Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

[NDP]

“We do now,” says an unseen female voice in the mist that I recognize it as Lorna’s. “Cover up ladies! Man present.”

I’m the only male in the sauna. That fact is evident as I see (or, actually, glimpse with my hand shielding my eyes) the women–Lorna, Jill, and Mary–scramble furiously for their towels and robes. Once everybody in the Turkish bath is “decent”, Alice and I sit down on the bench next to Lorna.

“So, when did you find out about this place?” she asks as she crosses her long legs (and I try not to stare at them).

“I was tipped off by a friend earlier today,” I answer.

“I found out ten days ago,” Lorna says. “Since then, I’ve coming here every day. You won’t believe all the features this place has.”

“Why is it you can never keep a good place for a spritz secret for long?” a male voice exclaims. We turn around and see that a blue terry bathrobe clad George Galloway has entered.

“Hello ____, Alice, Lorna, Mary, Jill,” he says. “I guess it was a matter of time before everyone found out about the Morpheus’ Turkish bath.”

“I don’t think everybody knows about it yet,” Alice says with sly grin.

“If all of you keep quiet about this place, I’ll make it worth your while,” George facetiously offers. “Let me start by getting everybody drinks.”

He then holds up his right hand and yells, “Oh, garcon!”

With that, a waiter clad in a long-sleeved white shirt, black vest, and black trousers steps out the mist ready to take our order.

“What will it be Mr. Galloway?” he asks.

“Do you have Guinness on tap today?” George inquires in return.

“Yes, we do,” the waiter answers. “Along with Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Coors, Coors Light, Moose Drool, and about a dozen foreign and microbrews. By the way, I could let you see our complete beer list.”

“That’s okay,” George replies. “I’ll take a Guinness. What will everybody else have? ____?”

I’m still dumbfounded by seeing a formally dressed waiter seemingly appear out of nowhere in a Turkish bath. Yet, I do compose myself to say,“Diet Coke please.”

“I’ll take a San Pellegrino with a slice of lime,” answers Alice.

“I’ll have the same,” answers Lorna.

“So will I,” Mary says, “but no lime.”

“I’ll take a glass of cranberry juice,” requests Jill.

“I’ll get that to you in a little while,” promises the waiter who then disappears into the fog as mysteriously as he appeared.

“Where did that waiter come from?” I ask George.

“Oh, there’s an door in the back for employees,” he answers.

“Employees?” I repeat.

“Of course,” George says. "For a Turkish bath, this place has a pretty big staff what with the bar, restaurant, espresso stand-

“Espresso stand in a Turkish bath?” I say incredulously. “What else does this place have?”

“What doesn’t it have?” George replies. “Check this out.”

He points and clicks what looks like a TV remote at the opposite wall which slowly opens to reveal…

[dougie_monty]

A few other things, including a tanning facility; a small gymnasium; a video arcade—which includes some games I haven’t seen in years; and a TV with a screen easily twice the size of the one we installed in the Hellmouth for Nicholas.
“There are other things as well, of course, but I don’t want to overwhelm you,” says Mr. Galloway.

The waiter returns with our drinks. I sense I recognize him; his facial features are familiar. He serves the drinks.
“Excuse me,” I say. “You resemble someone I know.”

“That’s possible,” he says. “I’m Pete McMillan, Jill’s brother.” He nods and leaves.
“He is one of my employees,” says George. “This part of the Morpheus is more my domain; Jack Sharp and I went halfies on the theater right from the start.”

We settle down with the drinks.
“Well, there’s no sense in sitting here in robes in a sauna,” says Lorna, “males or no males.”

“You ain’t just whistling Dixie,” says another female voice. Betty Galloway, George’s wife, comes in, wearing a pink bathrobe and holding a pitcher of ice water. She sets the glass pitcher on an unused bench and doffs her robe!
One by one the others present do likewise, including George. Last of all Alice and I relent and shed our robes.

“You have wings!” says a surprised Jill.
I’m tempted to sing “All God’s chillun got wings,” but I decide not to. Alice and I, as well as Betty and Jill, set our eyeglasses down. Before I do so I note that Betty Galloway has quite a figure for a 62-year-old woman.

I must really have become accustomed to Alice. Though she sits right next to me, her hip against mine and my near arm touching her near breast, I don’t sprout an erection. In fact I shed tears and I see Alice does too. :o
After a little while we redon our robes and head for the showers, in an adjacent room. We hang the robes on hooks outside the shower area.

As we prepare to leave the Turkish bath, and return to our clothes, George locks the door behind him. I look at the robed figures around us in the hallway, and note someone seems to be missing.
“Where’s Mary Blonda?” I ask.

A familiar, but disembodied, voice says, “Here I am.” The voice seems to come from our midst but I don’t see her.
“I’m invisible,” she explains. “I forgot my robe. When you came into the sauna and we saw you, I vanished. I hid behind Jill and Lorna until I could wrap a white beach towel around myself.” I nod.

We get our clothes back on, including Mary, who doesn’t reappear until she is fully dressed. We return to the seats. We resume the final rehearsals and Sylvia continues to take notes. She says Lorraine Adler will return, and give her a galley proof of her article for us to read.
After the session in the steam room, Alice and I sit back, in the first row, totally relaxed. When we have more time I’ll want to ask the Galloways about the other facilities I haven’t seen yet.

Now Professor Fields and Mr. Bartholomew approach. Buster sits on a chair next to me, and listens.

“About the depositions you’ll give in the Aalto case,” says Fields, “You probably won’t have much to say. Just tell us, after you’ve been sworn in, what happened to each of you between the appointment you had in my office, and the rendezvous with George Galloway at the old mobile-home park. I think that was twelve hours all told.”

Alice and I have our hands clasped together as we say in unison, “The most dismal twelve hours of our lives.” I had that awful fast-food job and I know nothing about what happened to Alice; well, I’ll be present when she gives testimony…
Now I hear chains and Leo, finished with the Super Coola matter, appears in front of us and announces the arrival of some other ghosts. One appears, dressed in a suit befitting a businessman of the late nineteenth century.

