cogito

Aphter: 35

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35

"I'm here for my car."

The lady behind the counter, a short, chubby woman with a friendly face, held up a finger indicating that I should wait while she finished counting the stack of papers in front of her. It was a large stack, and she thumbed through it and mouthed the numbers to herself as she counted. When she finished, she jotted a figure on the notepad beside the stack and then looked at me with a smile. "Tag?" she said.

"What?"

"Do you know your tag number? Your license plate?"

"Oh," I answered. I tried to think of it, but I couldn't. "I think it starts with a K."

"Name?" she said, pushing aside the stack of papers and pulling her computer keyboard into reach.

"Sayer," I said.

She tapped on the keyboard an inordinate number of times, taking more than a minute. "Simon?" she asked, finally.

"That's right," I said.

"Okay, Mr. Sayer. We'll need to see your license and we'll need $300 in a check or money order."

"Cash?" I asked.

"Check or money order," she smiled bureaucratically.

"I have a checkbook in my car," I said.

"No problem," she said, "I assume your proof of insurance is in there too?"

"Yes."

"Well, why don't you give me the keys and I'll have someone bring it around. We can escort you out to get your checkbook and proof of insurance and, once the check clears, you can take your car."

"Uh, okay." I reached into my pocket for my keys. "I had a computer in there, a laptop, would you have left it there or taken it out?"

"If they saw it they might have taken it out and boxed it," she said, taking the keys from my hand. "Sometimes they don't notice. If it's not in the car, we'll check the boxes."

"Okay." I said.

"Also, Mr. Sayer, we need you to speak with Detective Hall."

"Detective Hall? Why?" I was beginning to feel impatient.

"He has a note on here that he wants to see you when you pick up your car," she replied. "I'll give dispatch a call and they'll let him know you're here." She picked up the phone and dialed.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry," I said, but she wasn't listening. She was talking to someone on the other end of the line. knowing it was pointless to persist, I walked over and dropped heavily onto the uncomfortable wooden bench against the wall. I slouched down on the bench, trying to relax, and leaned my head back against the cold concrete of the wall behind me.

"Such a hassle, these affairs," said a voice. It sounded foreign, possibly African.

I glanced over to the next bench where an old black man sat smiling at me. He was tall, but shorter than me. He looked strong for a man of his age. "Yeah," I answered. I closed my eyes again and leaned back again.

"We live bound by honor and law," he said.

His words rattled around in my head when I heard them, but it took a second for them to sink in. When they finally did, I opened my eyes and sat up. "Law binds from without, honor from within," I responded, looking into the man's eyes.

"Where there is honor, there is no need for law," he said, smiling.

"Law is the crucible." I had completed the code. We sat in silence for a minute.

"Fair weather today," he said, indicating that we should talk, but not here.

"Did you enjoy evening?" I asked him, inquiring if there was urgency.

"It was peaceful," he said. There was no hurry. He would wait for me to finish my business here.

My heart was beating quickly, but I calmed it and settled in to wait. 'Why is he here?' I wondered. 'Who is he?' I had never encountered another Repairman here in town before. I wondered if his business intersected with mine.

"Mr. Sayer," the officer called me.

I stood and walked back to the counter. "Yes?"

"Detective Hall is not in yet," she said. "I've talked to his Sergeant, however, and she says you can just leave your number and address and he'll contact you. There's no need to wait."

"Oh, great," I said. I gave her my mobile number and address.

"Okay," she said. "Well, if you'll have a seat, I'll let you know when they bring your car around."

"Oh," I sighed, "I thought it was here."

"Oh, it may take a few minutes," she said. "We're pretty busy today."

I sighed again and turned to sit back down. The African was gone.

36

Aphter: 34

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34

The door to Sam's bedroom was closed, so I knocked.

"Come in," came Sam's voice.

I opened the door and saw Amy and Sam lying on the bed watching cartoons on the little television on the dresser. "Hey, Amy," I said. "Feeling better?" I walked over and stood beside the bed.

"I'm stuffed," she said. "I ate too many pancakes."

"Pancakes have a tendency to expand after you eat them," I said.

"Ugh," she put her hands on her stomach.

"So," Sam sat up, throwing a pillow onto her lap in front her. She clicked the television off with the remote and set it on the bedside table. "What's the plan, pig man."

"Yeah, pig man," Amy laughed.

"That is not my name," I said. "And it's not my new nickname either."

"Okay, pig man," said Amy, laughing even harder.

"No, that's enough," Sam said. "What's up, Simon?"

"Well, we need to figure out what to do next," I said. "First, I think I should get my car back. I called the impound. It was towed."

"At least it wasn't stolen," said Sam. "So, how much?"

"Three hundred."

"Damn."

"I know, but I need to get my laptop back and we need to get out of your hair," I sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you holding up?" I asked Amy.

"I'm fine," she answered, but a sadness came over her. Sam had been doing a good job keeping her mind off of things. "Do you think my mom came home?"

"Well," I said, "I called her shop and I called your house. No answer."

"Oh."

"Hey," I said, "someone is watching out for us, Amy. Remember that. Someone sent me that Whim." As I said it, I remembered the dream from last night and got a sick feeling in my stomach. "I do not serve your whim!" I'd said. "No?" The way that voice had said it, like a question. "No?" The memory sent a chill up my spine. I shook it off.

"Someone sent what?" Sam asked.

"The Whim," said Amy.

"What whim?"

"The Whim that told Simon to come find me," she said.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about that," I said. "Do you want to come with me to get the car?" I was hoping to change the subject.

"Where are you going?"

"To the police station," I said. "I have to give them some money and fill out some papers to get my car back."

"Sounds boring," said Sam. "Amy can stay here with me."

"Sam," I frowned a little. "Look, you've done too much already. Don't you need to get to work or something?"

"I already took the day off," she said.

"I just, I don't know what's going on here," I said. "If anything happened..."

"Hey," she answered, "she's just a little girl. If she gets out of hand, I can take her." She smiled at Amy. Amy smiled back, but not very enthusiastically.

"Well," I sighed. "Amy, it's up to you. If you want to stay here, I'll come back as soon as I get my car. If you want to go with me, you're welcome to go."

"Do you need a ride?" Sam asked.

"No, I called a cab. It's going to be here any time."

