cogito

Aphter: Nineteen

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

There was no one in the car, and none of the shops were open. The Lexus was parked in front of "Il Forno", an Italian-themed bakery. I slammed my car into reverse and backed into the alley, my heart racing.

"Just go home," I whispered to myself. "Check him out tomorrow." Even as I said it, though, I was reaching to pat the Glock 22 nestled in the shoulder holster under my left arm. It was a nervous habit. "There's no good way to get close to him."

I had to calm down for a minute and get everything sorted out in my head. What did I know about this guy? He reported that a mother and daughter were missing, pretending to be the husband and father. He may have impersonated a police officer. He got Simon Sayer's name from me and visited his apartment. That's it.

"That's not so bad." I thought. "What else?"

There might really be a mother and a daughter missing. There's reason to believe that the girl is with Simon. Perhaps they're both with him. "So, then, who's Johnny?"

If Johnny was a kidnapper, he'd be crazy to walk into the police station. "Maybe he is crazy," I argued. "What else?"

This place, Il Forno, might be his place of business. He's here after hours. Maybe he's the owner? Maybe he's a baker?

These thoughts went around and around in my head, but I got nowhere. Logically, I could see no reason not to drive over there, knock on the door, and confront the man for what I had on him. I was armed, and I had no reason to assume he was dangerous.

Except I had this feeling, this damnable feeling.

"I'll wait until tomorrow," I decided finally. I exhaled in relief and, stepping on the brake, I shifted into drive. I pulled slowly out of the alley and turned right. I let the car idle and rolled slowly up to the Lexus, looking to my right into the window of the bakery. Johnny was inside, alright, behind the counter. He was looking down as though reading.  The lights were on inside, and it was dark out here in the parking lot, so I was pretty sure he couldn't see me. I watched him for a minute, wondering what he was doing.

Then he looked up. My heart jumped into my throat. He stared right at me. "Can he see who I am?" I wondered. I kept expecting him to move, but he just stared at me, a blank look on his face. I swallowed hard and turned the wheel. I pulled in beside the Lexus. He didn't move. Patting my left side again, just to be sure, I killed the car and opened the door. He just stared.

"How do I play this?" I was thinking. "I could pretend I still think he's the father. I could tell him I followed him from Simon's place, that I was there checking it out."

As I approached the entrance, I saw a sign on the door. "Temporarily Closed For Remodeling," it said. When I got to the door, I tapped on the glass, nodding in greeting. He stared for a few seconds longer, and then walked slowly from behind the counter. He turned the bolt on the door, but didn't open it. He just took a few steps back.

Dread pressed down on me and screamed in my ear as a I reached for the door, but I felt driven to go in. I swallowed hard again and tried to put on my typical, confident demeanor.

"Hello," I said. "May I come in."

"Officer Hall," he said cooly. "Of course."

"Actually, it's detective," I said, "but it's a common mistake."

"There's a difference?" he asked.

"It's not important," I replied.

"How did you find me?" It was a strange question, almost like a confession. He was betraying himself.

'Well, here goes,' I thought. "I followed you from Simon Sayer's apartment, to be honest," I said.

He wasn't sure how to take that, but the possibility that he might not be caught dawned on him. "Why?" he asked.

"When I saw you leaving there, I wanted to talk to you about what I found out today," I said. We were both treading lightly, and we both knew it.

"What did you find out?"

'Not much,' I thought. "We found Simon's car," I started, but I decided it wasn't wise to say too much.

"Where?" He seemed genuinely interested.

I paused. I wasn't sure how to respond, and he noticed this. I had fallen silent, and the silence spoke loudly to both of us as we stared unwaveringly at each other. Fianlly I said, "Filing a report under a false identity is illegal, sir."

He remained silentand looked down at the floor.

"Who are you?"

Still, he remained silent.

"If you have reason to think those two ladies are in danger, we can deal with that, but you have to be honest with us," I said. "And you can't run around town playing detective."

He looked up at me.

"Who are you?" I asked again.

He started to speak, but he also started to move, heading back behind the counter. "I'm a friend of the family," he said. "I am worried about Darla and Amy, but I didn't think anyone would listen to me."

"Please, just stay put," I said. Instinctively, I reached over and patted my left side.

"I have a business card. It's got my name and number," he kept moving.

I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding. I could feel it and hear it. My breathing became shallow. "Sir," I said, "please come back out here."

Then, everything went into slow motion. His head turned slightly and quickly to glance at me, and I could see that his eyes were wide. My breath caught in my throat as my hand plunged into my jacket for the grip of the Glock. He bolted very quickly for the open door behind the counter. "Freeze," I heard myself scream as my right hand drew the pistol across my chest and, as I'd been trained, held it back to my right shoulder, barrel pointed slightly forward and upward, ready to aim and shoot at need. He was already going through the door as I rounded the end of the counter to chase him. I could hear him scrambling in the back room as I slid up beside the door, back to the wall, the door on my right.

'Call for backup!' my mind was screaming. 'Call for backup!' "Sir," I yelled out, "I am armed." I was breathing so quickly I felt myself hyperventilating. "You're making this much worse than it needs to be. Just be sensible and walk out here slowly with your hands where I can see them." 'Call for backup!'

"It's okay, detective." It was another voice, deep, with a thick accent. It sounded African. "My friend is just afraid."

"Both of you, come out here now," I yelled. I heard steps approaching the door, and I stepped back and lowered my pistol slightly toward to opening. "I don't want this to get out of hand."

"I agree with you, detective," said the African voice. An old black man, tall and thin, stepped into the doorway. His hands were open in front of him. "We do not want trouble, detective," he said, smiling. "Please, we will cooperate."

"He needs to come back out here," I said.

