The Writers' Cache

Wallace Dean

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From term papers and thesis, to lesson plans and personnel evaluations; Wallace Dean has been in the writing business all his professional life. Now in retirement, Wallace has found the time to turn back to his love of writing stories. Known to his family and friends as an avid story teller, Wallace has taken great satisfaction in finally putting these tales to print. He has twice won honorable mention in the Manuscript International Writing competition and has also received numerous awards for authoring newspaper articles.

Genre

Literary Fiction

Current Project

The Crystal Rainbow (Working Title)
A struggling writer learns he is to inherit his estranged uncle’s estate, but there are conditions. He must get his first novel published within one year's time. He is also required to live in his dead uncle’s mansion, where he is confronted with a series of strange happenings. Items disappear; things are moved by unseen hands. The writer, increasingly disoriented by the atmosphere which surrounds him, finds strange scripts in a rainbow cast by a crystal. What are the unseen forces interfering with the hero's life? And what will the writer discover about himself?

D. T. O. S.

A short story by Wallace Dean
Conceived by the author on a late night drive between Bend and Burns, Oregon; D.T.O.S. explores a conversation between a man and his deceased daughter. Dean takes the reader on a haunting, heart-felt journey exploring love, loss, and life after tragedy.

The small building looked gray in the eerie light of the fog. The sign over the awning read, “D. T. O. S. Service.” I could see, through the four pane window, a telephone on the counter, and, through the open door, an old man on a high stool leaning back against the corner. He looked asleep, and I felt he wouldn’t mind my calling for a cab.

The phone was really old-fashioned, with the mouth piece on a tall stand and the ear piece hanging on a two prong hook at the side. The dial was on the base of the stand. I lifted the earpiece and then noticed the strange dial. The operator was not listed, but X, Y, and Z were shown. I recall thinking that Z was never listed on a phone dial. A further look revealed a Q and an Mc.

I must have said something or reacted because the old man said, “Forget how to dial?”

“Well, no. I, uh – .

Further conversation was stopped by a little old lady who rushed through the door, pushed me back and grabbed the phone.

“Wait, Mrs. Morgan. This young gent was about to dial.”

“Sorry. Thought you’d just finished.”

“Go ahead,” was all that came out.

She picked up the ear piece and began to dial. I came out of my daze long enough to look around the room. It was no larger than six by eight feet. The only furnishings were the small counter, the stool, and the phone. A large sheet of paper was under the glass on the counter. Even though there was no stove, the room was warm.

The old man had a long white beard and white hair. Not gray, but pure white. A close look at his face revealed he was much older than I first thought. He must have been over a hundred years old.

The lady was still dialing the telephone. I began counting the times she spun the dial. Eight, nine, ten turns! What kind of number was that? Even with an area code there couldn’t be more than ten digits. She had dialed more than once while I wasn’t counting.

“Hello, Charlie? . . . How are you? . . . Yes, I’m doing okay. The checks started coming in today. . . . Yes, Charlie, I’ll be careful how I spend it. . . No, Dear, he won’t be bothering me anymore. If fact you should be able to see him soon because he had an attack today and they don’t give him much hope. . . . What? Already? . . . Okay, thank you. I’ll call again next month, Charlie. Bye now.”

Slowly putting the ear piece back in the forked hanger, she took a deep breath and let out a huge sigh.

“It sure is good to hear his voice,” she said to the old man. “Just wish it could be for a longer period of time.”

“Yes, but then it just wouldn’t mean as much, Mrs. Morgan. See ya’ again next month?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied, and stepped out into the cold fog.

I stood staring out the door.

“Guess you can go ahead,” came the voice from the corner.

“I – Well – I guess.”

I reached for the phone, but the dial stared me in the face.

“You’re new at this, ain’t ya’.”

“What?”

“Just read the card. If ya’ have problems I’ll help.”

The letters on the card were a blur.

“Can’t seem to read it,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“Often happens. Anticipation. Here, let me help you.” He got up from his stool and stepped over to my side.

“Why did that lady dial so many numbers? Just what is this place?”

“Didn’t ya’ see the sign outside? Dial The Other Side Service. Painted the sign myself,” he said proudly.

“What do you mean, ‘dial the other side service’?”

“Say, you don’t even know what this place is, do you?”

I shook my head slightly.

“Dial The Other Side is a service for those people who want to talk to people who have gone to the other side.”

“The other side?”