"Well," said Amy, "I guess I can stay here and play with Sam, unless you need me."

"Oh, I definitely need you," I said, "but I can handle getting the car first."

"Okay, then it's settled," said Sam. "We're staying here and we're not ever eating pancakes again."

"Never," said Amy, grabbing her stomach again, her smile returning.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, clearing my mind. Looking outward from the inside, my eyes still closed, I probed for any warning about leaving Amy like this. I searched for almost a minute, but there was nothing.

"Are you praying or something?" Sam asked. "I didn't think you were the type."

"What?" I asked, opening my eyes and breathing deeply. "Oh, no. Just thinking. I'll be back soon."

Just then the doorbell rang. I gave Amy an awkward pat on the head and headed for the cab.

35

Aphter: 33

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33

I'm not sure how long I laid awake. The last thing I remembered was the cat, after several minutes, jumping back up onto my legs, walking slowly up to stand on my chest and staring into my face for a few seconds. "Sorry," I said. That seemed to satisfy him, and he sauntered back to my feet and draped across them.

I'm not sure how long I slept after that, but the sun was streaming into the living room when I woke up. I could hear a radio and chattering coming from the kitchen. Before I sat up, I glanced at my feet to see if the cat still there. He was gone, so I stretched loudly, swung my feet down to the carpet and stood with a groan. I started to wander into the kitchen and see what was up, but I stopped when the question of what I was wearing occurred to me. I glanced down. Just boxers. I tried to work out whether boxers were pajama-like enough to walk around in or if they were too underwear-like. Deciding that I shouldn't take any chances, I looked around for my clothes. They were nowhere to be found. So, I shrugged and headed into the kitchen.

"Hey!" yelled Cami, Sam's roommate, "there's a little girl in here, dude!"

"What?" I shrugged. They were eating pancakes, which smelled delicious. Amy was sitting at the table behind a giant stack of pancakes with a candle stuck in the middle.

"Simon! We're having a birthday party!" Amy yelled.

"Yes," said Sam, standing and walking over to me, "we are. Unfortunately for you, stinky birthday-forgetting pig-men in their underwear are not allowed." She grabbed me by my nipple and started dragging me back into the living room.

"Ouch!" I yelled. "Can I at least get some coffee?"

"Not until you've showered," she said, squeezing harder.

"Ouch!"

Amy was laughing her head off in the kitchen. "Take a shower, pig man!" she yelled.

"Okay, okay," I said, pulling Sam's hand from my nipple. "Where are my clothes?"

"I'm washing them," she said. "Don't get used to it." She was pushing me toward the bathroom.

"Whoa," I said. "There are some very important things in my pockets," I said.

"I took everyting out and put it in a bag," she said. "Don't worry." We arrived at the bathroom door.

"Sam," I said, bracing myself against the door jamb. "I would really like a cup of coffee first. It would help me wake up."

"Oh, really?" she said. "Do you know what I would like, Simon? I would like to wash these." With surprising quickness she grabbed my boxers and whipped them down to my knees.

"Hey!" I tried to grab them, but they fell down around my ankles.

"Cold in here?" she giggled, and I jumped out of the boxers and slammed the door to the bathroom.

I could hear her laughing outside the door as she turned to go. "Yes, it is, in fact!" I yelled after her.

"It's seventy-five degrees, Simon!" she screamed back, laughing.

I was going to yell back that I was hot-natured, but then I couldn't remember if hot-natured meant you always felt hot and you wanted it colder or if it meant that you always felt cold and you wanted it to be hotter. So, I just started the water and took care of my business as I waited for it to heat up.

The hot shower felt really good, and I stood under the powerful stream for a long time, trying to sort my thoughts and come up with a plan. I wasn't really sure what to do. I had more questions than answers. First, where is Amy's mom? I had no idea. Second, where the hell is my car? Probably towed. That I could do something about. Third, who, if anyone, is Romeo di Marti? I could Google him when... Damn! My laptop was in the car. Damn! Well, that settled it. The first thing to do was to find the car.

"Here's your clothes," Sam said, bursting through the door. "You'll have to go commando until your shorts are done."

"I'm all warmed up now," I teased her. "Care to see a more accurate representation?"

"I'd love to, but I have to go throw up," she said, closing the door behind her as she left.

When I was dried and dressed, I went to the kitchen. "Any more coffee?" I asked Cami, who was sitting at the table in front of a computer.

"Yes," she said, not even looking up at me.

"Great," I grabbed the pot, but it was empty. "Where?" I asked, turning to her.

"The beans are in the fridge, the grinder is in the cupboard, the water is... should I go on?"

"No," I sighed, setting the pot back down.

"Good."

I went over to the fridge and opened it. The coffee beans were in a little bag on the top shelf. As I reached for it, I saw a paper sack on the countertop beside the fridge. Peeking into it, I saw my things. Relieved, I inventoried them as I put them back into the pockets where they belonged. When I got to my wallet, I opened it and pulled out a $20. Walking over to Cami, I slapped it onto the table beside her computer. "If you'll make a pot of coffee," I said.

She looked from the computer toward the bill and then looked up at me. "Is it tough to be so lazy and stupid?" she asked.

"No," I said, "but it's expensive. What do you say?"

"Okay." She snagged the $20 from the table and got up. "I was going to make a pot anyway."

I sighed and shook my head. "Where's Amy?" I asked.

"They're in Sam's room," she said, opening the fridge.

I grabbed the phone from its cradle on the counter and dialed the main number for the police station.

"Who are you calling?" Cami asked.

"Police," I said.

"You know the number by heart?"

"Fort Worth Police Department," the voice on the other end said. "How can I direct your call?"

"I think my car was towed," I said.

"God, what a loser," Cami muttered.

"Please hold," said the voice.

34

Aphter: 32

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32

It wasn't like floating in water. It was weightlessness. When you're floating, you can still feel the tug of acceleration from gravity. You are still engaged in a struggle of forces. Weightlessness, the complete lack of gravity, was more lost. The universe does not notice you. The universe does not care.

"Do you know who I am?"

I heard the voice from behind me and froze. "Yes," I said. I steeled my nerves and closed my eyes, coming to sharp awareness.

"And I know you, Simon Francis Sayer."