"He is just right here," he said, looking over to his left. "He is frightened." He began to back into the back room, making sure to stay where I could see him.

I slid over toward the door, my pistol straight out in front of me now. I took a step back so I could see in. The African stepped backwards too, giving me room. I inched in toward the door, rotating around to see back into the room to my right.

I never even got a shot off. The force of Johnny's bullet tore through my left cheek and knocked me back a few feet into the wall.

"For glory," said the African somberly as I slid down the bloody wall, but I was already too dead to hear him.

TWENTY

Aphter: Eighteen

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

I didn't have to wait too long. "Here's Johnny," I mumbled to myself when I saw him. It had only been a few minutes, so I figured he probably hadn't broken into Simon's apartment. He must have just knocked a few times and left when there was no answer. As he walked quickly down the stairs and headed for his car, I was anxiously trying to decide if I should stop him now or try to tail him. In all my years on the force, I had never tailed a car before, and I wasn't sure I could pul it off. I was in my own car, so there were no markings to give me away, but he might spot me if I stayed close enough to avoid losing him.

Before I came to a decision, he got into a black Lexus sedan. I grabbed my notepad and took down the license plate. At least, if I lost him, I could login to the network when I got home and possibly find out who he was. "Where are we going, Johnny?" I muttered as I watched him drive right past me and out toward the street, heading for Campo Drive. "I'm just a car on the road," I told myself, pulling out shortly after he left the driveway. "Nothing suspicious about that. He won't even notice as long as I hang back a little."

He went left on Campo a couple of blocks ahead. I sped up a little, panicking when I lost sight of him around the corner. When I got to the stop sign, though, I could still see him a block and a half away. Traffic wasn't too bad, so I turned left pretty quickly and kept my eyes on him. "Damn, I wish I had a computer with me." I thought about calling in his plates, but I was hesitant. The Sergeant had been pretty clear about this, and for good reason. As far as I knew, I was tailing a perfectly innocent citizen. Well, not perfectly innocent, I guess.

"Maybe he's just a friend who thought we wouldn't listen unless he was the husband," I argued with myself as he changed into the right lane up ahead.

"If he's just a friend, why did he pretend to be a cop with the neighbors?" I countered, getting into the right lane but staying over to the middle enough to see his left brake light around the car between us.

"You don't know that that was him," I continued. "He's not the only short guy in a suit in the city." The car between us put on its blinker and slowed down. "Damn," I whispered, not wanting to fall too far behind. I glanced into the mirror to see if I could pass on the left, but another car was right on my left bumper. The car ahead slowed to a crawl before turning into a shopping center on the right. "Come on," I growled, getting edgy.

Finally the car was out of the way. The Lexus was still up ahead, still in the right lane. There was no one between us now. I sped up a little to close the gap. "Not too close," I muttered, easing back after a block or so. As he was coming up on College Boulevard ahead he put on his right blinker. "Thank you," I thought. It meant he wasn't feeling suspicious at all.

"Are you a student, Johnny?" I asked aloud as he turned. In a few seconds I was up to the intersection with my right blinker on. Looking down to the right I could see that he had gotten very quickly into the left lane on College. "Shit," I thought, thinking I would lose him. I had to wait for two cars to pass before I could follow. I drummed my fingers anxiously on the steering wheel as I turned my head back and forth to watch the oncoming traffic and then to track him. The first car passed and Johnny's left blinker went on. The second car slowed as it got to Campo, but I wasn't sure if it would turn and it wasn't signaling. "Come on." My right knee began to bounce. I glanced again at Johnny and saw him turning left a about two blocks up College. I looked back to my left, and the second car was turning right. "Thanks for the signal, asshole," I yelled inside my car as I punched the gas and shot to the right and then over into the left lane.

I floored the gas for a block and a half, and arrived quickly at the place where it looked like he had turned left. There was no sign of the Lexus. "Shit!" I growled. I turned left and drove slowly up the road. There were no cross streets ahead, so, if he had turned down this way, he would have to have pulled into one of the driveways.

The neighborhood was mostly residential, a middle-income area on the edge of the nice neighborhood that surrounded the university. There were homes on the right side of the street and a couple of blocks of small business strips on the left side, with more houses after that. "He'd probably be going home at this hour," I thought, so I drove up looking into the driveways of the houses on the right. After a couple of blocks with no sign of the Lexus, I decided to turn back. "He couldn't have gotten this far," I thought. "He's either back this way somewhere or he didn't turn on this street."

The businesses were now on my right. There were two groups of shops. The closer one faced this street, whose name I had forgotten to get. There was a dry cleaners, a tax office and little deli. The deli was open, with a few cars in the front, but no Lexus. The next little strip of shops faced the street a block over. There was a parking area behind the strip with a driveway onto this street. There was an alley just wide enough to drive through on each side of the building that led to the front parking lot.

There were no cars in the back parking lot. I pulled in and drove slowly toward and then down the alley on the left side of the building. As I passed into the shadow of the building, I was suddenly overcome with a sick dread. I stopped the car. "What the hell?" I thought. My heart was pounding in my chest. "What are you doing here, Al?" I asked myself. "You can run the guy's plates in the morning."

With my foot on the brake, after checking to make sure the doors were locked, I closed my eyes and tried to breath deeply to calm myself. If there had been a rational explanation for the feeling I was feeling, it would have been easier to deal with. I was a rational guy. What I felt now, though, was just this terrible fear. It was the feeling that something was wrong, terribly wrong. It had started this morning as soon as I first saw Johnny or Louis or whatever the hell his name is, and it had been getting steadily worse all day.