“People who have died. They all have their own hook-up but can’t dial out. Lots of people don’t know about us, even though we don’t charge.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Well, the council decided, some time ago, that the worst part of earthly death was the lost feelings by those left behind. In order to relieve that problem they set up this service whereby those left behind can contact the departed. It gives relief to know the departed no longer feel pain, worry, or have those human qualities which hurt others. The only human quality left is love. True love, not the romantic kind. Anyway, that’s why the service is here.”

“Oh. Well, I just came to call for a cab.”

“Can’t do that here. Don’t you have someone you’d like to call?”

My mind raced around in a blur. What was this place? Why couldn’t I call for a cab? Why had Susan died? Susan! She hadn’t been out of my mind since that day five years ago when she had been struck by a car.

“Yes, I’d like to call my daughter, Susan.”

“All right. Give me her maternal grandmother’s maiden name, mother’s maiden name, and your name – last names only,” directed the old man as he took out a pad and pencil.

“Grandmother’s maiden name?”

“Yes. We use those three names. It acts like a computer. We can narrow the field of Susans down a long way through that line.”

“Oh. Well, let me see. It was Conners.”

“C. O. N.” He wrote it down.

“Mother’s maiden name was Ellis.”

“One L or two?”

“Two.”

“E. L. L.”

“My name is Haws.”

“H. A. W. . Okay, spell Susan for me.”

“S. U. S. A. N.”

“Some spell it with a Z.”

“Oh.”

“Now to dial, we dial the 3, because C is the third letter in its group, and then the C. Then the 1, because the O is the first letter in its group, and then the O. And so on. Here, you dial it. May as well get use to it. You’ll be calling more. Best write down before you start to dial.”

I began to write. 3 C 1 O 3 N 2 E 3 L 3 L 2 H 1 A 3 W.

“Spell the last name in full,” the man continued.

2 S 1 U 2 S 1 A 3 N

“Now just pick up the phone and dial. Go ahead. Ain’t no tone. Won’t hear it ring, either.”

Reaching again for the dial, my hand was trembling. I began to dial slowly and intently. Thoughts of happy summer days charged into my mind. Pictures of Susan beside her birthday bike, beside the Christmas tree, asleep with that one eyed teddy bear – her whole life.

“Hello,” a small voice cut through the mist.

“Susan?”

“Yes.”

It was her voice. I’ll never forget it.

“Susan, this is your father.”

“Oh, hi, Daddy. How are you?”

“I’m – I’m okay. How are you?”

“Just fine Daddy. This is a beautiful place. There are lots of kids, and I’m so happy. Do you remember Joey, that cripple boy in my class at school who died? Well, he’s here and can walk.”

“I’m sorry,” a voice broke in. “But your time is up.”

“But I just dialed.”

“Bye, Daddy. Call again sometime.”

There was a dead silence. I looked at the phone, and slowly hung up.

“I’ll call her back!”

“Sorry,” said the old man. “But you’re only allowed one call per night.”

I stared at the phone for some time. A gentleman of about 55 stepped in the door. He was wearing a black bowler hat, and an empty sleeve of his black raincoat was tucked into his pocket.

“Evening, Mr. Brock. Going to call the wife?”

“Yes. Is the phone clear?”

“This young gent just finished.”

I stepped back from the phone. Placing his walking cane on the counter, Mr. Brock picked up the ear piece, and after placing it on the counter, began to dial with his good hand. I stumbled out into the fog. How long I wandered around in a daze I have no idea. Was it really Susan or was it a trick? It sounded like her. But how could it be possible? She was happy and had a friend. But how?

I saw a phone booth on the corner and got a hold of myself long enough to check the street sign for the names of the intersecting streets, and called for a cab. During the ride to my hotel I decided to find that place and make another call. But where was the place located? This was a strange city to me, and I had no idea where that building was located because I was lost when I found it the first time. Perhaps the people who had used the service could help.

A frantic search of the phone book revealed thirty-nine Morgans, and almost as many Brocks. I called each one and received nothing but replies questioning my sanity when the service entered the conversation. A call to any possible agencies which might know of the service gave me no clue. I had to find the place myself.

I sat on the bed wondering what to do, and how to locate a small building in a strange city. It would be great to hear Susan’s voice again, but how could it be possible? Maggie might even want to hear her voice. Maggie. She hadn’t even been a thought for months.

It had been shortly after Susan’s death that our trouble began. Perhaps it was because of Susan’s death. It was less than a year after Susan was gone that the divorce had become final. Maggie had since remarried and now had two children. She probably couldn’t care less about the phone call.

I tried to sleep to get my mind off that phone call, but sleep just wouldn’t come. I had to locate that building and make another call. But how to locate the building? I had to have a plan. Starting at the convention center, where the walk had begun before, I should be able to find the service.

