Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
401

“All right…I’ve had my little joke.” Daniel loses his smugness. “I must admit that Hermione has delighted me with how she uses her wings.”
“Hey, it’s between the two of you,” I reply, “and Alice spoke of ‘foreplay.’ I could imagine all kinds of possibilities with that one.” :eek: :smiley:

This gets an amused reaction from Alice and Daniel and such anger as we have felt has faded out. Daniel then retrieves a portfolio he had left in the hallway. “I forgot to tell you, you got some mail,” he continues. He hands her a small sheaf of envelopes and other items. Meanwhile, I pop the disk out of the computer and unboot it.

“Thank you, Daniel,” she says. She looks through the pieces of mail, most of which is junk mail. But she also has an issue of Forbes Magazine; an issue of Games; and two ordinary letters. One is from her great-uncle Matthew; the other has no return address and her name and address are in a pathetic scrawl. The ZIP Code in particular is hard to read and we wonder how the postal clerks deciphered it. The postmark is from the tiny, obscure town of Lucy, New Mexico.
“We better play it safe with this, Alice,” I say. Daniel leaves; we bid him goodbye for now. He may return later, with Hermione. Now Alice returns to my lap—I’m sitting in a large chair in Jack’s computer room—and resumes the position she had before, with the blouse slightly unbuttoned in front. We discuss the letter.
“Well, I think it’s time I broke in that ESP Matt Red Wing conferred on us,” Alice says. “The letter isn’t very long and it’s dated March 16! It starts, ‘Ms. Terwilliger, are you in the mood for surprises? This should put you out for a while…’ Signed, Argo Rank.”
“It’s ‘déjà vu all over again,’” I comment. (Yogi Berra came up with that one, I think.) :smiley:

Alice gently sets the letter, on edge, on the nearby table, leaning slightly against the lamp. That ESP sure comes in handy. We haven’t even opened it…
“I think we should ask Professor Fields how to deal with this,” Alice says. “I would guess that Matt Red Wing, or even Olga, notified him we had the ESP now. But to incriminate Rank, or anyone else, we will have to open the envelope; even Bob Long won’t accept our ESP intuition.”

Now, I call Fifi and ask her for a “Do Not Disturb” sign. I put it on the outside of the door, and lock it from the inside.
There’s a large futon in the computer room. Alice and I feel quite randy again, and she and I slip our clothes off and lie together on the bed, happily kissing, hugging, and screwing. When we’re done we take some Handi-wipes from a satchel I’d brought with me, wipe ourselves clean, put our clothes back on, and after thanking each other for the quickie sex, leave the room and return to the others. We meet Mary Blonda in the hallway and tell her about the letter; she takes, oddly, a pair of needle-nose pliers and picks the letter up; she goes with us back to the meeting room, carrying the unopened letter.

In the room we meet with Leo, Salbert, and Buster separately. Mary hands Salbert the letter and he agrees to tell Fields about it.
Now Leo has some special news for us. “One of those people you found out about was named Maya Kalp, right?”

“Yes,” answers Alice.
“Well, I’m not sure, but I think someone by that name was rushed into an emergency hospital in Billings, while I was in Montana,” he says. “Ghastly incident; apparently she was leaving the office of a stockbroker named Pollard Chillington in Billings and was assaulted by a drugged derelict. She suffered several serious injuries. Some big guy saw it happen and caught the attacker, but it was too late for Ms. Kalp—before I left Montana I ascertained she was still in critical condition. The attacker was just some druggie who figured, Here’s a woman I can rob for drug money. Totally out of his head. I think he’s in jail now.”

As much as Alice and I wish to be free from menacing plots by Sikes-Potter’s surviving minions we muse sadly at this. “Nobody deserves such treatment,” I say grimly.
Now, however, we rejoin the others. Tomorrow we’ll be returning to the Morpheus—Alice and Prester John’s Aunt, along with The Cigar Band and other performers; and Stan Brown and Joe Bradley, to investigate the gem hoard in the nether region of the theater property. As we return to the meeting room we see Joe Bradley, Stan Brown, Bob Blonda, and Jack Sharp sitting together, sipping beer and watching an impromptu “belly dance” their wives are doing; I’m sure the men are admiring their wives’ nether regions. :smiley:

Alice and I sit together on a large couch. With us now are Lena, Jeanette, Hermione, and Olivia Short—so I now know the enmity between her and Eloise has ended. After all the plots and unpleasant surprises, and Daniel’s impudence, Alice and I are in the mood for something positive; and these women are in a merry mood at the time.
Olivia, more articulate than she used to be (in my estimation), speaks for the upbeat group:

402

“Good news everyone!,” she announces. “I’m engaged!”

“How wonderful,” exclaims Alice. “First Lorna, then you. It seems as though there’s a marriage bug going around.”

“Who’s the lucky fellow?” asks Jeanette. “Do we know him?”

“No, but he’s coming by to pick me up in a little while,” Olivia enthusiastically states. “You’ll meet him then.”

“I’m certainly curious,” Eloise comments without any hint of bitchiness. “How long have you known him?”

“Oh, a couple months,” Olivia says. “But when I met him, I just knew it was time.”

As she says this the doorbell rings, Fred comes in and announces who the visitor is.

“Ms. Olivia Short, Mr. Henry Vermillion is here to see you,” he states while in his formal-butler mode.

“Oh, bring him in!” shouts Olivia. “Everybody, be prepared to meet my fiance`.”

A man who looks to be about 5’10" and in his 30’s hurriedly walks through the doorway. He’s wearing a gray sport coat and pants, a red pinstriped dress shirt and suspenders.

“Olivia,” he says with a broad smile on his face. “So good to see you.”

Olivia rushes into his arms and they kiss. She then turns around and tells the group, “This is my fiance` Henry Vermillion. Henry, introduce yourself to everybody.”

