The Five Lives of John and Jillian

by Greg Krehbiel

  He picked a spot, and then he sat there for some time, thinking, and trying to look down the hill through the trees.

  On a whim, he pulled out his pocket knife and started digging in the dirt. He didn’t know what to expect. A Civil War musket, a Pepsi can, or only clay and rocks. But after a few minutes he found something cylindrical, a little more than an inch long, and tapered at the edge. His heart was almost racing with excitement as he cleaned off the casing from a Winchester center-fire cartridge. The inscription was barely legible, but when he saw the numbers, he could hardly believe it.

  25-20.

  He pulled out his unlit pipe and set it between his teeth.

  Pop Pop had loved that rifle, and he always referred to it as his varmint gun. Could his grandfather have shot this very cartridge, sitting on this very spot, smoking this very same pipe, possibly filled with the tobacco he’d just cut from the edge of the field? Might Gunter have been with him? A boyhood companion, or a friend in young adulthood?

  Chapter 9: An Inside Job

  Later that afternoon he stopped by the best liquor store he could find and purchased a bottle of Eagle Rare, then made his way back to the cabin. The place was quiet and looked deserted, but there was a pink sticky note on his door.

  “You have a package. Come by the office.”

  He walked over to the landlord’s house and found Bill and Nancy sitting in the screened-in porch.

  “Ah, John. Come in,” Bill said. “Care for a glass of lemonade?” he asked.

  John thanked him and stepped up to the porch. A window fan blew a pleasant breeze across the shaded room. John noticed the wicker furniture and the typical Chesapeake furnishings. A few duck decoys. A plaster cast of an old sailor with a short pipe. A ship’s bell. An old-fashioned life preserver. A fishing net, hung like a tapestry, decorated with sea shells and models of various local fishes.

  Nancy returned a moment later with a glass of lemonade and a UPS package. John accepted the lemonade with a smile and took a seat. He felt it was important not to rush things. Bill and Nancy had chosen a simple, quiet and comfortable life here on the edge of the water, with a hill-top view of the bay from their shaded porch. They weren’t in a hurry, and John didn’t want to be rude.

  “How are you enjoying your time off?” Bill asked.

  John took a sip of the lemonade and smiled. It was clearly homemade, and quite good.

  “I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in months,” he said.

  Bill and Nancy looked at each other with a smile that said, “That’s what we’re here for.”

  “So many people run off on fancy, expensive vacations with planes and cabs and rush and confusion,” Nancy said, “and when they come back they’re exhausted. We found this place 25 years ago, and we realized it was perfect. Just far enough from the city. A quiet place to relax.”

  John nodded. “That it is. I was thinking of doing some crabbing tomorrow morning, but I don’t have a pot to cook them in.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Bill said. “We’ll loan you one. But you’ll have to get your own bait. There’s a good shop a piece down the road that has eels and chicken necks. I’ll give you directions tomorrow. It’s looking like the tide would be best for crabbing about four o’clock.”

  He gestured towards a tide clock on the wall. It was an odd thing, showing the hours to high and low tide with no reference to the hour of the day.

  “They make a good sandwich, too,” Nancy said, “if you head down at lunch time.”

  “I meant to ask,” John said, “if you mind me smoking my pipe on the porch. I should have asked before.”

  “That’s between you and your doctor,” Bill said with a wink.

  “And don’t be worried about smoking inside for a minute or two,” Nancy said, “if you need to step in to get something. You don’t need to leave your pipe outside, or put it out. A little bit of smoke won’t hurt a thing. These aren’t luxury accommodations, and the wind blows through pretty freely.”

  Bill laughed. “They’re billed as ‘rustic cabins.’ The smell of your pipe will make some of our guests feel right at home.”

  “And the type that would complain don’t come here,” Nancy said with a smile, completing the thought.

  John sat for a moment, sipped his lemonade and enjoyed the view. Bill and Nancy’s porch was positioned just right for a gorgeous view of the bay. It looked calm today. And inviting.

  “I suppose you’d like this,” Nancy said, handing him the UPS package.

  “I have to admit that I’m curious what’s so important that you’d get it today. Your second day here.”

  John arched his eyebrows and smiled. “I have a bit of a security issue with my computer at home. Or at least I think I do. My friend took a look at it for me. Anything less than instantaneous is too slow for him, so I’m not surprised he sent me an express package.”

  Bill laughed.

  “Good luck with it,” he said, as if he had no care at all about computers — although John knew that he did some of his business on the internet, so he had to have a computer somewhere.

  John took the package, drained his glass, and stood to leave.

  “Thank you very much for the lemonade. I suspect I’ll have a leisurely morning tomorrow and drop by about 11:30 to get those directions, if that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine,” Bill said. “I’ll probably be here, but if I have to head out I’ll leave them in an envelope at the door.” He gestured to the door to the screened porch, and John remembered there was something like a letter box just outside. “It’s not only the directions. I have to give you some instructions about the boat and all that.”

  “Thanks,” John said. “And thanks again for the lemonade. If you’re in the mood for a pipe some evening, I’ve got a spare.”