“Thurlow Skagg at your service,” he says. “I am the great-grandfather of the current editor-in-chief of the Courier-Times. I’ll keep an eye on that young reporter who interviewed you all at the Sharps’ place.”
“Leo,” I say, “I remember you mentioned some other ghosts. Anna Luglio, Lloyd Werdin, Tim Werdin and Joanie Werdin Sharp, and Gwen Berry are present.”

“You’re right, ______,” says Leo. “I’ll handle the introductions of the other ghosts—Ulrica, Luigi, and the senior Berrys, carefully.”
I sense the approach of the mortals I mentioned, as Leo gives the other four ghosts their cue to appear, one at a time.

[NDP]

Gwen–wearing an oversize pink longsleeve shirt, faded and worn black jeans, and sandals–enters the room first. She looks up at Leo and me.

“Hey, Leo,” she says with a flat voice. “How’s the dead product trade?”

“Busy as usual,” the ghost answers. “But the reason I’m here is I’d like you to meet some colleagues of mine.”

With that, Gwen deceased ancestors appear. They’re dressed in garb typical of a bohemian couple circa 1915.

“Gwen, this is your Great Uncle Ryan and your Great Aunt Fiona,” Leo says. “Ryan and Fiona Berry, this is your Great Niece Gwen.”

Gwen looks at her spectral relatives with a blank expression.

“Pleased to meet you,” she says languidly.

“We’re happy to meet you too,” Fiona replies with a thick Irish brogue. “Leo tells us you’re a singer.”

“That’s true,” Fiona answers, “In fact, I’m restarting my career after a short rest.”

“Ryan and Fiona want to tell you something,” Leo says trying to move the conversation along.

“Yes,” states Ryan. "Gwen, we…

[dougie_monty]

“…have, in fact, come here for a specific purpose, the same as Thurlow Skagg. We know about certain volumes kept in a storeroom at R. Kane Books…”
Gwen nods knowingly.

“You mean that small room in the back, with the door that keeps sticking?” she asks.
“That’s it, Gwen,” they say.

They continue their conversation while Alice and I talk to Leo.
“I thought at first you were going to introduce Gwen to her deceased parents,” I say.

Leo hangs his head. “I know her parents; I think their names are Warren and Eula. But you know as well as I do that for them to appear to her would just bring back the anguish she suffered after their death.”
“I read you, Leo,” I say. Alice sheds a few tears; she had told me about a drunk driver killing Gwen’s parents in the first place.

“Now,” says Leo, “I shall introduce Luigi Luglio.”
Ferruccio’s ghostly father appears. Luigi had died in 1992. But instead of anguish, Luigi inspires an ecstatic reaction in his son Ferruccio, his grandson Tomasso, and his great-granddaughter Anna. However, they all speak to each other in Italian, so we can’t follow them. I don’t know much Italian, but Leo and Alice certainly do.

Now Leo introduces the third ghost, a female in a long white dress. He says, “This is Ulrica Wieczorek Werdin.” At the mention of the name “Werdin,” Lloyd and Tim, along with Joanie Werdin Sharp, approaches. Joanie has her husband Andrew Sharp and their little boy Jack Sharp II with her. They gather near the footlights and approach the ghostly Ulrica.
Well, they seem to feel some anguish. Little Jack II, accompanied by his dad and his paternal grandmother, Eloise, steps forward.

He says one word: “Grandmother?”

This is too much. We all break down, especially Joanie and Tim. Joanie holds her son in her arms. I hold Alice close; we take our glasses off and keep wiping our eyes.
When we finally pull ourselves together, Ulrica speaks.

“The senior Berrys, Luigi, Mr. Skagg, and I have come, at Leo’s request, for a specific purpose. With the approach of Lorna McManus’ wedding, your AIDS benefit, and another event”—here she fixes her big violet eyes on Alice and me—“Leo wanted to ensure that no unseen force or conspiracy would spoil anything for you.”
“Such as Threshold, Sikes-Potter’s minions, or Red Nicholas even?” I ask.

“Precisely,” Ulrica answers. “Some entities are difficult even for the DXM League to deal with. The senior Berrys know about hidden books at R. Kane. Luigi will deal with earthly entities such as Threshold, and I have special contacts concerning ordinary physical entities and processes.”
“Ulrica was a scientist in her own right when she was in the land of the living,” the widowed Tim says grimly.

I note that Jeanette has joined the group surrounding the ghostly Luigi Luglio—after all, she is related to him. He addresses her as “Signorina Gianetta Strong, la ragazza nubila e statuesca,” which is certainly true. As befits the situation, Jeanette is, relatively, modestly dressed, and she abandons her usual swagger.
“There’s only one thing we didn’t find out,” says Ulrica, who seems to have taken charge of the meeting. “Mr. Moreland, whatever became of those platinum ingots?”

“I got a call a little while ago from Phil Thompson,” Fred says. “The ingots were duly delivered to Phil’s company and I understand the supernatural world has acknowledged the sales.”
“So has the natural world, Fred,” says Eloise, showing a notarized record of the sale of the Browns’ ingot.

Alice, still sitting next to me, asks, “Ulrica, what’s the ‘other event’ you mentioned concerning ______ and me?”
Ulrica fixes those violet eyes—which, incidentally, her little grandson Jack II has inherited—on Alice and me. With a knowing look (including a broad smile), the deceased Mrs. Werdin answers:

[NDP]

“Your induction into the DXM League.”

“We’re members?” Alice shouts excitedly. “We were accepted?”

“Yes and yes,” Ulrica answers. “Didn’t Parker tell you already?”

“I’m afraid not,” I state with a excited smile. “This is the first we’ve heard of it.”

“I guess it’s because we saw you first,” Fred tells us. “Look, Parker is probably going to officially inform you later today. When he does, be sure to act surprised.”

“Hey, this conversation never took place,” I say with a wink.

“I got some business to tend to,” Fred explains as he prepares to leave us. “Oh, Alice and _____, one other thing.”

“What?” Alice asks.

“Congratulations.” He then turns and disappears out the door.

I hear Fred’s footsteps grow fainter until they are no longer audible. I then shout out to every living and dead person in the room: “Now, did Fred and Ulrica say anything to Alice and me about being accepted into some sort of secret organization?”