I found the center of my being and, as my father had taught me, I drew in around the cold, dark blade. I began to push it out from my center toward my chest. I drew my hands to my sternum at the ready.

"Won't you turn and face me, Simon?" the voice chided. "Look into my eyes."

"If I see you, I must slay you."

The voice laughed derisively. "Oh, that you could," it said, "but there is no rest for me."

I felt the strange pressure on my skin as the dark matter pushed through. I flexed my right hand.

"Think, little man. This is no place for one like you. How can you be here? The universe will not let Humans run free."

At that I stopped. The voice was right. I could not be here. "This is a dream."

"As you wish," it said. "Look at me."

I was loathe to do so. "Tell me," I said. "Is this my dream, or yours."

"I have no dreams."

"It doesn't feel like my dream," I said.

"Won't you look at me? Won't you play my game?"

"No," I said. "I'm no pawn for your games."

"A pawn?" I could hear the smile in it's voice. "No, Simon. You are a knight."

"I am not YOUR knight," I said, pushing the blade back to my core.

"No, you are not," it replied. "You are my pawn."

"Never."

"Why, Simon?" the voice had moved. It was coming around to my right.

I tried to turn to my left, but I couldn't control my movements in the weightless void. I started to spin slowly and crookedly backwards, my feet coming up, or in a direction I had thought of as up. I moved my right arm, trying to stabilize myself, but it just changed my trajectory randomly. I was spinning slowly and moving away.

"Shall I catch you?" the voice asked teasingly.

"No," I gasped, beginning to feel nauseated. "Don't touch me."

"Fine," it said, coming closer. "Why, Simon?" It was approaching fast. I closed my eyes tightly. "Why do you hate me?" It was right in front of me, staying with me as I spun away.

"You know," I snarled, my teeth clenched. "You know what you did."

"I've done so many things," it said, less than an inch from my face. "Remind me."

"Hell," I said. "You sent us to Hell."

"I did no such thing," it said. "I was asked to collect and deliver two things. Rocks. I did that. I have never touched you."

"You knew!" I growled. "You knew what you were doing!" My stomach began to rumble and my head grew dizzy as I struggled for some sense of orientation.

"Perhaps," it said, "you should direct your anger against the motivator. I was just the means."

"We've enough anger to go around," I said.

"Yes, I suppose you do," it said. "Never mind that. It's over. I am here to explain the rules of my game."

"I'll have none of your games." I could feel nausea overcoming me.

"I'm not asking you to play, Simon," it said. "Do be still." As soon it said the words, I stopped.

"Thank you," I said, panting.

"Never mind that as well," it said. "I cannot abide a cheat."

"It's no concern of mine."

"Oh, but it touches your concern," it said. "Here is what I require from you..."

"I do nothing for you."

"Never mind that. I have one rule for you."

I said nothing.

"Thou shalt not kill."

"I do not serve your whim!" I spat at it.

"No? Open your eyes, Simon," the voice said, fading away.

I sat up with a start and scared Samantha's cat, which was sleeping at my feet. It bolted off into the kitchen, its claws skittering on the tile. It took me a second to remember where I was. I was sleeping on Sam's couch. Amy was in Sam's room with her. My heart was thumping away and I was out of breath.

"It was just a dream," I whispered. "Just a dream." I settled back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling. I could still hear the voice in my ears. I could still feel the lurching sickness of weightlessness in my stomach. "Not your whim," I whispered. The hateful name kept running over and over in my mind.

Demiurge.

33

Aphter: 31

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31

Romeo sat on the couch, rubbing his neck. David pulled a chair from the little dining table and sat facing Romeo on the other side of the small coffee table. There was a soft chair at the end of the coffee table. I sat there.

"I have always been a seeker," Romeo began. "All my life, I've been fascinated with anything magical or fanciful. I was, in life, an avid spiritualist and was active in several occult organizations in my home town." He glanced at David and me to see that we were listening and then continued. "I was always frustrated, however, because I wanted strongly to know and to see something real and tangible."

"There's a whole real and tangible world to see, you know," David said. "You don't have to go looking for real things, only fake things."

"No," Romeo frowned, "I wasn't interested in natural things. I wanted to see something real that was magical or supernatural. I was obsessed with the idea."

David growled some muttering curse under his breath and let out a heavy sigh, looking up at the ceiling in disgust.

Romeo continued. "Then, almost six months ago, I met Emanyara at a meeting of wiccans I had started attending."

"Wiccans?" I asked. "You mean witches?"

"Natural magic, yes," Romeo said, glancing at me. "Not black magic. I was not a wiccan myself, really, but I was checking it out. Mr. Emanyara, as it turned out, was also not a wiccan. He was there looking for an apprentice. He approached me after the meeting that evening. He said he had come into some writings, very old, that could unlock what he called 'The door to eternal rest.' It was the door to the land of the dead."

"To this place?" David asked.

"No, I don't think so," Romeo said. "Maybe none of it was real, but it seemed so genuine at the time. Emanyara showed me things, things more real than any I had ever seen. I believed him. I was convinced that the knowledge he had was genuine."

"And what do you think now that you're here?" asked David.

Romeo just looked at the ground for a long second. "Things here are not what I expected," he said. "But, it's good. It's more, natural."

"You're disappointed?" David cocked an eyebrow at him.

"No," Romeo smiled. "No, not really. Maybe just a little, I don't know. This is the first I've discussed it with anyone. I'm very happy here. I'm going to live with my mother and her sister in a few days."

"Get to the part about Darla," David said.

"Yes," Romeo fidgeted. "The knowledge that Emanyara shared with me, it was about a song."

"The Maker Song?"

Romeo looked shocked. "Yes," he said. "Yes, that's right. Is it real?"

"I don't know," David said. "Go on."

"Emanyara said that the song was planted, long ago, into a woman called Beloved. The Maker laid with her, because the Maker loved her, and she became pregnant with a daughter. When Beloved's daughter was born, however, Beloved died. The Maker, distraught, fled away and has not been seen again. According to these writings that Emanyara had found, only after 400 daughters stood before her would Beloved be reborn. Then, she would sing the song and the Maker would return."

"Where did this guy get these writings?" David asked. "How old were they?"

"He didn't show all of them to me," Romeo said, "and the one's I saw, I could not read. Most of them, however, were birth records."