Henry individually greets everyone in succession. However, as he moves down the line to me, I suddenly get the feeling I’ve seen this guy before–and it wasn’t in pleasant circumstances.

“Hi Henry,” I tell him. “My name is _____ ______.”

“Oh yes,” he responds. “I know about you.”

“Uh … how?” I ask trying not to let my paranoia show through.

“Olivia told me about you–and Alice,” he answers. “You two seem to be inseparable.”

“I guess we are,” I blandly say.

Henry then moves on to Alice and tells her…

403

“He’s a little old for you, isn’t he?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Alice asks. Meanwhile I’m sorting through my memory to identify this person—and I don’t think his real name is Henry Vermilion.

“Oh—that’s all well and good, but it’s always better to keep company with your peer group. He looks old enough to be your daddy!” And it appears that he starts to cup his hands on Alice’s bosom. :eek: :mad:
Alice suppresses a harsh retort to this. “You must excuse me,” she says insistently, “But I have other matters to attend to at the moment.” She approaches me and tells me to step over to the far end of the room with her.

“Do you know what he said to me?” she asks, angry with Henry.
“Indeed I do,” I answer. “I heard every word. It’s none of his damn business how old I am. And he should keep his hands to himself—suppose Olivia saw that?”

In a split second I think I’ve identified him. Besides the ordinary clothes he wears he seems to have some pins or clips or something on his shirt that identify him as a Navy man.
And I think I know who he is—Ensign Rudolph Sparr! One of Dr. Tigner’s minions, on Lemoyne’s payroll, or the payroll of God knows who…

I tell Alice. “There’s only one person present who I know was in the Navy—Bob Blonda, Mary’s husband. I decide that in a few minutes I’ll talk to Bob. And to Bob Long—first.” I step out in the hallway and call him on my cell phone. “I think Ensign Sparr is here at the Sharps’ mansion,” I tell him. “Can you fax a picture of Sparr over here?”
“Sure thing, ______,” the sergeant says.

“Oh—and if you come out here, or send the Shore Patrol or anyone else to nab him—if it is Sparr—tell Fred first to make as little fuss as possible. Jack and Eloise have lots of company here and we don’t want to upset the others if we can help it.”
“Absolutely,” Sergeant Long answers. Of course, if he is Sparr, I’m sure Olivia will raise hell!

I then tell Bob about Henry Vermilion, though I’ve just met him; how he’s dressed and what his clips and pins look like. I tell him Bob Blonda is a Navy vet and can identify such things better than I can.
I had vaguely recognized Ensign Sparr a few times in or near my college dorm. And I think he was one of the flunkeys of Dr. Marston when I was the hapless guinea pig in Marston’s brainwashing “psychological” experiments. I have a feeling I might also do well to contact George Galloway, just in case.

Sergeant Long and I ring off. Alice and I return to the large room, but we don’t return to Olivia and her “intended.” Alice goes over to speak with Lena, Amy, and Gwen. I decide to sit with Jack Sharp, Stan Brown, Pete Oranjeboom, and Joe Bradley—and Bob Blonda. The wives’ “belly dance” is over. Armand serves me a small glass of sherry; the other guys still have some beer left in the bottles they got. :slight_smile: And they settle for the one bottle. We talk sports for a while; Jack and the other guys talk about their kids’ achievements (Andrew Sharp and Mike Bradley are both in medical school; Frances Sharp and Artie Brown are preparing to go to college and major in computer science, for example.)
Then I turn to Bob Blonda and ask him to come with me to another couch. Bob, another old friend, is agreeable, and when we get over to the couch I ask him about the clips and pins—possibly Navy stuff—I saw on the clothing of “Henry Vermilion.”

404

I had remembered Sparr as being in or near my college dormitory building…

405

That should be C.P.O. Rudolph Sparr! John Beach was the ensign. :o:o:o

406

“I noticed the clips and pins on Henry Vermillion too,” Bob Blonda answers. “But I didn’t really get a good at them. By the way, would do you think of Vermillion?”

“He seems pretty crass,” I answer. “And where does he get off calling me an old man? I’m not that much older than Alice.” (I’m still pissed about that remark.)

“Maybe you look older if the light hits you the wrong way,” Bob says. “Or maybe Vermillion is just a jerk who likes to bust people’s chops.”

“I think it’s the latter.”

“Judging from what I saw, I have to agree with you. I’m afraid, Olivia could’ve done a lot better.”

“Does Vermillion look familiar to you? Do you think you might’ve seen him somewhere before?”

Bob Blonda doesn’t answer right away. He pauses in thought for a few seconds before he says something. And what he does say is a shock that not even I expected…

407

“Shortly before I left the Navy I caught him trying to force himself on Mary.” Bob remembers this quite ruefully…
I bridle at this. The idea that someone else would accost Mary that way sends a chill through me. “What did you do?”

Bob scowls. “Hell, I went straight for him! But before I could even get to him, two SP’s—Shore Patrol policemen—approached and grabbed him. One said to me, ‘Sailor, if you want to press charges against CPO Sparr here, yourself, meet us at your CPO’s office later.’ I was stationed at the base.”

“That’s the worst expression of unmitigated gall I’ve heard yet. Where on the base did this happen?”
“It was in the on-base apartment Mary and I were living at! He actually broke in and went straight for her!” The memory makes Bob furious. “I found out later he’d been stealing books from sailors on his ship, and punishing them on false charges. That’s why the SP’s were after him in the first place. And now he’d nearly stripped Mary naked…” Bob almost cries. “The CO let me press assault charges.”

I have always admired Mary so much I seethe at the thought that someone would treat her that way. :frowning:
Now Bob pulls himself together. He and I stand up and, after a little more conversation, he steps over to Olivia and Henry—not to speak to them, but to get a good look at Henry’s face to ascertain whether this is in fact the lecherous CPO Sparr. He comes back to me after a few minutes, but not necessarily satisfied.