“No!” the crowd answers.

“That’s what I thought,” I say with a grin.

“Forgetting what I said last, there is something else that I think you and Alice should know,” Ulrica mentions.

“Is it DXM League-related?” Alice asks.

“No,” the ghost answers. "It seems…

[dougie_monty]

“…there were two guys who had been keeping company with Alice, and suddenly jilted her…”
Alice reacts stiffly to this. I grip her hand.

“…and we suspect that one or both of them may be involved with the discomfiture you all have experienced since the rehearsals started here.”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember who those two guys were offhand.”

“I don’t either,” says Alice. From what Arthur and Daniel have told me, she suffered serious emotional trauma when each of those guys jilted her.
“Well,” says Ulrica, “It’s possible that they have planned revenge, not only against Alice herself, but against you as well, _____, and against others associating with you.”

“I figured as much,” Alice and I say in unison.
“So did I.”

We look around to see Professor Fields and Bob Long arrive.

Bob speaks to Jack and Eloise. “It might be a good idea to have Alice undergo a session of hypnosis to identify—and maybe even locate—those guys who jilted her. Once we do that, it just might be possible to implicate them in your discomfiture. With Victor Lemoyne and Sikes-Potter’s minions out of circulation, there aren’t very many people left who would trouble you the way they did. In fact, they may even be kingpins of Threshold.”

And now we have another pair of visitors. Jeanette’s eyes and ears perk up as she sees her brother Nate, ever the macho hunk, approach with Rita Waterford on his arm. They walk down the aisle toward us, almost as if they were tying the knot. I’m glad to see Rita this way. She has apparently made a full recovery, and clings to Nate the way Alice clings to me.

She greets us cordially. Discreetly using ESP, Alice and I find that Rita’s mental disorder is gone.
“Dr. Maggie Johnson helped me,” Rita says as Nate grips her hand. “I was able to shake my obsessions.”

“Oh, Alice,” Rita continues, “I want you to have this.” She produces an odd-shaped piece of cold steel, and hands it to Alice.
“What’s this, Rita?” Alice asks.

Rita manages a wan smile. “It’s the trigger from my rifle. The police said they would destroy the gun, but they allowed me to keep the trigger.”
Alice accepts this as a symbolic gesture of contrition and remorse. They even embrace.

Now Nate turns to me.
With his tongue firmly in cheek, the 6-foot-4 Nate says to me, “I see why you jilted my sister,” as he faces Alice.

“I would be hard put to think of a more positive reason to do so, Nate,” I say.
We shake hands.

Then, Jeanette steps over and surprises me. She takes me in her arms and kisses me on the lips, almost making smoke come out of my ears! :eek: We all laugh.
“Actually, Nate, it took Alice for me to get over the loss of Jeanette,” which is true enough.

Professor Fields says, “_______, Alice, I’d like you to meet Mr. Bartholomew and me this afternoon at his office, for the Aalto depositions. He had an appointment cancelled and we’ll have the whole afternoon free.” We agree to the appointment.
Now I decide to relax, with a can of sody pop and the latest issue of Games. Alice, Eloise, and Dr. Clouse are visiting with Rita and Nate a little more, and I can’t think of anything to contribute to the conversation.

First, however, I sense the call of nature; I must pee.
After I leave the restroom, I hear an unfamiliar voice speaking, in a strong Cockney accent, as if on the phone. Down the hall I see a door open onto the hall. I use ESP and find there is one man in the room, No. 23. [!] I tiptoe toward the room, which I know has no windows and only the one door.

“Those idiots in the auditorium will be none the wiser,” cackles the Cockney voice, on a cell phone. The man is kind of heavy-set, with mangy black hair; he’s dressed in a cheap, ill-fitting gray suit. I’ve never seen him before.
I suddenly appear in front of him in the doorway, my Magnum drawn. I point it carefully toward the seated man. I growl, “What are you doing here?!” He is too startled to answer, but he shuts his cell phone off.

Then, I issue a telepathic alarm: PROWLER IN ROOM 23!!
Leo appears immediately. I also see Bob Long, Jack Sharp, Fred, Betty Galloway, Alice, and Hermione—who is ready to draw her gun—approaching.

[NDP]

“Don’t shoot me!” he pleads. “I’m only the piano player!”

“Excuse me?” I say as I lower my Magnum to my side. “Isn’t that the name of an Elton John album?”

“I guess it is,” the East Ender says, “but I am the piano player.”

“We’ve got a piano player for the show,” I inform him. “Just what are you up to?”

The English intruder looks around to see he’s now surrounded by me, Leo, Bob Long, Jack Sharp, Fred, Betty, Alice, and Hermione–who still has her gun drawn as a precaution.

“I supposed it would be in my best interests to tell you the truth,” he suggests.

“I think so,” Alice replies.

"I was planning…

[dougie_monty]

“…to disrupt the rehearsals and scare people away from the Morpheus—but I won’t take full responsibility for this.”
“So what else is new?” I snarl. :mad:

“Take it easy, _______,” says Bob. He Mirandizes the prowler.
“I think the wisest thing we can do right now is take you out to the stage area and find out if someone recognizes you,” says Hermione.

“I think I recognize him,” says Alice. The intruder has obviously noticed the two women’s London accent.
“Quincy Davies,” Alice finally says.

Bob has finished with the Mirandizing.
His family lived in our old neighborhood in London, Alice tells me telepathically.

Fred apparently picked up on Alice’s message to me. He has Laura Clouse’s camera and takes pictures of the room. Hermione has her fingerprint kit and does her thing.
We lock up the room and return to the stage area with the prowler; Bob and Hermione lead him up onto the stage.

“Does anyone recognize this man?” Bob asks. “________ found him in Room 23.”
George Galloway says, “I think I saw him in the Starbuck’s yesterday.”

Then little Georgie Blonda steps forward.
“Mr. Long, I think he was next door a few days ago,” little George says.

“In the Starbuck’s, George?” asks Hermione.
“No, Ms. Terwilliger. He was in Kerrie’s place.”