"Of course," David sighed. "And these led to Darla Montagne?"

"Darla Renee Montagne, according to Emanyara, was Beloved reborn."

"Beloved reborn," David said. "In Texas?"

"Yes," Romeo smiled. "And why not?"

"So," I said, "you kidnapped her?"

"No! No, I didn't," said Romeo defensively. "It took us a while to find her. Emanyara did not know exactly who she was when he first arrived. I helped him. When we found her, he said he was certain she was the one. Even her name means 'Beloved Reborn.'" Romeo seemd to find this impressive and glanced, smiling, back and forth between David and me.

"Wow," David replied, as devoid of excitement as he could manage. "So, what did you do?"

"Well, after much persuasion, Emanyara convinced me to approach her. I went to her market, a butcher shop, one day as she was closing. I felt very awkward, but I started a conversation with her, trying to work around slowly to my incredible point. I never even got that far, however. Something I said creeped her out and she asked me to leave."

"Imagine that," I laughed.

"I know," Romeo grinned. "I was still convinced, however. That's when Emanyara insisted that she must come to us. She had to come 'one way or another,' he said."

"So," said David, "you agreed to kidnap her."

"Yes."

"You decided that this was your fate, worth sacrificing your life for, and you submitted to this guy's plan."

"Yes, that's right."

"And then you died. Boom. Dead."

"Yes," said Romeo. "I guess the stress or excitement got to me. I don't know."

"Okay," David sighed. "I guess you don't know what happened after that."

"No," Romeo said. "When I arrived here, I was so distraught. I had become obsessed with Emanyara and the Maker Song. I felt I would never know the truth."

"So, you asked them to tell you when Darla arrived here."

"Right. They said they could only add my name if she was in my family. I said I was a cousin. No one seemed to care. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Hold on," I said, unable to wait any longer. "This doesn't make sense. I know I talked to this guy! He came into the station to see me."

"No! I did not!" Romeo insisted.

"Yes, you did," David said. "Well, not you, but your body."

Romeo had a look of horror. "What?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, turning to David.

"Romeo here was Fate's Fool," said David. "But why you? And why Simon?"

"Why me what?" I didn't understand. And then the name Simon registered with me. "Simon Sayer," I said. "I remember that name."

"I've never heard that name," said Romeo.

"Do you know Simon?" David asked, looking intensely interested.

"No," I said, "but Romeo here gave me a license plate number of a car that belonged to Simon. I found it at a gas station."

"On the edge of town?" David asked.

"How did you know?"

32

Aphter: 30

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30

The huge arm around my neck tightened just a bit. "Al, you've got to calm down," David said. "Think about this. He's been here for a few days. You just arrived. There's no way he killed you."

I could feel myself getting light-headed from lack of air. My strength was completely spent. I stopped struggling with the huge man. "Okay," I panted. "Okay, let go of me."

David loosened his grip considerably, but didn't let me go. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You'll be calm?"

"Yes!" I snapped, irritated at being restrained like a child.

"Okay." He let go of me and took a step back. "Did you hear what I said?" he continued, "There's no way this man could have killed you."

"I've never seen you before, you asshole!" the little man screamed from across the room. "Get the hell out of here!"

I looked over at the man. It was him. I knew it was him. Putting my hands on my knees, I bent over to catch my breath.

"Are you Romeo di Marti?" David asked from behind me.

"Yes," the man said. "What the hell is this about?" He was rubbing his neck where I had clawed at him.

"Romeo," David continued, "I apologize for the confusion. My friend here just arrived. I'm showing him around. He's still a little confused about how he got here."

"No I'm not!" I said, standing straight. "I remember now. I was at a bakery. I was following him!" I pointed to Romeo. "He was driving a Black Lexus. He went to the bakery. It was Italian! An Italian bakery! I remember!"

"Al," David said, "you died less than a day ago. Mr. di Marti has been here for several days."

"Look," I said. "I'm not making this up."

"I drove a Lexus," Romeo said softly. "It was black."

"What?" David and I said together.

"I drove a black Lexus," Romeo said, "and I owned a bakery. In Fort Worth, Texas. Il Forno."

"Yes!" I said. "Il Forno! That was it!"

"I've never seen you before!" Romeo barked. And then, more contritely, he said, "I swear to you, sir, I've never seen you before in my life."

"Hold on a second," David said. "Hold on." He reached back and closed the door. When he turned around, he had a concerned look on his face. "Mr. di Marti, how did you die?"

"What?"

"How did you die?" David asked again, sounding a bit angry.

"Well," Romeo stammered, "I don't remember exactly."

"What do you remember?"

"I think," he paused, "I think I had a heart attack or something."

David glared at him in silence for a few seconds. "You came to some decision, some life decision," David said. "Next thing you knew, you were here."

Romeo stared at him, but didn't say a word.

"You surrendered to a Fate." David sounded disgusted. "What did you decide, Mr. di Marti?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Romeo replied.

David glared at Romeo for a little longer, and then began to walk slowly toward him.

"Please," Romeo stammered. "I don't know what you mean."

"Tell me about your cousin, Mr. di Marti," David said.

"Who?"

"Your cousin, Darla," David stopped a few inches from Romeo, towering over the little man. "You have a cousin Darla, don't you?" David pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. "Darla Montagne?"

"Please," Romeo whispered. "Please, let's go and sit down. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

"Darla Montagne?" I said. "Yes, she was a butcher." David glanced over at me. I went on, "He came in and told me that he was her husband." I looked at Romeo, "You told me that Darla and her daughter were missing."

"No, I never did that," Romeo stuttered. "Please." He looked up, almost in tears, at the giant man in front of him. "Please. I'll tell you whatever I can, but he's crazy." He nodded over at me. "I have never, ever, ever seen him before. I swear to you."

"I believe you," David said. "But he's obviously seen you, hasn't he."

"No!" Romeo replied.

"Yes, I have," I said to David. "You have to believe me."

"I do," David sighed, taking a step back from the terrified little man and looking at me. "And the fact that you're involved in this worries me. This cannot be a coincidence."

"Involved in what?"