“I really can’t tell that well,” he says. “Sparr wore a handlebar mustache when I caught him with Mary. This guy is clean shaven.”
“I just wonder what Mary herself will say…she’s right over there, near the armoire.”

“Yeah, that’s right…wait ‘til she turns and sees him…” :eek:
Then Fred, still formal, announces, “Ms. Samantha Hoffman.”

And at that same time the Sharps’ fax machine lights up and its tiny beep sounds. Eloise goes over to it and waits for the one page to come all the way out. She looks at it, has a puzzled look, turns to where Henry is, and looks at the picture again; then she approaches me. Alice does, too, after talking to the others of Prester John’s Aunt; I know that tomorrow we’ll go back to the Morpheus to start rehearsals and check up on the gem hoard.

I think this is just the right time for Samantha, whom I’ve known even longer than Alice, to show up. She’d been in the car when her father Mr. Galloway drove me away from the Trailer Zone and she knew about Sparr and Beach, and Dr. Tigner.
Samantha, Alice, Bob Blonda, Eloise, and I look at the picture Sergeant Long faxed to me. And we know that any moment now Mary will be face-to-face with Henry Vermilion, who I suspect is the CPO Rudolph Sparr who broken into her home and pulled most of her clothing off.

“The sparks will fly any second now,” comments Samantha, who has just taken a good look at the picture. The man in the picture does have a mustache.
And now I think Samantha’s appraisal is right on point…

408

because when Vermillion introduces himself to Mary, I see an expression of fear and discomfort flash across her face. Bob and I draw in closer to them just in case Mary needs our help.

“Excuse me Mr. Vermillion,” she asks with an uncomfortable tone of voice, “but were you ever in the Navy?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Vermillion replies. “I get seasick on ferries so the Navy probably would be one of the last things I’d join. What gave you that idea?”

“My husband Bob was in the Navy and you look like someone he used to know. So what do you do?” I notice Mary’s unease subside a bit.

“I sell plastics–yes, I know, I’ve heard all The Graduate references.”

I feel the need to intervene in the conversation.

“Actually Mr. Vermillion, I think that actually sounds like an interesting field,” I tell him.

“Oh, call me ‘Henry,’” he tells all of us (Bob has now joined the group as well). "Yes, plastics are everywhere these days–even in places you’d never think. And much of it is made from the same harmless natural chemicals we all encounter in our everyday lives. "

Vermillion obviously has the trade’s press releases committed to memory. He actually seems rather engaging now; not the man who groped Alice the minute he met her.

“For example, one of the plastics I sell is called ‘Diolacton.’ You’d never guess what they make it out of.”

“It’s a milk derivative,” Bob answers. “I could tell from the ‘lact’ component of the word.”

“Well, you certainly know your dictionary Webster,” Vermillion replies with a smile. He’s clearly in “pitch product” mode even though it’s not a sales opportunity–unless he’s trying to sell himself.

“What company do you work for?” Mary asks.

“It’s a small but growing plastics company called 'Ragnarok, Inc.,” Vermillion answers.

“Ragnarok?” I say. “That’s an odd name. Isn’t that also the ‘Twilight of the Gods’ in Germanic mythology?”

“I guess,” Vermillion states. “I’m not really not into that whole opera-Wagner-Hagar-the-Horrible bit but I can tell you that even though the economy’s pretty sluggish right now, the company’s future is boundless.”

“It’s good to see Olivia finally met somebody,” Mary says as she edges away from us. “I’m sure you’ll both be happy.” She then leaves us and head over to where Samantha is.

Bob, whose has the faxed picture in his hand, now has some questions for Henry…

409

“…I thought you might have visited the Coronado Hotel—you know, on that sandspit in San Pedro across the harbor waters from the Navy base in Long Beach.”
“I take it you mean the base in San Diego,” Henry answers without hesitation.

Well, I think, the guy is starting to incriminate himself. A Navy man who has been stationed in San Diego would know the Hotel de Coronado is across the waters from the San Diego Navy base. Not Long Beach.
Before Bob stepped up to Henry, I gave him some coaching. I was able, by dint of the ESP, to probe Vermillion’s mind for some obscure facts—including the name of Sparr’s ship and some of the titles of books Sparr had stolen from his sailors. And I wrote this information down on small slips of paper and gave them to Bob Blonda to hide in his palm as he prepared to lead “Henry” into a verbal trap.

So now Bob says, “Have you ever been interested in literature?”
“Why yes,” Henry answers, off-guard. “Literature was in fact a minor of mine in college…”

“Did you ever read any of these books—The Caine Mutiny, Two Years before the Mast, The Old Man and the Sea…?” I had a professor named Lawrence Hightower [the name of Sparr’s ship] who had us read those books.”
“Why…yes,” Henry answers. I can tell he is fidgeting. “Actually, I preferred poetry to novels.”

“How about Longfellow?” Bob asks. “‘Evangeline’; ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus’…”
Henry fidgets a little more. Now Alice has approached Bob and Henry and is listening in, too.
Bob continues, “Yeah, I remember a line in ‘Hesperus,’ Rudy… ‘He cut a rope from a broken spar and bound her to the mast.’”

The mention of the name “Rudy” and “spar” seemed to throw “Henry” off. “The name is ‘Henry,’” he says. “Excuse me…” he slips away and returns to Olivia.
“Well,” Bob says smugly to Alice, Samantha, Mary, and me, “I braided a nice long rope for ‘Henry Vermillion’ and he hanged himself but good.”

Alice comments glumly, “It’s a pity anyway—Olivia has been sleeping around for years and now the guy she latches onto turns out to be a brazen imposter.” She gets close to me and firmly clasps my hand.
“Well, somehow we’re going to have to break the news to her,” Samantha says. “If Sergeant Long or any other cops come in here and collar ‘Henry’ in front of her it would give her a severe shock.” She turns to me. “You’ll remember she is one of those I once told you to stay with—Sally, Vera, and the others…”

Now Eloise, who for so long had been at loggerheads with Olivia and was now quite happy for her, has come over to us to join the discussion. Eloise is quite sharp herself—justifying her married name. She says she too suspects Henry Vermillion as being an imposter.