This baffles us. Why would this Cockney man be in a hairdresser’s?
“He was there with two women,” Georgie continues. “I was in there waiting for Mom yesterday and I saw him. One woman was fat and had funny white hair. The other was tall and skinny and wore a black leather jacket with lots of little metal beads on it.”

Fred and George Galloway discuss this. “Perhaps they’re with Threshold,” Mr. Galloway comments.
Then Jane steps forward. The Cockney Davies sees the statuesque Mrs. Bradley and says “Blimey!” as she swivels up to the stage.

“I’m not sure,” Jane says, “but those two women Georgie mentioned may be the wives of DeMoss and Chester—their first names would be Agnes and Yvonne. I’ll contact Phil about them.”
Everyone now turns to face Davies, still standing on the stage.

“I’ve been read my rights,” he mutters, “and I ain’t talking.” Bob and Hermione handcuff Davies and start to lead him away.
Before they go, Alice and I approach Hermione.

“You think he’s been around here for a while?” I ask.
“All I can tell you,” Hermione says, “is that I looked at his wallet and he has a California driver’s license that expires in four years, so I figure he’s been living in California for at least six years.”

“What’s his full name?” I ask.
“Quincy Edward Davies,” Hermione says.

“Quod erat demonstradum,” I say. (“That which was to be proved, or shown”).
We mull this over for a short while. Now Professor Fields approaches us, and says, “Your appointment to give depositions in the Aalto civil case is about three hours from now.”

“Well, I think I’ll use that time to go over to Kerrie’s to have my hair done,” says Alice. I grip her hand and look her straight in the eye. “That hair is hard to improve on, right now,” I say.
She kisses me. “And I intend to keep it that way,” she says.

Now Jane Bradley and Louise Brown—who have been close friends since childhood—approach. Jane wears a bright blue dress that shows some cleavage; Louise is in her usual striped cardigan and jeans.
Now April Blonda—dressed like most fourteen-year-old girls but physically endowed as generously as her mother—steps forward too. “Mom, may I go to Kerrie’s and get my hair set? Kenny [Sharp] and I are going to that party we told you about.”

Mary smiles. “Go ahead, April,” she says.

Now Joe Bradley and I leave with Alice, Jane, Louise, and April, and head for Kerrie’s. Joe and I want to ask Kerrie about the women associated with Davies, according to what little Georgie said. As we go into Kerrie’s Coifs, Joe, with a full beard, wears old jeans and a worn shirt, and a leather jacket—he’ll be riding his big Harley soon. I wear slacks and a checkered sport shirt. We meet Kerrie, who resembles Marion Ross, at the counter just after coming inside. She recognizes the women, and April—and Joe. I’ve never been in there myself. Joe and Jane approach Kerrie.

[NDP]

After exchanging pleasantries, they ask Kerrie if she remembers seeing the two women along with Davies.

“Yes,” she answers, “they were in just yesterday. I worked on the one with white hair myself. She was a handful.”

“How so?” Jane inquires.

“Her odd hairstyle gave me no end of trouble,” Kerrie replies. “I’ve been doing this thing for over 40 years and I’ve never come across hair like that.”

“Do you remember her saying anything?” Joe asks.

“Just what she told me about how she wanted her hair,” the hairstylist says. “Other than that, she was quiet the whole time she was here. Never said another word.”

“What about the other woman?” Jane inquires.

“I didn’t work on her,” Kerrie answers. “Suzanne did. She’s not here today though.”

“Day off?” Jane questions.

“No, she called in sick,” she explains. “Actually, now that I think about it, she said she was feeling sick right after those two women and that scuzzy-looking English guy left.”

“About that ‘scuzzy-looking English guy,’” Joe mentions, “did he say or do anything while he was here?”

“He just kind of silently hovered around the two women while we were working on them,” says Kerrie. “He got to be such a bother that Suzanne and I shot him some dirty looks. He then passed both of the women some slips of paper and sat down in the waiting area where he made calls on his cell phone until they all left. However, right before they all stepped out the door, they did the oddest thing.”

“What was that?” I ask after introducing myself to Kerrie.

"They…

[dougie_monty]

“Did a stand-up comedy routine much as did Abbott and Costello, or Martin and Rossi, except that they traded roles a couple of times, from foil to comedian and back again. To be honest about this, they had a fairly good routine. They had the three of us in stitches.”
“Three?” I ask. “Who was working here yesterday besides you and Suzanne?”

“Iris Peabody,” says Kerrie. I know Iris has done Alice’s hair a number of times. She’s a short, shapely blonde with a perky voice but considerable savvy—so much so that I have supposed that she could qualify as a DXM person. Suzanne Lienart is no genius, but has considerable skill and a kind heart. She is a tall, curvaceous redhead—similar to Lorna—with a chortling voice.

“Did the women do anything else?” asks Joe.
Kerrie laughs. “They did a rain dance just before they left! Some of us couldn’t help snickering. Then they handed a small package to that Cockney bum, and they left.”

I’ll have to find out what that package was…
“I think Suzanne may be the clue to this,” I say. “Too bad she’s out sick.”

“It’s happened before, a number of times,” Kerrie comments.
I wonder. “What about Iris Peabody?” I ask.

“She is off today,” Kerrie says.
Now Joe looks pensive. “I think I know where she lives—her Dad is the steward for Leven Construction out here. Mark Peabody. I’ve known him for years. Iris lives about a mile from Loora Oranjeboom’s building.”

Now I go off by myself, lost in thought, while Joe says something else to Kerrie just before she goes to do beautician stuff for Alice and the others.
Where does Suzanne Lienart live, I say to myself.

She lives in the Bradford Arms up the street, says a telepathic voice.
I’m a bit startled. Who was that? I think.

This is Mike the Morlock, says the voice. * I can look in on Suzanne if you like—just to see what her situation is.*
Go ahead, I say.

In a minute Mike returns.
She’s just sitting at home looking slightly weary, Mike says. Would you like me to check up on those women who were in here yesterday—the fatty with the spiky white hair and the groovy biker chick?

I sure would, I answer. Thanks very much. Please contact Leo or Fred.
Wilco, answers the Morlock.