David just stared at the floor for a second, lost in thought. "We'll get to that," he said finally, turning back toward Romeo. "But first, I want to hear everything from you. And I mean everything." He snarled at the little man, putting a hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Of course," Romeo whimpered. "Everything."

31

Aphter: 29

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29

David Sayer was a huge man in heavy boots and a long, tan duster. His hair was shoulder-length and blond. His chin was rough with stubble. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, but, as I'd learned, that meant almost nothing here. He must have been closer to seven feet tall than six, and his shoulders looked every bit of three feet wide.

"Al?" he said, walking in.

"Yes, Al Hall," I answered, standing from where I had been sitting on the side of the bed.

He didn't approach. He stayed just inside the door. "My name is David," he said. "Your dad and I are good friends."

"So I've heard."

"Right," he said. "I know he'd be here if he could be." Then he fell silent and seemed uncomfortable.

"I'm sure." I didn't know how to feel about this guy. We stood in awkward silence for a second.

"Look," he said finally, "let's get out of this funeral home and get outside. What do you say?"

"Uh," I paused. Getting outside sounded pretty good, though, so I said, "Sure."

"Great." He turned to go. "I'll wait out here while you lose the choir robe." He closed the door behind him.

The clothes Carey had left fit perfectly, and I felt much better in them. They had a plain, generic feel about them, well-made with no tags or brands. Something about them excited me about this new place in which I found myself. I left the robe on the bed and opened the door to go. As I did, I wondered if I'd ever return to this little room.
A felt a brief panic that I was leaving something behind. Looking back, however, there was nothing there that belonged to me. There was the robe, but I didn't want it. I was overcome with a sense of freedom, having, quite literally, only the clothes on my back.

"That's much better," David said as I came out. "This place gives me the creeps. Let's get out of here."

"Why?" I asked. "Everyone here has been very nice to me."

"Nice?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

He walked quickly for the door and I followed him. We walked out of the clothes area and back into the big hall where I'd met Daniel. As we went I looked around for Naomi, but I didn't see her.

"So, Al," he said, "You're the cop son, right?"

"I'm a Detective," I said.

"Like your Dad," said David, walking out of the huge desk room into the foyer of the building and heading for the front doors.

'No,' I thought. "Yes, like Dad," I said. "But he was a patrol officer."

"Oh, right," he said. "I suppose they've told you that he was the Sheriff here."

"That's what they said."

We reached the front doors and stepped out into the bright light. I could see people, many in robes, standing in small groups and talking. They all had their backs to the Lightstone off to the left. Many of them had on the shades. David and I walked off to the right. He seemed to be heading somewhere.

"So, where are we off to?" I asked.

"Well," he said, "I need to stop and see a man for a minute. He's living right around here. Just arrived a few days ago."

"Oh," I said.

"You can come with me and then I'll show you around a bit and give you the scoop on things."

"Okay," I said. "Is there some business I need to complete here?"

"Here?" he said, nodding over at the building with a scowl. "No, nothing really. They're just here to make sure people don't go nuts when they get here. You don't need them."

"Well, I think it would have been a lot rougher without them." I thought about Naomi's face in those silly glasses. I thought about weeping on the hill with her. Somehow I didn't think David would relate to that story.

"I guess," David said.

"Didn't you find them comforting when you arrived?"

"Me?" he laughed. "If I recall they just screamed after me that I needed to put on the robe as I walked off to find Séamas and get my clothes."

"Who's Séamas?"

"A friend," he said.

"And he had your clothes?"

"Yes he did," David said.

"I don't understand," I said. "I didn't have a clue where I was or what was going on. It took me a few minutes even to realize that I had died."

"Oh, that's normal," said David, turning down a path to the right toward some small buildings that looked like town homes. "Have you remembered yet how you got here?"

"Well," I said, ignoring his question, "how is it that you hit the ground running?"

"Well, I already knew what to expect, you see."

"I see," I said. And then, "No, I don't see actually."

"I had been here before," David said. "It's part of what I want to talk to you about, Al. It will help you understand where your father is."

"Okay."

"But, it's too much to get into right now. We'll talk after I see this guy. We're almost at his place."

"Oh," I said.

"So," he went on, casually, "do you remember how you got here?"

"No," I said, and I got an uneasy feeling in my stomach at the thought. "They told me not to think too much about it."

"Who?"

"Daniel," I said, "back there."

"Oh. Well, there's no hurry."

"I think," I went on, "that I might have died violently. It's a feeling I have."

"Well," David replied, "you're probably right. It'll come to you. I hope it wasn't too bad, but it's no worry now."

"Right," I said.

"Here we are," said David, and we walked up the path toward the front door of one of the small town homes. "According to the Sheriff, this should be the temporary home of a Romeo di Marti. I need to ask him a couple of questions."

David knocked on the door. I stood beside and slightly behind him, anxious to finish this visit and hear what he had to tell me. I heard the doorknob rattle and the door swung open.

All at once, it was like a hand tightened around my heart as I stared into the face of the man at the door. I saw his expression change from courteous curiosity to terror as I lunged for his throat with my hands. Once again, like in the memories that were flooding back into my mind, everything was in slow motion. I was pushing past David and grabbing Johnny by the throat. Johnny was falling backwards and trying to fend me off. David was yelling and reaching to restrain me. We all tumbled together through the front door. I could hear myself screaming and cursing.

The next thing I knew, Johnny was lying on the floor in front of me. "What's wrong with you?" he screamed.

David was holding me back with a huge arm around my neck and a giant hand pressed into my chest. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked in a strangely calm voice.

I was like an animal, fighting in vain against the big man, trying to get at the terrified man on the floor. "You shot me!" I screamed. "You killed me, you bastard!"

"I've never seen you before in my life!" he gasped, scrambling to his feet and backing away.

30

Aphter: 28

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28

"Well," Daniel said as he stood, "if you don't have any other pressing questions, why don't we move you to a dressing room. They can get you some clothes and you can rest a little until your father's friend arrives."

"Sounds good," I said, and I yawned and stretched as I stood to follow Daniel. I did feel a little drained, and I wasn't really in the mood to think about all these new ideas any more for the moment.

Daniel walked in silence to a doorway in the huge wall behind us. The adjoining room had a few large, flat desks with stacks of clothes all over them. There were a couple of doorways in the far wall with people walking in and out with more clothes. Along the side walls were evenly spaced doors, most of them closed. Daniel led me up to one of the desks.