But now our little group, which includes Bob Blonda and Mary—whom Sparr had come so close to sexual congress with—slips to a far corner of the room to discuss 1) How to break the unhappy news to Olivia; 2) What to say to Bob Long when he comes over, perhaps to make an arrest (and he promised he wouldn’t send the Shore Patrol to bust in); and 3) whether Mary should say anything.
As we start the discussion, we see Hermione and Jock, police officers themselves, approaching. So Alice tells them:

410

“We have a problem,” she says, “Olivia just announced she’s engaged (that, by the way is not really the problem) to a man named Henry Vermillion (a vile sexist arsehole, but that’s my opinion). Anyway, Bob, Mary, and Eloise are fairly sure this guy isn’t really named Henry Vermillion but is instead a flunky of Lemoyne’s named C.P.O. Rudolph Sparr. Bob knew this jerkwad in the Navy where he was court martialed for–among other things–theft and attempted rape. Our problem is we don’t know how to tell Olivia about this since it would devestate her.”

“How sure are you that this is the same guy?” Hermione asks.

“We have this faxed picture of Rudy Sparr that Sgt. Long faxed to us,” replies Bob Blonda as he hands it to Hermione. “Vermillion should be with Olivia around here somewhere. Just compare the picture to him.”

“Are you sure he’s still here?” Jock asks. “We saw a couple quickly leave in an SUV as we were pulling up. We didn’t get a good glimpse at them though.”

Everyone in the group looks around the room. Henry and Olivia are gone. They were obviously the couple in the SUV.

“That bastard knows we’re on to him,” Bob says.

“But what about Olivia?” worries Alice. “I think we should warn her about this guy.”

“Do you remember anything about the SUV?” I ask.

“It was dark-colored and looked sort of like a Cadillac Escalade,” Jock answers, “but I didn’t see the license plates or anything.”

“Mary, does Olivia have a cell phone?” I inquire.

“Yes, it’s some sort of cheap Cricket model,” she answers. “I’ll go get her number. It’s in my purse.”

I then excuse myself and go to the computer in the library for some internet research. I head over to the web site for the state’s corporation division and look up “Ragnarok, Inc.” There, I find out that Vermillion (or Sparr) was–at least in this matter–was telling the truth. Ragnarok, Inc. is a regular profit corporation that was incorporated in Delaware on January 23, 2000 and has CT Corporation System as its registered serving agent in this state. I print out the page.

I return to the room about the same time Mary does. “It turns out Ragnorak, Inc. is legit,” I tell everyone. “Olivia’s fiance` wasn’t lying about that.”

“And he did seem to know a little something about plastics,” Mary mentions. “Knowing what Diolacton is and what it’s made of isn’t something that comes up often if you’re not in the plastics industry.”

“Or explosives,” Bob adds. “Diolacton is also a component used in explosives.”

That statement stops the conversation dead. Mary then walks over the phone.

“I’ve got to call Olivia,” she says as she punches the numbers. “If anything, just to find out if she’s okay.”

We all get closer to the phone. I can hear it ring once and then hear it…

411

…answered.
We hear Olivia’s voice…“Hello…Henry, watch out!!”

Siren sounds.
“Damn!” says Henry. “I’ll have to pull over…”

The siren stops. The engine is shut off.
We hear another person speaking, apparently a policeman. “Sir, your license-plate light and one taillight are out. Show me your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance…”

There are some fumbling sounds. Then sounds suggesting the cop who pulled Henry and Olivia over is riffling through some papers.
“Sir, this driver’s license is expired. I’ll have to ask you both to step out of the car.”

I hear Henry grumbling and Olivia cursing under her breath. Then both car doors open and close. This fascinates Alice, Eloise, Bob Blonda, Mary, Jock, Hermione and me. Alice and I seem to be getting an ESP reading on the vehicle’s location.
Then we can’t hear anything for a minute. The cop is apparently on the radio.

“You’ll both have to get into the police car,” the cop says. I hear another person, probably the other policeman, speaking, but not clearly. Then the first policeman speaks:
“Mr. Vermillion, it’s my duty to inform you that you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”

The Mirandizing continues. Olivia reacts with irritation, but she seems to know better than to argue or provoke the cops to put her under arrest too.
Then I hear Henry say:

“Olivia, what’s that light in your purse?”
She says—“Oh, that’s my cell phone—oh god, I must have left it on.”

Then it goes out. But we’ve heard enough.
Jock comments, “How about that! Stopped for having a taillight out…”

Then the phone—the other line—rings. Eloise answers it. “It’s for you, ______”, she says.
I pick it up. It’s Sergeant Long again.

“It looks like that guy Vermillion, or Sparr, tried to duck out on you and got pulled over for a simple equipment violation,” he says. “His license had expired; his vehicle registration was apparently forged; and he didn’t have insurance papers on the car. We found out that Rudolph Sparr was supposed to be in jail. He escaped, and we matched the picture on his expired license to the mug shot we had for Sparr. We haven’t yet fingerprinted him, but we think Henry Vermillion is in fact Rudolph Sparr.”

“What about Olivia Short?”
“She asked to stay at the police station until someone comes to pick her up. Her own car is back at her place. When Vermillion was taken back to be booked she sat in the station lobby crying. She said she didn’t know any lawyers. You might want to call Walter Fields—and see if Olivia has any friends…well, I’ll call you later.” Bob and I ring off.

Oh, I’m sure Olivia has friends. :slight_smile:
All of us at the phone react. Samantha has joined us.