Now Kerrie is doing Alice’s hair. Two “temps” are working there, in place of Iris and Suzanne; I think Kerrie has the same temps come in all the time to substitute for the regular crew. I don’t know them.
After a while Alice and the others are finished. They all look so lovely…

Alice approaches and embraces me. The others approach; all pay Kerrie for the work they had done. Joe and Jane meet and embrace; Stan appears long enough to meet Louise after she pays, and they depart with a few courteous words to the rest of us.
“Did you get your message yet from Mike the Morlock?” Joe asks after Stan and Louise leave.

“You knew about that?” I ask.
“Sure we did,” he says. “Remember the radar sense we have.”

“That’s right,” I say. “Yes, I found out about Suzanne. Mike will also tell us later about those two women the Cockney met here.” Now Joe and Jane bid us goodbye.
April approaches. She too looks lovely—almost the image of her mother.

N

[dougie_monty]

Now everyone has paid. We bid Kerrie goodbye, but I sense she’ll contact us again about the Cockney and the two women.
We return to the Morpheus; April goes her way and Alice and I head for the elevator.

“We have about an hour and a half before we go to Mr. Bartholomew’s office to give our Aalto depositions,” she says. “Let’s go talk to Mike the Morlock.”

We take the elevator down to the sub-basement. Fred meets us there, with Salbert and Jack Sharp. The three of them lift the grate off the Hellmouth entrance and Mike the Morlock emerges. He looks as fearsome as the Morlocks did in the movie The Time Machine—white hair, frightening visage, blue skin. However, he is courtly and civilized and sits at a table with us.

“Do you have the date from Iris Peabody and Suzanne Lienart?” I ask.
“Better than that,” he says, “I asked them to meet us here. Fred approved it.”

Now the two women come out of the elevator. Apprehensive at first, what with the mysterious ambience of the subbasement and the ghastly appearance of Mike the Morlock, the women nonetheless calm down. Iris assists the weary, unsteady Suzanne to the chair; Alice gets her a glass of water. Now we all sit at the large table; Mike speaks first.

[dougie_monty]

That should have been data, not date… :o

[NDP]

“We were wondering about those two women and English guy who were at your salon yesterday,” he explains. “What can you tell us about them?”

The women–still trying to adjust their surroundings–are silent for a few seconds. During that time, I look at Mike and notice he’s wearing two wristwatches on his left arm. (I wonder where he got them.)

Finally, Suzanne says, “Well, I don’t know if this is connected, but right after the two women and the Englishman left, I started feeling nauseated and dizzy. That’s the reason why I didn’t go to work today. Also, in the neighborhood where I live, it’s been about 50 degrees and drizzly since yesterday afternoon.”

“It’s been that way where I live too,” Iris adds. “Odd weather.”

“No kidding,” Suzanne comments. “Anyway, did you want to know about that package the women handed off to the English guy?”

“Yes,” Fred requests, “please.”

“It was wrapped in brown paper and was shaped like a book,” she answers. “The English guy looked really happy to get it. I looked out the window after he left and saw he was practically skipping down the street.”

“And this has happened before?” Mike inquires.

“Oh, yeah,” Iris replies. “This was like the sixth time this has happened. Although the comedy routine and dance are different each time. Also, the package they exchange–while always wrapped in brown paper–varies in size and shape.”

“Also, I’ve noticed that whenever they’re in the shop, they never really talk to us directly,” Suzanne adds. “Except, of course, to tell us how they want their hair done. Otherwise, when they do their comedy routine and their dance, it’s like we’re not there. They don’t acknowledge us at all.”

“That’s true,” Iris responds. “While the comedy routines are funny and everything, there’s almost a rote quality to them. In fact, a couple weeks ago, I accidentally made eye contact with the white-haired woman while she was ‘performing’ a routine, and noticed she had a ‘million miles away’ look in her eyes.”

“You know, the more I think about it,” Suzanne says, "the comedy routines and dances almost seem like a … oh, what’s the word … it begins with an ‘i’–

“Incantations?” Mike suggests.

“Yes!” Suzanne shouts. “That’s it! The routines seem like incantations of some sort.”

“Exactly,” Iris agrees. “There’s always odd stuff going on right after they leave. I don’t know why I haven’t made the connection until now.”

I turn to Fred and ask what he thinks about what Iris and Suzanne have just told us. He answers…

[dougie_monty]

“It’s very likely that the ‘incantations’ have a connection with Red Nicholas. I can’t help but think that those two women are trying to make a connection of their own with him.”
Iris pauses. “Well, it’s one or the other, then: The two women are flunkies of Red Nicholas, or they are outsiders trying to get to him, for whatever reason.”

Out of a clear blue sky, I ask Alice, “Has anyone read any more of the report Lal Thakkar sent us from Jubbulpore?”
Before Alice answers, I notice that Suzanne, who seems to be settling down, reacts to my mention of Thakkar. I sense she knows him or has been in India herself.

“Why do you ask that?” Alice says.
“Well, I can’t help but think that there are a lot of loose ends that the data in Thakkar’s report might tie up. And who knows what connection that book—if it is a book—the women passed to Davies, has with Nicholas and those trying to reach him?”

“I get the impression,” says Alice, “that those people who inherited the quest for Red Nicholas that began in the nineteenth century, don’t mind disrupting everything else in order to get at him—either because of special knowledge or powers he has, or his riches. If he’s in a theater they’ll stop the show if that’s what it takes to get at him.”
“You know, I just thought of an idea which might provide these troublemakers with a red herring,” I say. “A website.”

Everyone gives me a puzzled look.
“I mean, why should we have been the only ones severely unnerved by the first impression we had of the Hellmouth? Let’s use the discomfiture we had, as an obstacle to those tormenting us.”

“I still don’t follow you,” says Alice, who I sense has other things on her mind at the moment.
“Remember when we first came down here?” I ask. “Even Leo was so upset, he reeled from the experience. If we were to put that on a website—we could call it something like www.hellmouth23.org— and give it the proper publicity, we just might scare Davies and his ilk away!”