"Hey, Carey," he said to the girl who sat there folding shirts. "This is Al. He needs a room for a while."

"Hi," she said, finishing the shirt in her hands and then standing to greet me.

"Carey will show you to a room, and I'll make sure your friend is directed here when he arrives," Daniel said, holding out his hand to shake.

"Okay, thanks." I shook his hand firmly. "You've been a big help."

"It's my job and my pleasure," he replied with a slight nod and bow, and then he turned and walked quickly away.

I turned and looked at Carey. "Okay," I said. "I'm all yours."

She smiled. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear a man say that," she said. "Come on, sweetie." She walked off toward one of the open doors on the side walls and I followed her. We went in.

It was a small room, very cozy, with a low ceiling and dim light. There was a cabinet and counter along one wall with a sink, a couple of folded towels, two ceramic cups and a pitcher of water. In the back, right corner was a small bed. At the foot of the bed was a door to a small water closet, with a full-length mirror on the outside of the door. Along the wall just inside the main door were a couple of wooden chairs.

"You are welcome to stay here as long as you need to and take a nap or whatever," Carey said.

"Great." I walked past her and took a seat on the side of the soft bed.

"Are you hungry at all?" she asked.

"No, not really." I spun my feet around and reclined back onto the bed with a sigh.

"Not so fast, loverboy," Carey said. "I'm not that kind of girl."

"Damn."

"Seriously, though," she pulled a small roll from her pocket and flipped it out into a long measuring tape, "I need to get some measurements before you get too comfortable."

"Oh," I said, and I groaned back to my feet and took a step toward her.

She took the tape and measured tightly around my waist. "Okay," she said, and she stepped over to the cabinet and opened a drawer. "This size should do." She pulled out a pair of shorts and tossed them to me. They were made of soft cotton material. "You should slip those on before I get your other measurements," she said. "I don't know you that well yet."

"Right," I grinned, remembering that I was only wearing the robe. She turned back toward the door while I slipped the shorts under my robe and pulled them up. "Okay," I said.

"Great." She turned and started measuring my arms, chest, neck and legs. She was quick, making notes as she went. "Okay," she said after a minute, "let's talk about style. Are you a jeans and T-shirt guy? Slacks and buttons? Long sleeve? Short sleeve? Undershirts? Sneakers, Sandals, Wingtips? We don't have anything fancy, but we can accommodate most tastes."

"Hmmm," I said. "Well, how about undershirt, long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans and brown leather shoes. Does that sound okay?"

"Sounds perfectly attractive," she said, jotting down notes. "Anything more specific?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just, you know, something that makes me irresistible to women."

"No problem," she said. "You get comfortable and I'll be back later." She winked and smiled and turned and walked out, closing the door behind her.

The room was quiet and private and I felt more relaxed than I had so far since arriving. I returned promptly to the bed and, settling back in with a sigh, I stared up at the ceiling above the pillow. Trying to collect my thoughts, I decided to replay in my head everything I had learned so far about this place.

I was asleep in about ten seconds.

"Al?" The voice barely registered, but I stirred a little. "Mr. Hall?" It was a little louder, and I felt a hand on my arm. I opened my eyes to see Carey leaning over me. "I came back and you were asleep, you tease," she said.

"Oh," I smiled sleepily. "Sorry. I guess I dozed off for a minute."

"No," she said. "that was three hours ago."

"Oh."

"And now I have to go home," she said, "and I can't take you with me. My husband would never understand."

"Darn," I smiled.

"You have a visitor anyway," she said. "There's a David Sayer here to see you. Can he come in?"

"Oh, right." I started to sit up and she stepped back. "I'm expecting him."

"So I can show him in?"

"Sure," I said.

"Okay. I'll send him in. It was nice meeting you, Al," she smiled. "I hope you like your clothes."

"I'm sure I will, and thanks." I swung my feet around and sat up, stretching as she walked out.

"You can go on in," I heard her say, and then a giant man came through the door.

29

Aphter: 27

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27

"So," said Daniel abruptly from behind me, startling me from my thoughts, "Sheriff Freddie says he's got someone coming to show you around."

"Yes," I replied. "He's sending a friend of my Dad's, a guy named David."

"David what?"

"He didn't say," I said.

"Oh well. Not important," said Daniel. "I'm sure he's a good guy if the Sheriff likes him and he's a friend of your Dad."

"Right."

"Before we go on with formalities, Al, can I get you anything?"

"Anything?"

"Yes. Coffee, water, something to eat? Are you comfortable?" he asked. "We can provide you with a few simple items of clothing, if you'd like to get out of that robe."

"Oh," I said. "I'm okay for now, I guess. What do people usually do?"

"Oh, it varies," he said. "I guess most people stay in the robe until the get settled in for some sleep and then change, but we can get you something now if you'd prefer."

"No, that sounds fine," I replied.

"Okay. Great. And no water or anything?"

"No, thanks."

"Okay. Good," he picked up a clipboard from the desk and sat up straight, getting to business. I wasn't sure what to expect. "Well, Al, you're undoubtedly wondering exactly where you are and what's expected of you."

I thought about it for a second. "Yeah," I said. "I guess I am."

"Well, Al, I'm not a philosopher or a religious teacher, so I'm just going to tell you what I know for sure, okay?"

"Okay."

"We do have counselors and ministers available, by the way, if you'd like to speak with one at any time."

I indicated with a nod that he should proceed.

"Okay. Well, Al," he said, "this, as Naomi may have told you, is Aphter. Aphter is a like a city." He paused, and I nodded that I understood. "When humans die, they come to Aphter, as you've experienced. Your experience, the light, the hill, the greeter, this is how it's happened for a long, long time." I nodded. "We do not know where Aphter came from, though some religions have beliefs about it." I nodded. "Any questions about any of that, Al?"

"Well, I guess not," I said.

"Okay. Let me tell you a little about the town. The center of town, which we call The Center, is the Lightstone. The Lightstone is the source of all light in Aphter. We don't know what it is or where it came from. In addition to providing light, it is the doorway through which the newly dead, like yourself, enter Aphter. It was the light at the top of the hill back there. Do you understand?"

"Right," I said.