"Maybe a dark alley isn't the best place to deal with this," I chuckled to myself. "Let's get the hell out of here." I just wanted to go home. No, not home. To a bar. I wanted to go somewhere where people were laughing and where there was plenty of happy noise and where everyone was who they said they were. "Fuck it," I said. "We'll run his plates tomorrow. I'm going to JJ's." I moved my foot from the brake to the gas and drove down the alley, heading for a beer and then home.

When I started to pull out of the alley, though, I saw the lone car parked in the darkened front lot.

"Hello, Johnny," I muttered through clenched teeth.

NINETEEN

Aphter: Seventeen

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

"Leave it alone, Al," she said to me. "We don't go on feelings here and you know it. If you want to do something about your bad feeling, go have a drink. All we have to go on here is a falsified complaint."

"I know," I sighed. "But those two really might be in trouble."

"We'll go over the front desk camera footage tomorrow and see if we can get a positive ID on the guy you spoke to this morning," she said. "We can go after him for false reporting and see what develops."

"That sounds good, Betty," I lied. "See you tomorrow." I left her office and headed for the door, with addresses for Darla Montagne and Simon Sayer in my pocket and dread heavy on my shoulders.

At Darla's house, everything seemed normal. The door was closed and no one was home. I knocked for several minutes and peeked through the front window, but it was already getting dark outside and the house was pitch black inside. I walked down the sidewalk and across the street to the neighbor's house directly opposite.

"Hello," said the elderly lady who turned on the porch light and opened the door.

"Good evening, ma'am," I said, holding out my badge. "I'm Detective Al Hall and I'm investigating a report we got this morning of some trouble yesterday at the house across the street. Do you have a minute?"

"Well, just a short minute, really," she said, opening the screen door to join me on the porch. "My son is here to take me to dinner, but I'll certainly cooperate in any way I need to."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said. "I won't keep you long. Can I get your name?"

"Virginia," she said. "Virginia Tolleson." She spelled it for me as I wrote.

"Mrs. Tolleson, did you notice any trouble yesterday morning?"

"Well, not trouble, really. Like I told the officer yesterday evening," she said, "I noticed the door wide open yesterday morning when I came out to get the paper, and then I noticed a strange car out there for a while."

"There was another officer?" I asked.

"Yes. Yesterday evening."

"Do you remember his name, ma'am?"

"Oh, certainly not," she said. "He was a short man in a dark suit."

It sounded like my "Louis Montagne" from this morning. "Mrs. Tolleson," I asked, "do you know the people who live in that house?"

"Well, sure. I've known Darla since she and Louis moved in there almost ten years ago," she said.

"Louis?"

"Her husband," she answered. "He passed away almost two years ago in a terrible car crash."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. I took one of the printed sheets out of my pocket and unfolded it. "Is this Louis, ma'am?" I asked.

She took the paper and held it up close to the porch light. "Yes, that's him. Why?" She handed the paper back to me.

"Oh, just being sure," I said. "Mrs. Tolleson, you've been very helpful, and I appreciate your time. Enjoy your dinner."

"Well, okay," she said. She had a worried furrow on her brow as she turned to go back inside, and I felt bad for troubling her.

When I got back to the car, I dug the old Mapsco out from under the seat and got directions to Simon Sayer's place. "Well, I'll be damned," I said. Mr. Sayer lived in the Pine View Apartments, an old complex that I knew only too well, though I rarely went to that side of town anymore. My grandfather built the Pine View apartments almost sixty years ago. We had lived in them when I was a kid, and my grandfather had passed them on to my dad when he died. My dad had always loved the business of maintaining and managing the complex as a side job to his police work. As they got older, though, they were more of a drain than an asset. When my dad passed away, I had wanted nothing to do with them. I sold them to one of Dad's friends, Bill Power, for almost nothing. I didn't keep track of what happened to them after that.

The old neighborhood hadn't changed much in thirty years. Little things jogged my memory as a drove through: a lot with a big tree, a gas station with an old hydraulic car lift in the front, the old 24-hour laundromat and then the Pine Views. They didn't look too bad. Someone was taking pretty good care of them, and they looked fully occupied.

I pulled around to the second building and found a parking place. I was just about to get out when I spotted someone heading from the parking lot to the stair well. My heart skipped a beat, and I decided to stay put and watch.

I could have busted him then and there for false reporting and for impersonating an officer, but I wanted to wait and see what he was doing here. The dread on my shoulders pressed down more heavily as I watched him disappear up the stairs heading, no doubt, for apartment 216.

EIGHTEEN

Aphter: Sixteen

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

When she heard the door open, Amy sat up from where she had been lying on the couch. "Oh, good," she said, lying back down. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, pretty soon. Just let me talk to Dad."

"He's asleep in there," she said, pointing to the bedroom door. "Lucky him."

I didn't need her to tell me that, however, because Dad still snored like a muffler with a hole in it. "You couldn't have slept with that racket anyway," I said.

"Wanna bet?" She smiled faintly, but she looked pretty rough.

"Hey, Dad. Wake up," I said, knocking loudly on the door when I went in. He had pushed all the disheveled junk from his earlier book search onto the floor and was sound asleep, face down and fully dressed, boot and all, on top of tousled covers. "Dad," I yelled, grabbing a boot that was hanging off the side of the bed and shaking it roughly.

The snoring stopped. "What?" he asked, not moving a muscle.

"Get up. I need to talk to you before I go."

"Right," he said. "One sec."

I was starving, so I walked out to the kitchen to get a snack. The towel that had formerly contained the ham was on the counter, but there was no ham to be found. I tore off a piece of the dark, dry bread and took a bite.

"I don't like that bread," said Amy.

"And it's a good thing," Dad growled, stomping loudly from the bedroom, "or it would all be gone."

"The food here doesn't fill you up," she said, defensively.

"Well, not YOU anyway," said Dad. "It fills me up just fine if some little girl doesn't come along and eat it all." He walked into the kitchen and poured a little of the now lukewarm coffee.