“I’ll ask Owen and George about that,” says Fred. “They have become quite the computer experts in the family. They’ve already set up a web page for themselves, their parents and their siblings. Latonya [Fred’s daughter] commented on the website of www.jacksharp.org, about how all those kids look like ‘clones.’”
“Heck, George told me that without a computer!” I say with a smirk.

“Oh—one other thing,” says Iris. “I usually do the hairdressing, facial, and manicure for the fatty with white hair—I think her name is Agnes DeMoss. (Her hair never stays in place for more than a day after anyone sets it.) I can usually catch her off-guard; she’ll tell me bits of information about this or that. She’s sort of a ‘loose cannon.’”
“You don’t think she was misleading you?” asks Alice.

“No, I don’t—she acts totally clueless. And sometimes I wonder where she has been, because her clothes are often dirty when she comes in, and she often smells like she hasn’t had a bath in a day or two!”
Suzanne winces. “Maybe that’s what made me sick—she has problems with personal hygiene!”

“That Cockney Davies is no Beau Brummel either,” I say.
Suddenly Iris says, “Mr. Moreland, you have a loose suspender clip.”

Fred reacts. He glances down; his front clips are all right. He feels in back—one clip has indeed popped loose.
“Ms. Peabody, how did you know that?” Fred asks.

Iris blushes. “I have ESP,” she says.
“We’d like to talk to you later today,” says Alice.

Mike looks at his watches. “Damn! Only one of these is running!” he mutters.
“Where did you get the two watches anyway, Mike?” I ask.

“From Red Nicholas. He often carries a box of little metal parts around—I don’t know why. He gets things like this all the time; he doesn’t tell us where or how. We don’t know any more about it than you do.”

Now we all decide that we’ll leave it to Kerrie to tell Agnes and the other woman that they’ll have to be clean when they come in, and to suggest that they meet Davies somewhere else—perhaps the Starbucks. Kerrie has had complaints about them coming into her shop unbathed and wearing dirty clothes. They’ll probably resist, but Kerrie can probably talk them into going into the Starbucks instead. “I think they’re agreeable to that extent anyway,” says Suzanne.

Before our meeting breaks up, Fred suggest that we contact Harry Rudolph, the publicity man, so he will meet with Alice, Owen, and George Sharp to set up the proposed website.

We leave Fred, Mike the Morlock, Jack, and Salbert in the sub-basement. Iris and Suzanne leave the Morpheus, to go talk with Kerrie. Alice and I go upstairs to a private dressing room, to prepare for our trip to Mr. Bartholomew’s office, to give our depositions in the Aalto case. His office is only about two miles from the Morpheus.

[NDP]

My new outfit is semi-formal: white linen shirt, gray sport jacket, and black chinos. Alice puts on a blue sun dress with a red diamond pattern. We then proceed outside only to be unexpected greeted by…

[dougie_monty]

Ruth Newport. She wears a very ordinary grayish-white dress and has reading glasses hanging from a silver cord around her neck.
“I didn’t expect to meet you two again, Ms. Terwilliger, Mr. _______, but Shane Gilbert seems to have vanished.”

“How do you mean?” I ask.
“He hasn’t reported to me for about two weeks,” she says. “It’s not the same as violation of parole, but if he doesn’t show up in two days—after the legal holiday is over—the judge in his case will issue a bench warrant for him.”

“Well,” says Alice, “As you said, he’s a real loser.”
“My, you two look nice…where are you going?”

“To a law office,” Alice says.
Ruth looks sadly surprised. “Are you getting a divorce? I didn’t even know you were married!”

I clasp Alice’s hand snugly. “No, we aren’t married,” I say. But I should give this some serious thought…
“We’re going to give depositions in a civil case,” says Alice.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the lawyer’s name? I mean, the one whose office you’re going to?” At this point, Ruth is walking with Alice and me toward my Lexus in the Morpheus’ private parking lot.
“Edmond Bartholomew,” Alice says.

Ruth’s face lights up. “Crazy Eddie!”
“I beg your pardon?” I ask.

Ruth smiles. “Edmond Bartholomew is a cousin of mine! Good God, it’s a small world. When we were growing up back in Stamford, he was a real cutup!”
“I guess he got that out of his system,” I say.

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” says Ruth, as we get to the car. “We had a family reunion three years ago and he did a side-splitting act as a one-man band.”
“Couldn’t you see him performing at the Morpheus?” Alice says with a snicker.

“No, I can’t,” I say.
“We have never discussed anything funny with Mr. Bartholomew to my recollection,” Alice says.

“May I come with you?” Ruth asks. “I have some family business I want to take up with him.”
“Sure, get in,” says Alice. We get into the car. I drive, and we approach the gate; Artie Brown opens it long enough for us to exit the lot.

After we get out onto the street, Alice tells me telepathically, Honey, I think we’ll want to contact one of the Hellmouth critters as a precaution.
Wilcox, I reply. Alice sputters and giggles at this.

Wilcox, says Al the Alien, in a jocose voice himself. There’s a troupe of Gremlins in the Hellmouth who want their chance to patrol your surroundings.
Gremlins? I think back.

Al says, Yeah, they cause discomfiture, but that can be directed to your adversaries as well as to anyone else. Alice and I acknowledge.
Mr. Bartholomew’s office is in a larger professional building two miles north on Bradford Street. We get out of the car in the lot adjoining the building, and go inside. On the directory by the elevator section it says: “Edmond Bartholomew, J. D. 223.”

“So he’s on the second floor,” I note passively. We ride the elevator up the one floor and walk down the corridor to 223.
Just as we approach the door we hear stumbling behind us. An armed security guard collars a tatterdemalion and hustles him away.

Al the Alien says See? We see.
Inside the office we talk to the receptionist, whose name, Laverne Dandridge, appears on a nameplate on the frosted window. She is a thin, young, bookish-looking black woman. Shades of Gwen.

Alice and I identify ourselves and sign the log on the counter. Just as Ms. Dandridge is about to ask Ruth Newport what her business is, Mr. Bartholomew and Professor Fields come out the door to greet us.
“Ruthie!” Mr. Bartholomew says.