"Okay. So, like I said, all light in Aphter comes from the Lightstone. Here, near the center, it's very bright. As you move out toward the edges, it gets darker and darker. In those places, people make lights from chips of the Lightstone."

"Chips?"

"That's right," he said. "Long ago scientists studying the Lightstone discovered that you could take chips from it and they would continue to give off light."

"Forever?"

"As far as we know," Daniel replied.

"So, there are a bunch of chips in it?" I asked. It seemed irreverent somehow.

"Well, no," he said. "They fill back in eventually."

"Huh," I said.

"Yes. And so, the Lightstone provides all the light we have. There is no other source of light."

"What about fire?" I asked.

"Well, we have fire," he said, "and you can see it, if you have light, but it gives off no light of its own."

"Really?"

"Yes," he said.

"Why?"

"Well, we don't know," he replied. "That's just the way it is here. Lot's of things are the same here, but some things are very different."

"Dark fire," I said, "it sounds dangerous."

"You get used to it," he said.

"Has anyone tried making electric lights?" I realized that it was a stupid question as soon as I said it. Of course people had tried.

"Well," he responded, "no one has tried because, as far as we can tell, there is no electrical current here."

I wasn't sure what he meant. "No electricity?" I asked.

"Well, the scientists say the electricity is there," he said, "but - and keep in mind I'm no physicist - it just doesn't move in a useful way."

"So, there's no electrical devices?"

"Not one," he said. "People have tried and continue to try various experiments, but so far there is nothing."

"Wow," I thought aloud. "That will take some getting used to."

"It's quite an adjustment for people these days," Daniel said. "In my day, we didn't think that much about it."

Daniel didn't look any older than me. "How old are you, Daniel?" I asked.

"Oh my. I always forget. What year is it now?" he asked.

"2007," I said.

"Wow. 2007." He shook his head. "I died in 51. I was 85 at the time. That was, what, 56 years ago? 141? Is that right?"

I did the math in my head. "You're 141?" I said. "You don't look 141."

"Well," he said, "I'm not sure that I am," he said. "That's another thing about this place. We're already dead, you understand. We don't die again. There is no aging and there is no decay. We just are."

I tried to understand that. "So, you were 85 when you died," I said. "You don't look 85."

"Right," he said. "Our appearance in Aphter is not tied to our age. It's tied more to our maturity, I guess, and to our health."

"Health," I repeated.

"Yes," he continued. "When a person first arrives, they have the appearance that they had at their prime in life. So, an adult looks like a healthy, mature adult. A teen looks like a teen, but develops into an adult. A child looks like a child, but develops from there."

"So..." I started, but I wasn't sure what to say.

"And there's the issue of health," he said. "Although there is no decay, a person can still live an unhealthy lifestyle and become fat or out of shape or weak," he said. "A person can even become incapacitated," he went on, "but, of course, a person cannot die. Not again."

As he spoke, I began to notice my own body. There were none of the aches and pains to which I had become accustomed. I could move easily. I felt great, in fact. "So, we all start off healthy?"

"Right," he said. "We're you unhealthy in life?"

"Oh, not too bad," I replied, "but I'm noticing the difference. I feel really good."

"I've worked with people who were very old and or very sick or even disabled in life," he said. "It's quite liberating for them."

"I bet."

"So, since you're just noticing, I take it you weren't elderly," he said.

"No," I replied. I tried again to remember how I died, but it was a blur. I did, however, get a kind of sick feeling in my stomach. "I can't remember very well," I said, "but I know I was only in my thirties. I think..." I stopped.

"Yes?" he said.

"I think my death may have been bad," I said. "I think it was violent."

He got a concerned look on his face. "You don't have to think about it now," he said. "There's plenty of time for that."

"Right," I said, and I let the bad feeling pass. Daniel was right. I didn't want to think about it right now.

"Any other questions about all of that, age and health and so forth?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I think I understand."

"Good. The wheels seem to be turning in your head," he said, smiling, "so tell me, what is the chief question in your mind right now?"

I thought for a second, and it came to me, "So, what now?" I asked. "I mean, what do we do here? What's it all about? You know?"

He smiled and sat back in his chair. "Yes," he said, "I know what you're asking. It's always the question people get to in the end. What now?"

"Right," I said.

"Well," Daniel said, crossing his arms, "I can't answer the 'What's it all about' part, you understand."

"Okay."

"But there are a few things we've learned to say prove to be helpful to people." He looked at me and I nodded. "Life here, and we do call it life," he smiled, "is not a journey. People tend to think of life as a journey, Al," he said, "but it's not, at least here it's not. It's not about getting somewhere. It's about growing."

"Growing," I said.

"Right," he continued. "We develop. We learn. We grow. Life here is not about moving or doing, it's about being."

"Being."

"Right," he said. "Now, that's a little esoteric, but we've found that it's helpful for people to keep in mind. Just file it away and come back to it."

"Okay, I will."

"Great. Now, on a more practical level, you'll still get sleepy and hungry and thirsty. You'll still need food and drink and shelter."

"Right," I said. I found the familiarity of the ideas strangely comforting.

"But," he said, "it's a pretty casual system, as compared to most parts of the living world these days."

"Casual?"

"Yes," he said. "For one thing, there is no money. There's plenty of space and food and water for everyone."

"Good."

"Right," he said. "So, most people settle into a community somewhere and find some niche or skill to help out. The community will take care of you," he said, "but they'll expect you to do a part and pitch in."

"Pitch in," I said. "That sounds okay."

"It seems to work pretty well."

"So, a how does one get into a community?" I asked.

"Well, generally people will have friends or family waiting for them, like your Dad," he said. "Most people start there and things develop naturally."

"That makes sense."

"Right," he said. "Occasionally someone will start out here and just strike out on their own. We have some places you can stay for a while, but it's strongly encouraged that you find a place outside of the Welcome Community pretty promptly."

"So," I said, "I could maybe stay there until my Dad gets back?"

"Back from where?" he asked, seeming puzzled.

"Oh," I got the funny sense that I had said something I shouldn't. As I was thinking this, a memory popped into my head. "I'm a Detective."

"What?" he asked.

"A Detective. I just remembered that," I said. "That's what I do. Or, what I used to do."

"Oh," he said. "Like your Dad."