"You're a mean old man," she scowled. I could tell she liked him.

"Pleased to meet you," he replied.

"The food here isn't very satisfying for us," I told her, "but it's better than nothing."

"Well, son, what did you find out?" He plopped down in the kitchen chair in front of the still-opened Glory Dawn book on the table.

"She's not here," I said. "Her list has her parents, her husband and, interestingly enough, a cousin named..." I fumbled in my pockets for the paper on which I had written the name, "...Romeo di Marti."

"Why is that interesting?" asked Dad.

"Because, he just got here a few days ago."

"Hmmm." said Dad.

"I know. Maybe nothing, but still..."

"Do you know a cousin Romeo di Marti, Miss Amy?" asked Dad.

"No. I don't have any cousins," she answered.

"He might be a cousin of your mother," he said. "Ever heard of him?"

"No."

"Hmmm." Dad fell silent for a minute, and then yawned with a huge stretch. "Well, Simon," he said, "what have we learned?"

"Not much," I said. "We know we might be dealing with a Fate. We know Darla isn't here yet. Can you check out this Romeo di Marti guy?"

"I'll see if I can find him," said Dad. "It couldn't hurt."

"Right. And now, Amy..." I started. I was interrupted, however, by a knock on the door. Dad frowned and I got nervous. Amy sat up on the couch. "Are you expecting anyone?" I asked. Dad shook his head no.

"David, are you there?" came a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

"That sounds like the Sheriff," said Amy.

"That is the Sheriff," said Dad. "He's okay, Simon. Let him in."

It made me nervous, but I walked over to the door and opened it. "Hello, Sheriff Mercury," I said, with a smile.

"Well, this answers my first question," said the Sheriff with his huge smile. "Simon Sayer. I thought you two might know each other."

"Simon is my son, Farrokh," said Dad.

"I see. Well, any son of your's is a friend of mine, David," he replied rather formally.

"How can I help you today?" said Dad.

"May I come in, then?" the Sheriff asked, looking at me. I realized I was blocking his way.

"Oh, sorry," I said. "I'm a little tired and stupid. Come on in." I stepped out of his way and he brushed quickly by me.

"And here is Lady Amy," he said animatedly, seeing her on the couch. "You look like you need to go home, my dear." He sat beside her on the couch. "I'm afraid my town isn't very fun for you."

"I'm just tired," she said, managing a smile. "We're about to leave now."

"You've finished your business then," he asked, turning to look at me.

"As much as I can," I answered, closing the door and walking into the kitchen to sit at the table.

"Yeah, tell me Sheriff," said Dad, picking up the scratch paper from where I had laid it on the table, "how would I find a Romeo di Marti?"

"Di Marti? He's new. He's still over in the Welcome Housing."

"Do you know everyone here?" asked Amy. "How can you keep track of it all?"

"I'm the Sheriff," he replied. "It's my job to know who and what and why in my own town."

"Seems like a lot to remember," she said.

"Well, we have our little tricks," he answered, patting her lightly on the hand. "If you want to meet Romeo that would be perfect," he continued , turning back to Dad, "because I need you to make a little trip over to the Welcome Center for me."

"Why?" asked Dad.

"Should we talk later?"

"No, no. You can talk in front of Simon," said Dad.

"Well, there's a new arrival I need you to settle in. It's a personal favor," he said.

"I'd be happy to, but why me?"

"Well, it's not for me," the Sheriff explained. "It's for Wayne."

"Sheriff Wayne?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "It's his son."

"Oh," said Dad. "Damn. He should be here."

"Where is Sheriff Wayne?" I asked. Sheriff Mercury glanced at Dad questioningly.

"Never mind, Simon," Dad replied. "He's just not around right now. Of course, I'll go right away," Dad answered the Sheriff. "Anything for Wayne."

"I knew you would, of course," said the Sheriff.

"What's his name and where is he?" asked Dad.

"His name is Al Hall. He's just arrived this evening, so he's still with the greeters."

SEVENTEEN

Aphter: Fifteen

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

"Here, put these on," she said, handing me a pair of wire-rimmed shades. "The Family Registry is back toward the Center."

I took them and put them on as we walked through the door. The sidewalk outside led toward Welcome Park, and I could see various people, all with their backs to the Center, talking with counselors and ministers and various service people, learning the ropes. The Sister didn't talk as she walked to the nearest crossing sidewalk and turned directly toward the Center.

The light from the Lightstone was not so invasive as sunlight. It was softer, more white, and it wasn't hot. It would overwhelm your eyes if you weren't wearing protection, but it left no negative blurs after you turned away. It was like no light in the living world, and I glanced over my shades into it for a second just to get the sensation. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was so bright as to make it impossible to register anything else. When I tilted the shades back over my eyes, I could look at it and see the perfect, smooth roundness of it. It was about as tall as a flagpole, a perfect sphere of light, probably half a mile away from where we walked, sitting atop a small hill so that you could see it over the tops of the buildings. The ground here was flat, but it started to slope up slowly and gently toward the Lightstone just ahead.

"Let's move quickly," said the Sister. "Don't talk to anyone. If someone else recognizes that you're..." she glanced over at me.

"Alive?"

"Yes, I suppose. Well, I don't know how I would explain it."

"I understand," I said. "I'm too tired to talk to anyone anyway. I just want to find out and get out of here."

We walked in silence for a few minutes, coming up to a large, ornate, white building that looked like a library. "So, how many people in Waiting know that you can visit like this?" she asked.

"That I can specifically?"

"No, you know. How many people know that the living can visit here?"

"Well," I said, "the Sheriff didn't seem too surprised when I arrived. And the former Sheriff, Wayne, he was a friend of ours. We have a few other friends, Dad especially."