“She’s likely to take this very hard,” Samantha says. “I think some of us should go to the police station to talk to her—and bring her back here. She shouldn’t be alone.”
Well, Olivia’s friends—the other women I had known to be with her—are there—Sally Mears, Vera Tedson, Betty Idelson—and Phoebe Atwood. So they, and Alice and I, pile into Eloise’s big van, along with Samantha, Salbert, and Amy Dolan, who seems to have been particularly articulate with Olivia since she had appeared in the mansion yesterday. We also call Professor Fields, who agrees to meet us at the police station. Eloise gets behind the wheel and drives the van to the station.

We get to the station. I go in with Alice, Samantha, Amy, Phoebe—and Professor Fields, who arrives at the same time we do. The others wait in the van for now. Olivia is sitting in a chair in the station lobby, sobbing lightly. We go over to her except for Fields, who goes to the window to present his attorney credentials. Alice and I turn our ESP on; from what we can make out of what Olivia is thinking, she doesn’t have a clue yet as to Henry’s real identity.
Phoebe, one of Olivia’s oldest friends, and Amy and Samantha, gather around the upset Olivia. The rest of us stand a little farther away. Phoebe speaks.

412

“A duck’s quack won’t echo, and NO ONE KNOWS WHY!”

413

“What does that mean?” Samantha says with confusion.

“Are you still obsessed about that?” I ask with an annoyed tone.

“Oliva knows what I’m talking about,” Phoebe cryptically states.

Phoebe seems to be right. Olivia stops weeping and a grin appears on her face. To find out what all this means, I focus my ESP on Olivia’s mind but either my power is too weak or her thoughts are too complicated because all I get is static.

“I’m not having any luck either with Olivia,” Alice whispers to me. “By the way, have you figured out how we broach the subject of Henry’s real identity to Olivia?”

“To tell the truth, Phoebe’s strange comment through me mentally off track so I haven’t come up with any ideas.”

“I hope you can come up with something soon because I can’t think of anything.”

I turn my ESP back on and scan around police station to check if Henry/Rudy is still here. I determine that he’s alone in a holding cell in the back. Suddenly, however, I can no long sense his presence. It’s like my ESP has just cut out on me.

“I think I know how to talk to Olivia about this,” I tell Alice. I approach Amy, Samantha, Phoebe, and Olivia. Just then, I hear a shout from behind the front window.

“Vermillion’s gone!”

I see all the officers in the station house rush toward the holding cells in the back. Out of all the shouting, I’m able to hear some information about what’s happened.

“Vermillion’s not in his cell!” an officer shouts.

“He escaped? How?” another one asks.

“No, he didn’t escape,” the officer explains. “He just disappeared. I had my back turned for a few seconds and I just looked over and his cell was empty.”

Alice and I hurry over to Professor Fields who says to us…

414

“My God! It can’t be!”

415

“But it is!”
Fields’ remark baffles us. But he points to something we see in the obscure distance, maybe 50 feet away in the parking lot. Alice and I approach with Fields, Jane Bradley, and Sergeant Long, who has joined us.

There is a statue in the parking lot. It looks like an old-fashioned war-hero statue. But when we approach, and Long turns his flashlight on it, it’s a statue of Henry Vermilion, alias Rudolph Sparr. The detail is accurate, even down to his suspenders and the cell phone on his belt. Alice has her Minolta and takes pictures.

Bob Long allows Alice and me to touch the base of the statue, which is about a cubic yard in size and apparently made of granite. Our ESP returns, much as if we had just reconnected the coaxial antenna cable to a TV. Alice stands to my right; she rests her right hand on the base and I rest my left. We clasp the other hands together. Alice and I hear simultaneously:
“I am Chief Petty Officer Rudolph Sparr, alias Henry Vermillion. I have transmuted myself into a granite statue to evade recapture. The persons at the police station will never detect me, let alone return me to custody. I am safe here in the parking lot.”

Alice quietly repeats this to Bob Long. He faces the statue and says forcefully:
“Two can play at this game, Sparr. I have the power of psychokinesis. I can topple you, you granite statue, and you will shatter on the concrete. The alternative is for you to return to human form and take your punishment like a man—or don’t you do imitations?” :smiley:
I’ve never really known Bob to be a humorist but this is a delight to hear.

Now Olivia runs out into the parking lot and approaches. The statue suddenly changes back to “Henry Vermillion.” Bob Long and I overpower him; Bob handcuffs him.
And now Jane Bradley, wearing a very tight T-shirt and running pants, approaches. After the usual male reaction, which includes a few drops of pre-cum that soak through Henry’s light gray slacks, :eek: I notice Jane is giving Vermillion her radar stare. He gives up. “You big tits—don’t look at me like that—I give up. I won’t change again.” He nearly cries. “I know when I’m licked.”

“Remember your Miranda warning,” says Sergeant Long grimly.
“Yeah, I remember it, Sergeant. Olivia, I’m sorry. These people are right. My name isn’t Henry Vermillion. I’m Rudolph Theodore Sparr…”

Fields says, “You’d probably better say nothing else until an attorney arrives for you.”
By now we’ve all walked back to the station. Long gets clearance for Alice and me, and Fields, to go to the holding tank with him and Vermillion, whose capitulation appears complete. He hasn’t been the same since Jane’s radar gaze.
We get to the large room known as a holding tank. Fields says, “I called someone else to come over for this.” Erika Thallwood appears and is duly admitted as a legal counsel for Sparr.

Now only Fields, Thallwood, Long, and Sparr remain in the holding cell. We, all of us others, are directed to return to the lobby. Jane and Eloise stay with Olivia to console her.
Alice and I try to pick up the conversation between Sparr and the policeman and the lawyers, but it’s hard with the concrete walls in the building. We manage to get this: “I’m Rudolph Theodore Sparr, formerly a chief petty officer in the U. S. Navy. I’ve been a flunkey of Dr. William Marston—under the name of ‘Dr. Kimerra.’ And I’ve been on the payroll of Victor Lemoyne and Henry Sikes-Potter, and the five minions of Sikes-Potter who took up the gauntlet for him after he died.” Then our ESP goes out again; the walls are too thick for us to pick anything else up.

