muttered.
"See? Even the coffee has soul," said Liz calmly, but smiling widely. "Maybe everything has soul, an animating principle. Ever notice how inanimate objects can move, slide, be where they aren't supposed to be, get under your feet, like soap in the shower?" She laughed. Bryan wiped a streak of coffee across his shirt and grunted.
"Look, Liz, I really think we've gone far enough with this thing. Why don't we drop the -" He stopped talking. Liz was staring at the floor, intently, pensive again. He knew that look. She wasn't listening. Might as well wait to see what she was going to say.
"Epidemic," she said.
"What? What epidemic? What are you talking about?"
Liz turned to Bryan, staring blankly ahead.
"Epidemic. That's what the nurse said, didn't she? She said epidemic, a willow woggles epidemic."
"Oh that. Yes, that's what she said." Bryan sipped his coffee and crossed his legs. "It was about Jaffre. She was talking about his -"
"I know what she was talking about, but she said epidemic. That usually means more than one, wouldn't you say?"
They stared at each other for a long time. It was Bryan who spoke first.
"Do you think - are you saying -"
"Bryan, there's somebody else in that nursing home who talks about willow trees."
***
The nurse ignored them both. Liz reached over the desk and plucked the ball point pen from her hand. The nurse looked up, startled. Bryan said, "Yes? What can you do for us?"
The nurse stood up and began to say, "Yes? What can I -" then stopped and blushed. Liz was smiling sweetly, a wide bright smile that lit up her face. Bryan leaned over the desk and whispered.
"Miss, I was here the other day looking for Inspector Jaffre. Do you remember?" The nurse nodded and he continued, more loudly. "Well, I did speak to him, briefly, then he fell asleep and I asked you when he would be wide awake. You said he was never really wide awake. Then you said -"
Liz interrupted. "Do you have anyone else in the nursing home who speaks of willow trees?"