"Well, he was a patrol officer," I said.

"Oh. And a Sheriff." He smiled.

"Right."

"The answer to your question is yes," he said. "If Wayne is busy for a few days, you are welcome to stay with us until he can come around."

"Oh," I said. "That's good to know."

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Aphter: 26

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26

As I waited for Daniel to come back, I chatted with Naomi. She was not, as it turns out, an angel. She was an Albanian woman.

"You speak perfect English," I said to her.

"Thank you," she said, "but I do not speak English."

"Okay." I grinned at her, thinking she was kidding.

"No, really," she replied, "we all speak the same language here."

"I only speak English," I said.

"It seems like English to you," she said, "because English was your language when you were alive."

"What?" I was confused.

"They say we all know this language we're speaking, even when we are alive. It is the language of our thoughts. When we are alive, however, we do not speak it."

"We do not speak it," I repeated, frowning in incomprehension.

"That's right," she said, "but we can all understand it. Here, we speak it."

I thought about it for a few minutes. "So, we are not speaking English?"

"That's right."

"So, what are we speaking?"

"They say it pure human language, common to all of us. Linguists call it Cogita."

"Cogita?"

"Right," she said, "but most people around here call it Aphters."

"Aphters?"

"Right."

"Not English?"

"That's right," she smiled. "It's hard to grasp at first. Eventually, though, you'll be able to remember how to say things in English and you'll be able to tell the difference."

"Wow."

"Your mind is thinking the same way it has always thought. There's a part of your brain, they say, that maps your thoughts into your language of choice. If you speak only one language fluently, this happens without you noticing. So, that part of you is mapping into Aphters now."

"Wow."

"It's more noticeable for polyglots."

"Polyglots?"

"People who speak multiple languages when they're alive," she said. "Most Americans are monolingual, speaking only English."

"Wow." I didn't know what else to say. I tried to listen to my thoughts, to hear that they were not in English, but I couldn't tell.

"It's best not to think about it too much at first," she said. "There's enough to get used to already."

"Well, Wayne Alan Hall, Jr.," said a voice, vaguely British-sounding. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

I turned to see a man in a tight patrolman's uniform walking up beside me. "Hello, officer," I said, standing to shake his hand.

"Sheriff, actually," he said. "Sheriff Mercury, but you can call me Freddie."

The name and face seemed strangely familiar, but I couldn't place them. "Hello, Sheriff," I said, my hand still extended.

"Right," he paused, looking at my hand for a minute, and then shook it lightly. "So, you're Wayne's son," he said.

"Wayne Hall, right," I said. "Do you know him?"

"Everyone knows him," the Sheriff said, smiling a huge, toothy grin. "He was, after all, the Sheriff before I took the job."

"Really?"

"Yes. He was Sheriff here for quite a long time," he replied. "And a good one at that."

"Wow." I didn't know what to think about that. "He was a police officer when he was alive," I said. "So, you know."

"Yes, I know," he said.

"Can I see him?" I asked.

"Well, of course," the Sheriff replied.

"Wow." I was slowly becoming overwhelmed. It was difficult to concentrate on any of the things I was hearing.

"But," he continued, "he is unavoidably detained for a while."

"Detained?"

"Yes," he said. "Let's sit down." I sat in my chair and the Sheriff walked around the table and took a seat beside Naomi. "Hello, Naomi, dear," he said. "I wonder if you would excuse us for a bit."

"Of course," she said, standing to go.

"Oh," I said, standing back to my feet. "I... uh..." I hated to see her go.

"It's okay," she said. "Just ask anyone around here and they can send for me. I'm still working for a few hours." Sensing my anxiety, she walked around the table and gave me a friendly hug.

"Okay," I said, and she walked away.

"Naomi is wonderful, isn't she," the Sheriff said.

Reluctantly I turned away from watching her leave and took my seat. "She is," I said. "She was very kind to me."

"Good," he said, with a down-to-business snap in his voice. "Your father will be so pissed that he wasn't here to meet you, is it Wayne?"

"Al," I said.

"Al. Al Hall. Great," he took out a little notebook and jotted down my name. "He will be crushed, but it could not be helped."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Well," he began, choosing his words carefully, "Wayne resigned as Sheriff not long ago, to tell you the truth."

"He did?"

"Yes. He did it at the request of the Council," he continued.

"The Council?"

"That's right," he said. "They asked him to take a special assignment for a bit."

"A special assignment?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you that," he said. "I hate that I can't tell you, and you deserve a better reception than this, but there's nothing for it."

"Oh." I wasn't sure what to say.

"There are no other names listed for you," he said. "I know that Wayne didn't know his own family. Do you have other relatives?"

"Well, no," I said. "We never knew Dad's family and Mom hasn't spoken with her family since she was young. They had a falling out or something."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh, it's okay," I said. "I never really knew any other way. There was always just Mom, Dad, Peter, Donna and Me."

"All still alive, save Wayne?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. I suddenly felt a pang of anxiety for my family and my life. "I wonder if they know I'm...?"

"I understand," said the Sheriff. "Really, though, it's no good to worry about that. It's out of your hands."

I didn't respond.

"Well, Al," he went on, "I cannot help you get settled because of the job. I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay." I said.

"Your father's closest friend, however, is a man named David. He's a good man, and I know he'll be happy to show you around and get you settled."

"David?"

"Yes, that's right. I was thinking of going to see him anyway. I'll send him around. He'll be glad to help, and he's a good guy to know."

"Uh..." I wasn't sure how to respond. "Okay, I guess."

"Great," he said. "Wait here and I'll get Daniel back over here," he said, standing to go. "Sorry again for the lousy reception," he smiled. "I'm sure Wayne will make up for it when he gets back."

"Right," I said.

"Okay, then. David will be around soon. Good to meet you, Al." He walked off quickly.

I sat in the chair, alone at the table, and tried to absorb everything I had heard so far. I'm not sure what I expected the afterlife to be like. I guess I'd never really thought about it that much. "Aphter," I muttered to myself. I sighed and settled into the chair, my mind crowded with a hundred curiosities. I wondered what was next. I wondered where Dad was. I wondered how I died. I wondered about the language. Above all else, however, one question kept crossing my mind.

"I wonder if Naomi's single?"

27