Soon, however, Fields and Thallwood come out. Sergeant Long steps outside long enough to tell us he can’t stay and talk now. In fact he’s called the Shore Patrol. But he says, “Sparr has spilled his guts,” and says goodbye politely, then closes the door. Erika Thallwood waves a distracted goodbye and leaves. She still seems to be so ditzy…
Fields, however, is lucid—and quite happy. All of us approach him to listen, including Olivia. Alice and I sit together, arms linked.

“No, Sparr isn’t eating the food here,” Fields says with a slight snicker. :wink: “Apparently Mrs. Bradley’s stare was overpowering, and he crumpled like a house of cards. He copped out altogether.”
“I sure hope he doesn’t do another vanishing act,” Alice says.
“Not likely,” says Salbert—who approaches with Leo, who has joined us, chains and all. “Jane’s gaze seemed to sap whatever transmuting energy Sparr had.”

Fields continues. “Sparr, in fact, was thoroughly disgusted with the organization he represented. He named names—and gave us a bunch of names, code names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses.” He shows us a page of his notebook he wrote this on. “The crime lab made copies and Lt. Don Clay is contacting the Shore Patrol about them now. He said he didn’t even care if he died—he’d had enough of these murderous moguls and their plot against Alice and ____. But it was the sudden reappearance of Olivia Short that pushed him over the edge. He said he really liked her…”

Now Olivia really breaks down. :frowning: Jane and Eloise stay close to her. None of us are happy about this. But now it looks like another one of the bad guys has bit the dust.
Shaking our heads in regret, we all return to the Sharps’ mansion, Leo included. Olivia is in the front passenger seat; the rest of us are in back, with Alice, Jane, and Professor Fields closest to her.

Back at the mansion we tell all the others what happened. Nobody is particularly happy about Olivia’s loss, but they are glad about the denouement for Sparr. “Some headway against the hydra,” comments Buster.
Alice and I, certainly, are overwhelmed by the evening’s events. We just lie together on a large couch in the Green Room and nod off. :wink:

In the morning, we prepare to return to the Morpheus.
Olivia has stayed over too. At the kitchen table, over a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and sausage (Gwen is with us, eating bananas and nectarines), Olivia speaks plainly…

416

“He was just using me,” she sighs.

“Look, I didn’t like the guy from the beginning,” Alice states, “but he did clearly say he really liked you.”

“Maybe he eventually did,” Olivia pensively says, “but the main reason he hooked up with me was to get to you, ____, and the DXM League. He was a spy.”

“He certainly wasn’t a very good one,” I say. “You don’t ingratiate yourself with a woman you’re supposed to be spying on by groping her breasts when you first meet her.”

“He did that?” Olivia inquires with shock.

“Yes, he did–to me,” Alice says with disgust. “He should be glad he isn’t speaking soprano by now.”

“And he was so crass and obviously phony,” I continue. “I’ll admit there were times he did seem to have sort of a low-grade salesman’s charm but he was no Cary Grant.”

“But he did you like you though,” Alice says.

Olivia sighs again. “I really have to be more selective with men,” she declares.

At that moment, Salbert enters the kitchen.

“So, you’re going after Red Nicholas’ secret gem stash today at the Morpheus?” he says.

“That’s the plan,” I state.

“Along with rehearsal,” Alice adds.

“Well, before you do, I should tell you there are some wild tales surrounding Red Nicholas and his gems,” Salbert states.

“I know,” I say with perhaps a little too much of a “know-it-all” attitude, “Nobody is sure if Red Nicholas was his real name and that he mysteriously disappeared in the 1880’s.”

“That’s just the beginning,” Salbert tells us. “The fact that Olivia became engaged to Henry Vermillion, a.k.a. Rudy Sparr, around the same time we started exploring those rooms and passages under the Morpheus isn’t a coincidence. There are a lot of people (e.g., Lemoyne and the five backers of Sikes-Potter) who want those gems–and not just for their obvious monetary value.”

“Why’s that?” Alice asks.

“It has to do with Red Nicholas and that network of underground passages,” Salbert begins. "According to the stories…

417

“…There were mystic powers connected with the gems.”
“Here we go again,” I comment snidely.

“Don’t dismiss it out of hand,” Salbert continues. “What was important was whether Nicholas believed they were even if they actually were or not. He and anyone else.”
“Go on,” Alice says.

“Not only was Nicholas fabulously wealthy from his gold strike, but he was a con man with a weird sense of humor. He had the most garish décor throughout his home and property. And he had financed the building of a series of underground tunnels in the ground below the business district, and out into the environs. One ran out beneath the civic center; one into the area where the college is; and one into the outlying area under your family’s digs, Alice.”

“That probably explains the ‘Terwilliger subway’ we rode,” Alice tells me.
“Nicholas’ railroad network was quite expansive,” Salbert continues. “He had a number of underground lairs for entertaining his decadent friends. He hosted lavish parties with guests such as ‘Commodore’ William Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, Charles Crocker, Mark Hopkins, and Jim Fisk.”

“Now there’s a winner!” I say. I know Fisk was a crooked manipulator who was shot dead in 1872 in a lover’s triangle situation.

“But what really shocked people was his conducting wiccan and Satanic rites. Apparently one of the moguls he entertained went into the wrong underground chamber and saw the kind of stuff Anton Levay collects these days. The magnate—whoever he was—spread the word, not only to fellow millionaires, but also to the general public. Nicholas retreated—first to his mansion in Lodi, then underground, then to Europe. He was last seen in Victoria Station in London a few years after it opened. Vanderbilt, Gould, Morgan, and some other magnates hired detectives to find him, and the gumshoes came up dry. Nicholas’ property was abandoned and most of the trackage in the underground tunnels was uprooted; some of the chambers were looted and allowed to cave in; others have never been touched, let alone located.”