  Bill laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but my doctor wouldn’t approve.”

  “And neither would his wife,” Nancy added with a scowl.

  John smiled and headed back to his cottage. He had forced himself, out of courtesy, to adopt Bill and Nancy’s slow pace while he was on their porch, and he was tempted to rip open the package as soon as he stepped out the door, but he decided that it could wait. He put it under his arm and despite his curiosity about the contents, he intentionally took a slow walk back to his cabin, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath of the sea breeze as it mixed with the pines and hardwood trees that graced the campground.

  Once inside his own cabin he was again tempted to rip open the package, and again he forced himself to set it aside. He had purchased a steak and two ears of corn for an early dinner, so he decided the first order of business was to get the charcoal going. Only then would he open the package.

  The enforced lack of hurry did wonders for his state of mind. He had a lot to think about, but he knew enough to realize that letting it all rumble around in his subconscious for a while was likely to be the best strategy in the long run.

  Keep the noisy guy occupied, he said to himself — meaning his conscious mind. So he started the charcoal, then took his time to casually load and light his pipe.

  Five minutes later he was ready to read the letter.

  John,

  I hate to tell you this, buddy, but you have a serious problem.

  All your web traffic has been going through a proxy server. Somebody broke into your computer and redirected all your web requests. I don’t know exactly when it started. They covered their tracks really well. But you have to assume that everything you’ve done on this computer has been tracked and logged and monitored ... by somebody.

  Right now — and I mean this very instant — cancel all your credit cards.

  I’ll see what I can do to track down this proxy stuff and give you more information, but I wanted to get this to you right away. And you haven’t been answering your phone. Call me, dude.

  Blake

  * * *

  Fortunately, John kept his finances simple. He had two cards. His bank card and a cr
edit card, and he did all his online transactions with his credit card. But to be safe he canceled them both on his new pay-as-you-go phone. This meant he was going to have to live off of cash while he was down here at the shore — but he had planned for that anyway.

  When he finished canceling both cards, the little pyramid of charcoal was doing pretty well, so he spread the coals around the bottom of the grill to get even heat, set his unshucked corn on the coals along the sides, replaced the grill on top and put on the steak.

  He thought about calling Blake while he waited for the steak to cook, but he didn’t want to be rude — interrupting the conversation to turn steaks and tend the coals.

  No matter how rushed Blake was, it could all wait a half an hour. He popped the top on another beer and relaxed. While the steak cooked for five minutes on the first side, John set the little table on the front porch for dinner.

  Hot off the grill and straight on to the plate. That was the way he liked it. And this was a particularly good cut of rib eye.

  * * *

  After dinner he started towards Virginia for his meeting with the man from the tobacco distributor. He plugged in a hands-free headset and made a call, but got voice mail.

  “Blake, it’s John.” He’d called on his throw-away phone, and Blake hadn’t answered the unknown number. “I’m not using my regular phone for a while. Please call me back on this one. Any time — meaning as late as you like. Thanks buddy.”

  John had barely the time to change stations on the radio before Blake called back.

  “Dude,” John said in a cheerful voice.

  “Did you cancel your cards?” Blake said in a hurried tone.

  “As soon as I got your message. And I checked. No irregular charges. Looks like we got it in time — thanks to you.”

  “Glad to hear that,” Blake said, and he sounded like he was calming down already. “Okay. That’s good. But still .... I gotta tell you, man, this is the most serious breach I’ve ever seen. Is there anything really crucial on this machine? I mean, if you were to lose it, would that be so bad?”

  “Uh ... nothing really comes to mind. I generally use web apps, so most of my data isn’t on there anyway. What are you thinking?”

  “It would be best if you called this machine a goner and gave it to me. I’ll build you one just like it with parts from the office. But, man, I gotta study this. You know I love this security stuff, and ... let me tell you, I could write a paper on this one.”

  “I don’t get what you’re saying. As far as I know the only threat I’ve had recently is from some old geezer who wears an overcoat in the summer and smokes a pipe. He doesn’t seem like a computer genius to me.”

  “Hard to say,” Blake said. “I work with a guy who gets off on this kind of thing. He’ll get a rise just from scanning your hard drive. Anyway, this is professional, top-grade juju. You’re either dealing with a major hacker, or some government agency.”

  John thought about that for a moment. The people at the office could easily have pulled this off. Or maybe the “rubber-soled goons” the doc was having so much fun with. But why would they have let the old man in on it?

  “Is this something that could have been done remotely, or did somebody have to break into my place? I figure geek hackers in Russia with monitor tans don’t break into places and do hardware stuff.”

  “Yeah, well, there are some weird little attachments on your box, and that’s why I want to study it some more. I don’t know what they do. In fact, I’d rather study it in place, if you know what I mean. Mind if I camp out here for a while?”

  “And drink all my beer?”

  “Been there, done that, dude. All you had was one lousy six-pack.”

  “Seriously, Blake, you’re welcome to stay there as long as you like, as long as you wash the sheets before you leave.” Blake laughed. “But if somebody broke in and installed that stuff, it might not be safe for you to be there.”