"Well, I wonder if the church knows," she said.

"Oh, I think someone in the church must know," I said. "I'm not sure who that would be or how they would explain it, mind you, but it's not so secret that the entire church would be in the dark."

She didn't say anything else about it, but I knew she was struggling with how - and if - she should explain this to her superiors. We got to the library building and she led me in. "This is the Family Registry," she said loudly, as though I were a client. "We can check here to see if you have family waiting to be notified upon your arrival. You can also look up the location of your family members, if they've listed you, even if they haven't requested notification services."

"Oh, that's fascinating," I said, trying to sound convincing.

We walked past the main desk and she led us directly toward the records for Darla Montagne. I wasn't too worried about being recognized, but I tried to be as nonchalant as possible. Aphter wasn't a militant place, generally, and little bendings of the rules were overlooked as long as no one started trouble. The building was huge, much larger than I'd thought, and it was seemingly packed to capacity with records. It took a long time to reach the right area.

When we got to the spot, the Sister went to work with great efficiency looking for the records. There were, apparently, more Darla Montagnes than you would think, and it took a while to narrow it down through location and date and such to exactly the right Darla Montage, Darla Renée Montagne.

"Well, she's not here," said the Sister.

"Can you put Dad down to be notified if she arrives?" I asked.

"Simon, I don't know about that," she said. "That's a lot to ask."

"Well, what about you, then. Can you request an administrative notification and then notify Dad yourself?"

She sighed and played at seeming reluctant, but she knew this was what I wanted when she agreed to bring me here. "I'll put down myself," she said, and she made some notes on the record with a nearby pen attached to the shelves with a chain.

"One other thing," I said. She gave me a look that said I had better not push too far, but she didn't protest. "Is there anyone waiting for her?" I asked.

"Simon." She sighed again, but she flipped through the pages of the small record. "Both parents," she said, scanning the page. "Husband."

"What's his name?" I asked.

"Louis. Louis Carlo Montagne."

I jotted it down on a piece of scratch paper from a little stack nearby. "Thanks," I said.

"And a cousin, Romeo di Marti."

"A cousin?" I asked, jotting down the name. "Is that common?"

"I'm not sure, Simon," she said' closing the record. "But, in case it helps you, it's a recent request. Just a few days ago."

"Whoa," I said. "It might be nothing, but that's good to know."

"Okay," she said, filing the record away. "Now let's go."

"Is there anything you can tell me about Romeo di Marti?" I asked.

"No." She was already walking away quickly, so I followed her because I knew I'd never find my way out of this maze. She didn't slow down until we were outside again, heading away from the Center back toward the Welcome Center building. We got about halfway there, and she stopped, back to the Center, and, taking off her shades, looked over at me. "I should get back to work," she said.

"Okay," I said. I took off my shades and handed them back to her.

"Thank you," she said.

"No, thank you. Hopefully this information will help me help Amy."

"I pray it does, Simon. I will pray for you, both of you."

"Thanks," I said. "I guess I'll be going."

She held out her hand politely, and I stared down at it for a little too long, making things awkward. She pulled it back and looked down at the ground. "It was good to see you, Simon."

Then, without thinking too much about it, I turned to her and hugged her lightly around her shoulders. She was startled, and her arms were stiff by her side at first, but then she reached up with one hand and patted me on the shoulder. "It was good to see you too," I said quietly, letting go of her and walking away quickly.

I was already a burden of guilt to her, something I never wanted to be for anyone. I didn't know how to make everything alright between us, to let her know that I was okay, but I was pretty sure that seeing me cry wouldn't get the job done, so I didn't turn around. I just kept walking.

"I'm just tired," I explained to myself.

SIXTEEN

Aphter: Fourteen

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

The Welcome Center was beautiful and nicely apportioned, and the chair in the waiting area was so comfortable that the lack of comfort it provided to my body was painfully noticeable. "There is no rest for you here," it seemed to scream at my aching muscles and bones. "You don't belong here." The long train ride on that damn wooden bench hadn't helped much either. I wanted so badly to stretch out and go to sleep, and the thought made me worry about Amy back at Dad's place. "She must be miserable," I muttered.

"Hello, how can I help you?" The voice was so sweet and pleasant, like I'd never heard it before. For me it had always been clipped and nervous. When I turned toward her, she looked exactly as I remembered her, maybe a bit younger. The habit she wore was more traditional and ceremonial than her more practical dress before, but the impression was exactly the same.

"Hello," I said, and I started to blush knowing that she didn't recognize me but that she soon would. "How are you, Sister?" I was overcome with the wish to be anywhere else.

"I'm well," she was still smiling, and squinting at me a little. The wheels were turning in her head. "I'm sorry, I can't remember your name."

"It's..." I had to swallow hard. "It's, Simon, Sister," I said. I started to hold out my hand to shake, but then I couldn't remember if that was appropriate.

"Simon?" There was the voice I remembered. Her mouth dropped open and I could see the tension grip her. She wanted to leave.

"I'm sorry to surprise you like this," I said. I sat down and decided to look at my shoes.

She paused for a few seconds, long enough to for me to notice, but then took the seat beside me. "No, please," she said. "Don't apologize to me. Please."

"I'm sorry," I said, at a loss for words. I glanced over at her, and she smiled a little.

"And don't apologize for the apology," she said. The fact that I was here dawned on her at this point. "Simon, I... It's been a long time."

"Yes."

"When did you get here?" she asked. I wondered if it was professional curiosity. Would she have know if I had arrived through the light? I was certain she hadn't put her name on the notification list for me.

"I've been here just a few hours," I answered her. I could tell by the look on her face that she was trying to figure it out. I shouldn't be here, dressed like this, obviously exhausted, after just a few hours. I really didn't want to get into it with her. "I came because Dad told me you were working here," I said. "He thought you could help me."