“Oh, Crazy Eddie!” says Ruth. They embrace. “Look, Eddie, will you call me at this number [here she gives him her business card] after your appointment?”
“Sure,” he says. Ruth bids us goodbye for now, and leaves.

Alice and I go inside with the lawyers. In Mr. Bartholomew’s office—dignified, but with some paintings of clowns on the wall—we see another lawyer, a pudgy, balding man I recognize from California Lawyer as Lester Paulsen. He is a well-known defense attorney who will represent Victor Lemoyne and will cross-examine Alice and me in the deposition for Aalto et al. v. Lemoyne. Again, Lemoyne is not present. In a civil deposition, furthermore, a judge is not required to be present.

Also present is a court reporter, a slender young blond man, who is blind and has a guide dog.
Mr. Bartholomew starts the proceedings.

[NDP]

My deposition is first. After being sworn in, I’m asked the usual questions about my name, address, age, education, and occupational history. However, just as I’m describing a job I had in high school selling giant pretzels at a minor league baseball games, I start sneezing. At first, they’re just light cat-like snnniiits that are easily contained by one kleenex tissue. Unfortunately, they then progress to wet, sloppy ahchoozzz that come on so quickly I almost don’t have time to reach for the kleenex on the table in front of me. From there, they got worse. Each successive sneeze was now an explosive ahhhhhchoooooooo that was so thunderous, the kleenex tissues disintigrated in my hand. To avoid spraying everyone with each nasal gale, I grabbed the kleenex box and retreated to a corner of the room underneath a painting of Emmitt Kelly. As if this wasn’t disquieting enough, I sensed with my telepathy someone laughing hysterically at all this.

There was no respite from my sneezing. There were now so loud and violent that each one took longer to complete. Finally, there came an epic nasal expulsion. Like a human vacuum, I furiously inhaled what seemed like all the oxygen in the room:

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Then, like when the eye of a hurricane passes, there were several moments of anxious calm before the next part of the storm. Out of the corner of my running eyes, I glimpsed Alice, the lawyers, and the court report all dash under the table and huddle together for protection.

With the inhalation complete, I…

[dougie_monty]

…get up and hurry over to the far wall. I stand against the wall and face a window across the room; it’s slightly open.
Then Professor Fields speaks up.

“Go ahead and sneeze,” he says.
I comply. Oddly, the stream of air from my mouth seems focused directly on the open part of the window; then, spent, I sit on the floor.

“Help me, Alice,” I say weakly.
I’ll get Dr. Clouse over here right away, Alice tells me telepathically, as she sits beside me. Meanwhile, I note that the court reporter’s guide dog has scarcely moved a muscle, but just lies there facing forward and blinking slightly. Alice, Professor Fields, and Ms. Dandridge help me to a chair.

I say with a sigh, “I never sneezed with such surgical precision before.”
You had help from Professor Fields, Alice thinks to me as she grips my hand. Remember, he has the power of psychokinesis and it applies to all three states of matter.

Meanwhile, Ms. Dandridge offers me an anti-allergy over-the-counter medication from her purse. “Thanks,” I say, as she hands me a napkin with the tablet in it, and a little cup of water to take it with.
I lie there quietly for a few minutes. Mr. Bartholomew and the court reporter—who, for a blind man, gets around quite well—return to their seats. Professor Fields, Alice, and Mr. Paulsen sit back down too.

Mr. Bartholomew says, “Let the record show that _______’s deposition was interrupted by an allergic attack in this office.”
Now Dr. Clouse arrives. She conducts her usual examination; but, interestingly, she breaks open a small tube of smelling salts, under my nose—and the allergic discomfort vanishes.

“Thanks, Laura,” I say.
“Play it safe,” she replies. “This stuff wears off after a few hours.” She gives me a baggie with several more tubes of smelling salts. And she glances at the dog, a common German Shepherd, apparently neutered, who looks passively at her.

“What am I allergic to?” I ask.
Before she can answer, her cell phone rings.

“Laura Clouse,” she says.
“What? … Oh, all right… I’ll be back in twenty minutes… well, that should be over now.” “She shuts the cell phone off.

“That was Eloise,” she says. “The lab I sent my test data to, about Red Nicholas, has sent me the results that I need for a full diagnosis.
“As for your allergy—well, I’m going to have to search on Medline for data on it, and I’ll have an answer for you when you get back to the Morpheus. But it’d be a good idea to avoid that dog.”

Laura leaves; we see her off.
“Do you feel better now?” Mr. Bartholomew asks.

“Yes, I do,” I say. I embrace Alice and we return to our chairs, along with Professor Fields. Ms. Dandridge goes back out to her desk.
My breathing and eyesight return to normal and we all settle down.

Mr. Bartholomew says, “Deposition of _________ resumed.”
Then he begins to question me, as Fields and Paulsen look on. Alice sits close to me.

And the voice I’d heard laughing, now moans softly.
Fields begins with:

“How long did you stay at that job with the pretzels?”
“Not very long—maybe until the season ended.”

“Now, let’s talk about the night of December 30. Were you in the trailer park then?”
“I was,” I say, avoiding the issue of alternate realities, which I know Mr. Bartholomew is completely familiar with as a DXM person.

“Did you get a phone call there?”
“I did.”

“Who called you?”
“The person identified himself as Lieutenant Commander Tigner.”

“What did he say?”
“He said he was sending two people to kill me—and then the voice broke up, and there was a loud scream, and a rumble, like an earthquake. Then I heard a normal, matter-of-fact voice say ‘231 South Norton Drive, Suite 1774.’ Then there was only silence.”

“Do you know whose voice that was?”
“No, Sir.”

“And you went to that address. What did you see?”
“The building partially collapsed into a sinkhole. And the fire department was there.”

[Fields reads a mention of the fire department’s report into the record.]
Mr. Bartholomew continues. “And they brought a man you determined to be Lute Tigner out of the building. Did you see him die?”

“Yes, I did,” I say. “He died right in front of me. I even heard the rattle.”
[Fields reads the coroner’s report on Dr. Tigner into the record.]