  “Then that means it’s not safe for you to come home. In a way it might be better for them to find me.”

  “Damn, Blake, I don’t know about this kind of thing. I don’t want to put you in any danger. Maybe I should call the cops.”

  John tried to imagine that conversation.

  Well, officer, it all started when I smoked my grandfather’s pipe and had visions of my dead wife.

  “Okay,” Blake said. “How about I stay tonight and do what I can, then tomorrow I’ll power down and take the thing into the office where I can really dig into this. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  John thought for a moment. He hated the idea of putting Blake in any danger. But he didn’t want to over-react. It seemed awfully unlikely that some international conspiracy was interested in his computer.

  “You know where I keep my .38?”

  “It’s sitting right beside me, dude. And I have an alarm on the door. I’m not stupid.”

  “Holy cow, Blake, if you’re that scared maybe you should get out of there now.”

  Blake was silent for a moment, and John hoped he would take the computer and be done with it.

  “Alright. Look. It’s still early. In the extremely unlikely event that James Bond is coming to kill me, he’ll probably wait until a little later. I’m gonna work on this for another hour. Two tops. Then I’ll pack everything up and head out.”

  “Okay,” John says. “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “But what about you coming back here?” Blake asked.

  “I’ve still got a few days to think about that.”

  * * *

  John arrived at James Miller’s house a little after seven. They had a great evening discussing pipes and bourbon, but he didn’t learn much that he didn’t already know about the field and the Edgeworth blend. He was tempted to tell James about the 25-20 shell, and the stories his grandfather used to tell, but it didn’t seem right.

  They spent a couple hours smoking and drinking, then James gave John a tin of Edgeworth he had saved, and John headed back to his rustic cottage at the beach.

  Chapter 10: Heinrich and the Crystal Orb

  At first his sense of being in two places at once — himself watching the dream, and himself in the dream — only happened when something roused him partially out of deep sleep. A noise or a need to roll over, or something that brought him into that half-way stage of consciousness. But now it was a regular occurrence, as if his conscious mind could force itself into the dream — to reflect or consider. It was a striking experience.

  This night he found himself snooping around into Jillian’s spiritual ways, although that wasn’t obvious from his surroundings. It was a dream, so he simply knew that was what he was doing. He was in a rather odd book store, and somehow — in the dream — he knew this was a place she frequented and that he would learn more about her with what he would find.

  The store was everything he had hoped for. The smell of incense, the purple drapes, the strategically placed censors, ritual knives, goblets and small cauldrons made it clear he had found the local Wiccan gathering place. Luna Lovegood would have been quite at home. And at the same time, something in the back of his mind — a remnant of some past religious training or superstition — was screaming at him to leave immediately, on the peril of his soul.

  He restrained a laugh when the shop owner came through a beaded curtain in the back. Her flowing robes, excessive makeup and gaudy jewelry conjured up images of palm readers and circus fortune tellers.

  But despite it all she was kind and helpful, and a few inquiries provoked a torrent of information and a stack of books, which he purchased. On the way out the door he glanced through the books again and noticed an author’s name that sent shivers up his spine.

  What followed was the strangest dream experience John had ever had. He had read somewhere that even in a “directed dream,” physical perceptions were odd. Hands only had three fingers, and reflections in mirrors looked like some ghastly Picasso painting.

  In this dream his senses were sh
arp. He was able to read a book — study the words, turn pages, stop to think.

  And what a book!

  Heinrich Mueller and the Crystal Orb, by Rachel Evans. Heinrich was John’s great great grandfather, and Rachel Evans was the maiden name of his maternal grandmother. The one Aunt Ruth had been talking about at the funeral home.

  His dream self seemed to have the gift of speed reading, because he was able to take in the contents of the book in almost no time.

  It told an amazing and unbelievable tale of alchemy, black magic, spiritualism and time travel in the context of a cosmic war between the Sons of Light and the Children of Darkness. It read like a spiritual comic book, like one of the Gnostic Gospels, or like the paranoid ravings of a mad woman. And that’s exactly how John would have regarded it, except for its occasional flashes of insight into the life he had been leading these last few weeks.

  Two months ago he would have dismissed it all as nonsense, but the idea that particular tobaccos in special pipes could cause visions of his dead wife, and allow him to communicate with her, had stretched his ideas of what was likely, or even possible, and he was willing to withhold judgment — at least a little. Perhaps there really were more things in heaven and earth than his philosophy could contain.

  The book gave him some background on the special tobacco grown on the family farm. According to Nanny — if this was, indeed, his grandmother — Heinrich left the Mueller nest in Kansas and fled to Virginia for two reasons. First, because those fuddy duddy Mennonites didn’t approve of his heterodox mystical beliefs, and second, so that he could learn from a mysterious figure named Johann Eichelberger, who, she said, led Heinrich ever deeper into the dark arts.

  The two of them were on the edge of the discovery of a lifetime when an experiment went horribly wrong and Heinrich was killed. Nanny’s book said they were summoning a demon, but her description of the accident sounded a lot like a simple chemical explosion.