She wasn't smiling any more. "You've already seen your father? I hope he is well."

"He's fine, Sister."

"How could I possibly help you, Simon?" she asked. "I work here, with the Sisters in Waiting. I greet the new arrivals."

"Yes, I've heard," I said. A lump rose in my throat again, but I fought it down and continued. "Sister, listen. I understand that you are with the Sisters, and I understand what that means for you." I looked her squarely in the eyes. "And for me," I added.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she said, turning slightly away from me and staring at her hands folded on her knees in a way that told me she knew exactly what I was talking about.

"There's a little girl, Sister," I said, sensing that she was about to leave. "I'm trying to help her."

"What little girl?"

"She's with Dad right now," I continued. "I'm trying to help her find her mother."

"Well, Simon, we can certainly help her with that. Just bring her..."

"No, Sister. She's not... I just need to know if her mother arrives here or has arrived already."

She looked puzzled again. "Well, as was surely explained to you, she'll have to come and ask herself. Only family..."

"She's not dead, Sister. She's still alive."

Now she frowned. "I thought you said she was at your father's."

"She is."

"I thought you meant your father's house here, in Waiting." The Sisters always called it Waiting, not Aphter.

"I do."

She stopped talking at that point, and leaned in closely to look at me. Not everyone in Aphter knew that the living could visit. It wasn't something we advertised, those of us who knew the way. "Simon, what's wrong with you?" she asked. "You look strange."

"That's because I'm not dead, Sister."

She blinked, but the words didn't sink in yet.

"I'm still alive."

Her eyes went wide and she froze. "This can't be right," she whispered. "This is wrong."

"No, it's okay. Dad and I, we've always visited here. We're not the only ones," I said. "We don't talk about it much, though."

"How?"

"I can't tell you that," I said. "But it's nothing weird. It's perfectly natural, if you know how."

"Simon, I'm very uncomfortable..." She stood to go.

"Please, Sister," I said with more desperation than I had intended. She stopped, and I started to stand, but I was just too tired. "There's a little girl, a sweet, little girl named Amy at Dad's place, and I need to know if her mother is here. We're trying to find her mother. She disappeared yesterday morning, and I have reason to think she might be in danger, possibly mortal danger."

She paused for a long time, standing in front of my chair and looking off toward the door. Finally she asked, "How old is the girl, Simon?"

"I'm not sure. Seven or eight, maybe," I answered.

"Tell me about her."

"Well, yesterday I got to her house..."

"No," she said. "Describe her to me."

"Uh... She's short." I indicated with my hand. "She's got brownish hair. She's mostly quiet, not too fussy. She's damn brave. She..."

"Okay," she interrupted, having come to some decision. She sat quickly in the chair beside me and looked me right in the eyes. "Tell me what you need."

FIFTEEN

Aphter: Thirteen

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE

THIRTEEN

"You've reached Simon. Leave a message."

I don't know why I tried again. I'd already left two messages. I put the phone down and, seeing Sergeant Morris headed for her office, I grabbed the file folder I had just made and walked over to catch up.

"Got a minute, Betty?" I asked, walking quickly up behind her.

"For what?" she asked, turning into her office.

I paused at her door, but she motioned me in. "This Montagne thing," I answered. "The guy who came in with the missing wife and daughter?"

"The Monte Carlo bulletin?" she asked, taking her seat.

"Right," I said, sitting across from her. "I checked out the Monte Carlo over at the Texaco off Chapin. The manager says it's been parked there since yesterday." I filled her in on the details.

"What exactly are we investigating here, Al?" she asked. "Kidnapping? Have we established that these two are, in fact, missing?"

"Well, I don't really know," I said. "The mother hasn't been to work for two days now, and the story is that no one at the shop has heard from her. Same with the girl's school."

"So, they're playing hooky for a couple of days. It happens," she said. "What else do you have?"

"Well, according to the husband, the door to the house was wide open when he got there."

"Any signs of struggle?" she asked.

"Not that I know of."

"Well, it could be something, sure. But, it's not much. What do you have on the car owner?"

"Nothing," I said. "Clean record. He's some kind of repairman or something, according to his card."

"Like a maintenance man?"

"I don't know. Odd jobs," I said, repeating the words from the card. "I called his number and left a message, but no reply."

"It's not much to go on, Al," she said, turning her attention to her computer. "What are you thinking? Are you wanting to move forward? Search the house? What?"

"I don't know," I muttered. "I just...," I paused, not wanting to say what was about to come out of my mouth. "I got a feeling about this, Betty," I said. "And I don't get feelings all the time. I don't. This one..." I shook my head.

"Don't tell me about feelings, Al. I can't do anything about feelings," she sighed. "What do you want to do?"

"Do we have enough to get into the house?" I asked.

"What about the husband? Can he get you in? I don't know if we're in warrant territory yet."

"Well, he doesn't live there," I said. "I'll just ask him and see what he says."

"Sounds like a next step," she said, and she dove into typing an email.

When I got back to my desk, I thumbed through the folder and found the notes I'd taken from Louis Montagne, including his phone number. I picked up my phone and dialed the number, but it was disconnected. I must have written it down wrong. I called information, but there was no current listing for Louis Montagne. So, I turned to the DPS database. There was one listing for Louis Montagne. The last known address was the address he had given for Darla Montagne. He must not have updated his license. 'Damn,' I muttered, and I flipped up the details screen to see what other information we had listed.

The bad feeling that had been weighing on me for the last few hours deepened as I looked at the picture on the screen. "If this is Louis Montagne," I wondered aloud, "then who the hell did I talk to this morning?" The man on the screen was a tall, fair-skinned, blond man. He was much younger than the man I had spoken to.