“And the jewels?” asks Olivia, who has stayed with us. She has regained normal demeanor and in fact feels happy to be rid of Sparr. She is relieved she didn’t go through with marrying him.

“It’s not completely clear, but Nicholas seemed to use the jewels in some rite, possibly wiccan. He had diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and pearls—no other gems, according to my sources. And he had equal numbers of them and paid gemcutters handsomely to make sure they would all—every last stone—be as nearly equal in size as the gemcutters’ art would allow. And he had laid out pentagrams on the walls of these chambers, and set one stone at each star-point in the pentagram—and always in the order I gave, clockwise, with the diamond at the top.
“When he disappeared and his property was abandoned and raided, a few of those stones were stolen and never recovered. And he had an abnormal obsession with the stones, because there were rooms in his home with such pentagrams—always on the wall, never on a horizontal surface. His carriage, garden, business office, and bank had such pentagrams—in the bank it was an elaborate pentagram pattern on the ceiling of the main room of the bank.

“He didn’t have any of the modern Satanism trappings. You wouldn’t find red figures with Devil horns and tails and tridents in Nicholas’ home or underground domain. He was sure his stones had magic powers—to give him knowledge of even more wealth, supposedly. But in his last years he got to be much like Howard Hughes—totally mesuggah. and most of the jewels were removed fromn the pentagrams and stashed in chambers near the entrance. That would be just below the floor of the basement in the Morpehus now.”
“Can you tell us anything else about him?” I ask.

“Nicholas was unique among 19th-Century moguls. He did not believe in cheating others. Hey, he was so fabulously wealthy he didn’t see any need to try to pry money from anyone else. He owned factories, stores, stables, farmland, whatever; and always paid his employees well, as ‘well’ would have been understood then. He seemed to have concluded that a happy work force keeps quiet. And with good reason—he often came to his office naked and allowed his kin to come into the buildings naked as well. The workers were content, so they kept quiet. But he never took advantage of them…”

“This should be interesting,” I comment. “Stan Brown and Joe Bradley are as close to ‘fundie’ status as anyone I know. I vaguely remember them telling me how they’ve dealt with witches and such; he claims one of his bosses had a wife who was a witch, and refused to be in the office when Stan, the construction company’s chief foreman, would come into the room. She was sensible enough to avoid him altogether so as not to give herself away. Stan is a Missouri Methodist, and so is Joe Bradley. Joe and Jane have a 17-year-old son named Mike who started dating a girl we later found out was from a wicca family. The first time Mike brought her to his home, quite innocently, the girl balked at going in; when Joe and Jane appeared at the door she ran away screaming. Neither they nor Mike himself ever saw her again, but I’m positive she was a witch.”

“What does this have to do with the gems?” Alice asks.
“Well, when Joe and Stan go down there to check, it should make or break the matter, granted the Satanism that Nicholas indulged in could be merely an urban legend. Hey, if the supernatural forces that shied away from Stan and Mike [Joe’s son] are the same ones that may be linked to the gems, well…”

The others get my drift. If it’s an urban legend, there’s nothing to worry about anyway. Here, I mean. If there is any supernatural presence, it may shy away from Stan and Joe, both ex-Marines and quite smart.
Just then two other members of the Sharp family appear. They greet us. Two younger men, both carbon copies of Jack, as is the eldest, Andrew.

“Good afternoon, all…”
I stand up and introduce them. “This is Carl and Eddie Sharp, Jack and Eloise’s second and third sons. Charles Salbert, Alice Terwilliger, Gwen Berry, Olivia Short.”
They all politely greet each other. We all sit down. Lupe pours coffee for all except for Carl and Eddie, who drink hot tea.

I notice a sudden feeling coming over Olivia. If my ESP is correct, she is thinking, “Good God, was I a sap to fight with Eloise. Now I’ve met two grown sons of hers who seem really nice…” :slight_smile:
I write a little note on a post-it pad I carry and subtly slip it to Alice. She shows the note to Salbert and Gwen. The note suggests we leave Olivia and the Sharp boys—Olivia herself is 23—alone. We politely excuse ourselves and go into the Green Room to continue this discussion. We meet Buster in the hallway and he follows. Alice, Salbert, Gwen, Buster and I sit at a large table in the Green Room to talk about arrangements for the rehearsals at the Morpheus.

Salbert says, “Can you give Loochy [his burro] an audition? He likes to sing.”
We get a good laugh from this.

418

“…There were mystic powers connected with the gems.”
“Here we go again,” I comment snidely.

“Don’t dismiss it out of hand,” Salbert continues. “What was important was whether Nicholas believed they were whether they actually were or not. He and anyone else.”
“Go on,” Alice says.

“Not only was Nicholas fabulously wealthy from his gold strike, but he was a con man with a weird sense of humor. He had the most garish décor throughout his home and property. And he had financed the building of a series of underground tunnels in the ground below the business district, and out into the environs. One ran out beneath the civic center; one into the area where the college is; and one into the outlying area under your family’s digs, Alice.”

“That probably explains the ‘Terwilliger subway’ we rode,” Alice tells me.
“Nicholas’ railroad network was quite expansive,” Salbert continues. “He had a number of underground lairs for entertaining his decadent friends. He hosted lavish parties with guests such as ‘Commodore’ William Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, Charles Crocker, Mark Hopkins, and Jim Fisk.”

“Now there’s a winner!” I say. I know Fisk was a crooked manipulator who was shot dead in 1872 in a lover’s triangle situation.

“But what really shocked people was his conducting wiccan and Satanic rites. Apparently one of the moguls he entertained went into the wrong underground chamber and saw the kind of stuff Anton Levay collects these days. The magnate—whoever he was—spread the word, not only to fellow millionaires, but also to the general public. Nicholas retreated—first to his mansion in Lodi, then underground, then to Europe. He was last seen in Victoria Station in London a few years after it opened. Vanderbilt, Gould, Morgan, and some other magnates hired detectives to find him, and the gumshoes came up dry. Nicholas’ property was abandoned and most of the trackage in the underground tunnels was uprooted; some of the chambers were looted and allowed to cave in; others have never been touched, let alone located.”