Mr. Bartholomew now says, “Walter Fields—any questions?”
“No, not at this time, but I would like to reserve the right to recall this witness, for re-direct.”

“Your witness, Mr. Paulsen,” says Mr. Bartholomew.
The august Lester Paulsen begins the cross-examination.

[NDP]

[Error! In my previous entry, the second entrence of the second paragraph should read:

There was no respite from my sneezing. They were now so loud and violent that each one took longer to complete.

Anyway…]

“Mr. _____, Mr. Bartholomew asked you being in a trailer park on the evening of December 30th,” he states. “What were you doing in a trailer park?”

“Uh … living there,” I answer with a mixture of caution and sarcasm.

“Living there? But when you reviewed your prior residences with Mr. Bartholomew, you said nothing about living in a trailer park.”

“It was an oversight on my part. I was there so briefly that it almost doesn’t seem real to me.”

“Do you remember your address?”

“Yes, it was Sunnyview Trailer Park, Lot D-5 in __________, California.”

“How long did you live there?”

“I stopped living there on December 31st.”

“Oh, you moved out the day after the building collapsed?”

“Well … uh … I guess I did.”

I’m not handling Paulsen’s questions as deftly as I thought I could. I start to get a gnawing sensation in my solar plexus.

As if he senses my discomfort, Paulsen continues his inquiry about my start stay in the alternate reality of the Sunnyview Trailer Park.

“If you don’t mind my backtracking, when did you move there?” the counsel asks.

“The first time I recall living at the trailer park was on December 30th,” I reply trying to remain visibly cool.

“What year?”

“Last year.”

“Last year? You mean you only lived in the trailer park for one day?”

“I believe I did.”

“You believe you did?”

My mouth dries up. I also feel a bead of sweat form at the hairline above my forehead and get ready to run down my face.

“Yes,” I snap back. I turn to look at Professor Fields and, sensing I’m in trouble, he…

[dougie_monty]

…says, “Mr. Paulsen, it would be a wise idea to ask the witness if he has any record of residence anywhere else before December 30th.”
I’m way ahead of Fields and Paulsen. I hand Paulsen my driver’s license; according to the information on it, I was living in the college dorm before December 30th. Paulsen examines the license.

“Mr. ______, would you object if we were to subpoena data from the Department of Motor Vehicles, to verify the statement that you were not residing in the trailer park before December 30th?”
“No, Counselor, I would not object at all,” I say calmly.

I suddenly get a telepathic message from Fred: You’re doing fine. And we’ve scotched a sabotage effort—meet me in the building at lunchtime.
This occurs just as Mr. Paulsen pauses to take up another subject.

He resumes the questioning.

“Mr. _______,” he asks, “Did you have any dealings with Lieutenant Commander Luther Ambrose Tigner before December 31st?”
“No, Sir. I never even heard the name before that day.”
Mr. Paulsen looks flustered. But Alice and I will not rejoice at his discomfiture.

Professor Fields speaks up: “Mr. Paulsen, would you like to subpoena the residence records for the trailer park to ascertain when Mr. _______ lived there?”
Paulsen gives Fields a scowl worthy of Jimmie Finlayson or Don Orehek.

He sighs and says, “No, Mr. Fields, but I might want to ask for the residence records at the dormitory.”
I take pen and paper and write a name and phone number. I hand this to Professor Fields.

He says, “Let the record show that the witness has produced a handwritten note with the name Margaret Hunter and the phone number _______.”

“Who is Margaret Hunter?” Paulsen asks me.
“She’s the concierge in my dorm building,” I say.

“Is she a friend of yours?”
“No, Sir. She’s just the person in charge of the dorm.”

“If you please, Mr. Paulsen,” says Mr. Bartholomew, “This line of questioning seems hardly relevant to the witness’ knowledge of circumstances leading to the collapse of the Norton Medical Building.”
Paulsen retreats.

Now he asks, “Have you ever been in the Norton Building yourself?”
“Only once, Sir. Last October I went to a dentist there for a cleaning.”

“Who was the dentist?” Paulsen asks.
“Dr. Albert Burke,” I say.

Apparently all others present know the name. Even the guide dog reacts. (I’ll want to ask Fred if the Sharps’ Great Dane, Duke, is a DXM member like Buster and Loochy; if so, maybe we can get information about the guide dog from Duke.)
“Are you aware,” Paulsen continues, “That Dr. Burke died under mysterious circumstances last November?” Paulsen asks.

“No, Sir, I didn’t know that—I only knew that Norton Medical contacted me and referred me to another dentist on November 12.”

“What was that dentist’s name?”
“Dr. Tom Wessel,” I say. “His office is near the college.”

Mr. Paulsen says, “That’s all, Mr. ______, but I would like to reserve the right to call you back for re-cross.”
Then he closes his portfolio.

“I assume you would like to take a break now,” he says.
“Yes, I would, Mr. Paulsen, as would we all.”

Mr. Bartholomew says, “The deposition session is adjourned for one hour.” We all go to the lunchroom on that floor.

Alice asks Professor Fields, “Will I be deposed after the lunch break?”
“Yes,” he says. I sure would like to know what happened to her while I was busting suds for Clayton…
As Alice and I, arm in arm, enter the lunchroom, we see Salbert and Fred already at a table waiting for us. We take our lunch trays over and sit with them.

I say, “Fred, I bet that sneezing session was an attempt to sabotage the depositions—although I sure didn’t cause the building’s collapse and there is no criminal charge involved this time.”
“That’s where Ruth Newport comes in,” says Fred. “Shane Gilbert is likely the culprit—remember, we were to have her contact Parker about Gilbert—and in fact he was one of the people present at your dismal ‘head-cheese’ episode. But ask Tom Bakke, here.”

Bakke greets us. He was in the formal choir at Rio Hondo—the boys wore red blazers and black slacks and the girls wore white dresses and red shoes—the school colors. In the years since the dismal incident, he has put on some weight, and his wavy red hair is thinning and graying. And he wears a DXM ring.

He tells us about Shane Gilbert’s passion for microbiology—he and Gilbert took biology in high school, when I took chemistry. He tells us about Gilbert’s involvement in my sneezing fit.