And, if the computer was right, he was also dead.

FOURTEEN

Aphter: Twelve

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN

TWELVE

The Monte Carlo was still parked in front of the gas station when I got there. An officer had spotted it and called it in shortly after I placed the bulletin on it. I pulled in and parked beside it, but decided to ask a few questions and get the lay of the land before I checked out the car.

"Do you know how long that car has been there?" I asked the clerk, a cleancut, Hispanic kid in a store uniform.

"The Chevy?" he asked.

"Yes."

"It was here when I got here this morning, and I got here at five."

"Do you know who it belongs to? Have you seen it here before?"

"No, not me," he said.

"Was it here yesterday?"

"I didn't work yesterday."

"Can I speak with someone who may have been here? Do you have a camera feed out there?" I pulled my badge from my pocket and showed it to him.

"Yeah, we got cameras. Hold on." He picked up the counter phone, dialed a number and then mumbled something quickly in Spanish. "The manager will be up here in a second," he said, hanging up the phone. "You want some coffee, officer?"

"Sure," I said.

"Help yourself, over there," he said, indicating the wall of gourmet coffee flavors. "It's free for cops," he added, turning to attend to some beeping indicator behind him.

My dad would have chewed him out for the word "cops", but it's pretty common these days and most people don't mean anything by it. My dad always hated it, though. In his day, I think it was a more derogatory term.

I walked over to the coffee. I had been hoping that he would offer. Lots of gas stations and restaurants had policies to comp certain small items for police officers, and I really needed a good cup of coffee. I was pouring some of the Colombian when the manager, a stocky, middle-aged Hispanic man, came out from the back to meet me.

"Hello, officer," he said, holding out his hand. "My name is Jorge. I'm the manager here. How can I help you?"

"Detective Al Hall," I said, shaking his hand. He had a firm handshake and a friendly face. "I'm wondering about that Monte Carlo out there. Do you know how long it's been here?"

"Oh, yes. I was going to call someone to tow it away today," he said, walking over toward the front door. "Yesterday afternoon sometime, I don't remember what time, a man, he parked that there and then he just walked away. I didn't think that much about it. Sometimes people leave cars a little while to go do something and then come back, you know? Then it was still here when I went home, and still when I got here today, so I started to wonder, you know?" He opened the door and we walked outside into the cold, damp, grey of the late morning.

"Was he alone?" I asked, sipping the hot coffee. It was pretty good.

"There was a little girl with him," he replied, then he got a serious look on his face. "Is something up with this guy, officer?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, you understand," I said. "Do you know the man? Have you seen him before?"

"No," he shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't see him that well."

"And how was the girl? Did she seem normal to you? Did you get any sense of whether she seemed to be in distress?"

"She looked pretty normal to me," he said. "She just walked beside him and they walked that way." He pointed down the road toward the city limits. "I didn't see if they got in another car or anything."

"You have surveillance out here," I said, nodding at the cameras at either end of the storefront awning. "Do you keep the tapes?"

"It's all digital," he said. "It's on the disk and then they send it to corporate every night. We keep three days here."

"Would I be able to see yesterday's tape?" I asked, though not very hopefully.

"Oh, yes," he replied, smiling. "We always cooperate with the police, officer." He turned toward the door and I started to follow, relieved that it was going to be easy. "I just got to call corporate and see if we need any paperwork or anything," he continued.

'Damn!' I thought. They were sure to require forms and possibly even a warrant. I hate red tape. "Of course," I said with a sigh. "Go ahead and check it out. I'm going to make a call." He smiled and nodded, heading inside, and I turned and walked back toward the car.

When I got to the Monte Carlo, I glanced at the door. It was locked, of course. It crossed my mind to pop the locks, but I knew better. We could impound the car and check it out then. We had to be careful these days not to invade privacy and blow a case on technicalities. My dad would have been in the car as soon as he'd gotten here back in the day, but we couldn't do that sort of thing today.

I leaned in, cupping my eyes against the glass with my hands, and tried to see through the slight tinting on the window. There was nothing interesting inside, really. Looking through the front windshield, I saw a small stack of business cards tucked into an elastic band attached to the visor. They were upside down, so I craned my neck to see the words. "Simon Sayer," it said, and then "Repairman. Odd Jobs." There was a phone number. I took a pad from my pocket and jotted it down.

"Odd jobs," I muttered under my breath. "Odd jobs."

THIRTEEN

Aphter: Eleven

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN

It was a cold, grey day and I hadn't brought my jacket. It was freezing in the station because the HVAC systems were still set for AC. That's how the Fall is in Texas. Hot one day, cold the next. It's impossible to adapt unless you watch the news every day, and I don't.

I was on the way to the lobby to meet some guy with an "urgent" issue, but I stopped by the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, hoping it would warm me up. I like good coffee black, but I could tell by the smell that it would take a lot of sugar to get this stuff down. I filled my mug a little too full. It was my white Dallas Cowboys mug with the blue and silver star on one side and the "8", good old Troy Aikman, on the other. Coffee sloshed over the sides as I walked and left a little trail of drops behind me.

When I got to the lobby, Alicia at the desk pointed me toward a well-dressed man seated in one the chairs against the wall.

"Hello, Mr?" I said, walking over and holding out my hand.

"Montagne," he said, standing to shake my hand. "My name is Louis Montagne."

"Mr. Montagne, I'm Detective Al Hall. Follow me," I turned to lead him back to my desk. "What is the nature of your situation, Mr. Montagne?" I asked while we were walking back.

"Please, yes," he said. "I think something might have happened to my wife and daughter. I can't find them."