“And the jewels?” asks Olivia, who has stayed with us. She has regained normal demeanor and in fact feels happy to be rid of Sparr. She is relieved she didn’t go through with marrying him.

“It’s not completely clear, but Nicholas seemed to use the jewels in some rite, possibly wiccan. He had diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and pearls—no other gems, according to my sources. And he had equal numbers of them and paid gemcutters handsomely to make sure they would all—every last stone—be as nearly equal in size as the gemcutters’ art would allow. And he had laid out pentagrams on the walls of these chambers, and set one stone at each star-point in the pentagram—and always in the order I gave, clockwise, with the diamond at the top.
“When he disappeared and his property was abandoned and raided, a few of those stones were stolen and never recovered. And he had an abnormal obsession with the stones, because there were rooms in his home with such pentagrams—always on the wall, never on a horizontal surface. His carriage, garden, business office, and bank had such pentagrams—in the bank it was an elaborate pentagram pattern on the ceiling of the main room of the bank.

“He didn’t have any of the modern Satanism trappings. You wouldn’t find red figures with Devil horns and tails and tridents in Nicholas’ home or underground domain. He was sure his stones had magic powers—to give him knowledge of even more wealth, supposedly. But in his last years he got to be much like Howard Hughes—totally mesuggah.”
“Can you tell us anything else about him?” I ask.

“Nicholas was unique among 19th-Century moguls. He did not believe in cheating others. Hey, he was so fabulously wealthy he didn’t see any need to try to pry money from anyone else. He owned factories, stores, stables, farmland, whatever; and always paid his employees well, as ‘well’ would have been understood then. He seemed to have concluded that a happy work force keeps quiet. And with good reason—he often came to his office naked and allowed his kin to come into the buildings naked as well. The workers were content, so they kept quiet. But he never took advantage of them…”

“This should be interesting,” I comment. “Stan Brown and Joe Bradley are as close to ‘fundie’ status as anyone I know. I vaguely remember them telling me how they’ve dealt with witches and such; he claims one of his bosses had a wife who was a witch, and refused to be in the office when Stan, the construction company’s chief foreman, would come into the room. She was sensible enough to avoid him altogether so as not to give herself away. Stan is a Missouri Methodist, and so is Joe Bradley. Joe and Jane have a 17-year-old son named Mike who started dating a girl we later found out was from a wicca family. The first time Mike brought her to his home, quite innocently, the girl balked at going in; when Joe and Jane appeared at the door she ran away screaming. Neither they nor Mike himself ever saw her again, but I’m positive she was a witch.”

“What does this have to do with the gems?” Alice asks.
“Well, when Joe and Stan go down there to check, it should make or break the matter, granted the Satanism that Nicholas indulged in could be merely an urban legend. Hey, if the supernatural forces that shied away from Stan and Mike [Joe’s son] are the same ones that may be linked to the gems, well…”

The others get my drift. If it’s an urban legend, there’s nothing to worry about anyway. Here, I mean. If there is any supernatural presence, it may shy away from Stan and Joe, both ex-Marines and quite smart.
Just then two other members of the Sharp family appear. They greet us. Two younger men, both carbon copies of Jack, as is the eldest, Andrew.

“Good afternoon, all…”
I stand up and introduce them. “This is Carl and Eddie Sharp, Jack and Eloise’s second and third sons. Charles Salbert, Alice Terwilliger, Gwen Berry, Olivia Short.”
They all politely greet each other. We all sit down. Lupe pours coffee for all except for Carl and Eddie, who drink hot tea.

I notice a sudden feeling coming over Olivia. If my ESP is correct, she is thinking, “Good God, was I a sap to fight with Eloise. Now I’ve met two grown sons of hers who seem really nice…” :slight_smile:
I write a little note on a post-it pad I carry and subtly slip it to Alice. She shows the note to Salbert and Gwen. The note suggests we leave Olivia and the Sharp boys—Olivia herself is 23—alone. We politely excuse ourselves and go into the Green Room to continue this discussion. We meet Buster in the hallway and he follows. Alice, Salbert, Gwen, Buster and I sit at a large table in the Green Room to talk about arrangements for the rehearsals at the Morpheus.

Salbert says, “Can you give Loochy [his burro] an audition? He likes to sing.”
We get a good laugh from this.

419

Once again my browser screwed up and printed the last post twice… :rolleyes: :o

420

“But getting back to Red Nicholas,” Salbert continues, “even though he never believed in cheating anybody, that didn’t prevent him from being one ruthless S.O.B. if anybody got in his way. This was especially true with his opium operations–the real foundation of his fortune. In fact, I should warn you that there may be more than a few bodies in those passages.”

“I thought you said Nicholas’ got rich in the gold fields and later in real estate and industry,” Gwen mentions.

“He did but that–except for the gold–came later,” Salbert states. “Eventually, by the 1870’s, almost all his business was legitimate. Although he never did entirely get out of the opium trade. Of course, that was because he became an addict. A lot of his later ‘eccentric’ behavior probably had a lot to do with his heavy opium-smoking habit.”

“Don’t get high on your own supply,” I comment.

Salbert looks at me quizzically.

“That’s what Robert Loggia said in Scarface,” I tell him.

“I don’t see too many movies,” Salbert explains. “By the way, did ‘talkies’ ever catch on?”

“Yes,” I answer not sure if Salbert’s remark was in jest (I’ll assume it was).

“I wonder, with the treasure hunt going on if we’re going to have time for rehearsals,” Alice says. “We really have to go over the arrangements before we leave.”

“That’s right,” Gwen says. “What have you got planned?”

Alice answers…