There was something funny about his voice, a lack of the kind of urgency we usually hear in complaints like this. Sometimes that doesn't mean anything. People cope in different ways. I made a mental note, nevertheless. We arrived at my desk in the Detective Farm as we called it. "What do you mean, you can't find them?" I asked, taking my seat and indicating that he should sit in the seat across from mine.

"Well, I went to my wife's shop yesterday - she's a butcher, has her own shop - and she wasn't there. No one was there. The place was still closed."

"Right," I said. "What is your wife's name, Mr. Montagne?"

"What? Darla. Her name is Darla."

"Darla Montagne?"

"Yes."

I wrote the name down. "Go on," I said.

"Yes. Well, I tried to call her cell phone and her home phone, but she did not answer. So, I went over to her house. There was no one there. My daughter should have been in school, but I called her school and she never showed up."

"What is your daughter's name, Mr. Montagne?"

"Amy. Amy Montagne."

"And how old is Amy, sir?"

"Eight, I think. Maybe nine now. She'll turn nine this month, but I don't remember the day."

'So, they don't live together and he's not that involved with them,' I noted. "May I ask the status of your relationship with Darla, Mr. Montagne? I noticed you said, 'her house.'"

"Oh, right. We are separated, but we are still married."

"And would you describe your relationship as civil? Are you on good terms with each other?"

"Yes, I think so. I mean, we don't always agree. We are separated, after all. That usually implies some disagreement, I believe."

"Right." I paused. "Any chance they went on a trip that you didn't know about?" I was using my professional voice and smile.

"What? No, I don't think so. I called Oscar, my nephew - he works for her at the shop - he said she was supposed to be there yesterday."

"Okay, well..."

"And also," he interrupted, "the door was wide open when I got to the house. I have a license plate number here," he said, digging a small scrap of paper from his pocket. "The neighbors said they saw this car in the driveway for a little while yesterday."

I took the paper. It said "blue, two-door, Monte Carlo" and had a license plate number. "Thanks," I said. "Did they say what time the car had arrived or how long it stayed?"

"They said it arrived early, before work, and stayed for a couple of hours."

I turned to the computer and ran the license plate. "Mr. Montagne, do you know a Simon Sayer?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. I've never heard of him."

TWELVE

Aphter: Ten

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN

Dad was right. If the Sister was working with the Greeters, she'd be perfectly placed to know if Darla Montagne arrived. So, I left Amy with Dad and set out the for train station a few blocks away. The train was one of the city services in Aphter, so anyone could ride it. I'd say it was free, but there's no money in Aphter. People barter goods and services, and everyone manages to have what they need.

I arrived at the station just in time to catch the Inbound train. It wasn't large, just three passenger cars and a couple of empty carrier cars. There weren't many people on it, as usual. The train was only crowded if there was a special event or festival going on somewhere. For the most part, people in Aphter tended to stay put.

I took a seat in the middle car near the front and slid over to the window. There was only one other man on the car, a big African-looking gentleman seated about halfway back on the opposite side. Much to my envy, he was sleeping soundly.

The train wasn't very fast, and it would probably take a couple of hours to reach The Center where the Greeters worked around the Lightstone. I was trying to remember everything my Dad had taught me about the Greeters. The Greeters had been around as long as anyone could remember. They were there to welcome the new dead to Aphter and answer any questions they had. It was quite a job, because people came through with all sorts of notions, anxieties and expectations. The Greeters had a large network of counselors, a directory of families, an array of priests and ministers and a large clothing distribution team (since the new dead come through without clothes.)

When people die, they see a bright light and feel compelled to approach it. That light is the Lightstone. When people enter the light, they enter Aphter. The Greeters wear special glasses to protect their eyes and they take new arrivals from the light and out into the Welcome Park, a large area around the Lightstone that takes up most of The Center. From there, the Greeters deal with whatever the new arrival's needs might be.

Many religious groups thrive in Aphter, having found some way to work the reality if Aphter into the ambiguities of their dogma. One of the chief of these is a large, thriving Catholic Church. The Catholic presence in the service of the Greeters is an order called the Sisters in Waiting, so named because of the Catholic Belief that Aphter is, in fact, Purgatory. According to Dad, the Sister had joined the Sisters in Waiting very quickly after arriving.

Dad met the Sister at a bar in Texas almost thirty-five years ago. To hear Dad tell the tale, she was a beautiful young woman in her late twenties and gave no indication to him that she was, in fact, about to take her final vows to enter a Benedictine order of nuns. They talked and laughed and drank and one thing led to another. When he woke up, she was gone. He figured never to see her again, but then she showed up at his door about a month later distraught because she was pregnant. She had already decided resolutely to dedicate her life to work with orphans in Southeast Asia and was unwilling to change her plans. She said she would hide the pregnancy, put the baby into an adoption home and then forget about it. Dad was furious with her and insisted that she give the baby to him. So, they hid the pregnancy with various schemes, including a "kidnapping" during the final months, and, three days after I was born, she left and never came back.

Dad had taken me to see her four times during my life, but she was always nervous and angry about it and would never see us for more than a few minutes. She successfully hid the breaking of her vow and went on to do important work for children in many parts of the world. She was the model of sacrificial piety and compassion. In a strange way, I was always proud of her. Dad, on the other hand, really hated her. We used to argue about it. "She's given her whole life to help people, Dad," I'd say. "Well, it wasn't all hers to give!" he'd yell.

And now she was here, and I couldn't help but feel a little pang of regret. Some part of me had always imagined that, when she got here, things would be different. I imagined that her life work would be done and that she and I could get to know each other. But instead she joined the Sisters in Waiting. They probably wouldn't be open to the idea of a lifelong nun with a grown son. It was going to be more of the same. For how long? Forever?

"I wonder if she'll even see me?" I thought aloud. I knew, though, that she'd help if I told her about Amy.

She could never turn her back on a child.

ELEVEN