Only one problem. Where was the start? I had taken a cab from the airport to here at the hotel, and then was taken to supper before we went to the meeting at the center. If only the meeting hadn’t lasted so late. If only I had realized there weren’t any cabs outside before that door locked automatically.

I had to find the convention center and from there, that building. I had to make another phone call and talk with Susan. I didn’t understand it, but since it was possible, I would talk with her again. I had to find that place tomorrow.

The night passed sleepless for me. At the first streak of light I took a shower, shaved, had breakfast at the hotel, and then informed the desk clerk I would be staying for a few days more. Luckily there was no pressing business at home. The quickest way to find the center would be to take a cab. One was sitting in front of the hotel.

“Take me to the convention center, please.”

“What are you? An inspector or something?”

“What?”

“Look, Mister, the company fined me twenty-five clams last week for trying to make an extra buck.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look. A guy gets in my cab and wants to go that four blocks to the center.”

“Four blocks?”

“Ya. Hey, wait a minute. You ain’t an inspector, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Look, Mac, I’m sorry I flew off the handle. I didn’t realize.”

“You said, ‘four blocks’?”

“That’s right. You can see it up the street.”

He pointed up the street. I could see the building, standing, facing me, across the end of the street.

“You mean that’s it?”

“Sure is. You still want me to take you? It’ll cost a fin.”

“No, that won’t really be – . “

I was cut off by a wave of his hand. He was listening to the radio. A voice was sending a cab to the convention center.

“Get in, Mac, and I’ll give you a free ride.”

I got in, and we were off like a jack-rabbit.

“If I can beat Bill to the center, I’ll make up that twenty-five clams I lost last week.”

We barely made it through the first two lights before they turned red. The third one was just turning red as we passed beneath it, and the fourth stopped us.

“Well I’ll be damned!” exclaimed the driver. “Look at that.”

Across the intersection four cabs pulled up in front of the convention center. The building itself was about twelve stories high, and circular. From where we sat I could see four main doors, each facing an incoming street. Between each set of doors was a larger opening for automobile traffic using the underground parking. Some were exits and others entrances.

“I haven’t picked up a good fare all day, and now four jokers are after the same fare I want.”

“Look, Driver – I”

“Call me Dan.”

“Well, Dan, I want to find a place here in town, but I don’t know the address.”

“That does make it tough, but I know this town like the back of my hand. What’s the name of the place?”

My mind began to race. Could I tell him without his calling me a nut? Would he know where the place was or what it was? Then the sign came to mind.

“It’s the D. T. O. S. Service.”

“The D. T. O. S. Service? Never heard of it. What building is it in?”

“Well, it’s in a building of its own.”

“What’s the building look like?”

“It’s a very small place. The building is wood, I think.”

“What’s you mean, you ‘Think’?”

“I only saw it in the fog, and then not very well.”

“Where in town is it located?”

“It must be close to the convention center.”

“Around here? Ain’t no building like that around here.”

“There must be. I walked to it last night.”

“From here?”

“Yes.”

“We might cruise around and look for it. I sure don’t remember seeing it. Which entrance did you use when you left the center?”

“Entrance?”

“Ya. Which direction did you leave?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, now I get it,” he said with a laugh. “This is your first time in the center.”

“Well, yes. How did you know?”

“Happens all the time. Look. The center is built on what use to be the city common. The city fathers decided more money could be made from the building than from a park. Anyway, this building was built the same shape as the park – in a circle. There are eight streets running into the one around the center. More tourists get lost by leaving by a different door than they entered. And with that fog last night I can see how you got lost.”

“There are eight streets?”

“Ya. It really has the rest of the town screwed up. All the cross streets aren’t straight, they form an octagon around the center. About four blocks out each of the cross streets is split on the outside of the octagon. Then it goes that way for about four more blocks before the mess gets straight with the world.”

I handed him a bill from my wallet and told him to keep the change. It must have been more than a one by the way he thanked me. I stood on the corner and looked at the building across the street. A walk around the building revealed that the driver knew what he was talking about.

Deciding to walk back to the hotel, I realized I was again lost. A walk around the building with a look down each street gave not a clue. A look at the building revealed nothing. Crossing the street I entered the center. Above the door was nothing more than an exit sign. It gave no indication of the street facing the door.

Then I remembered my hotel reservation was still in my pocket. Hurriedly pulling it out I found that below the name of the hotel was a post office box number, with no street address.

“Lost?” said a voice behind me.

I tuned to discover what looked like a security guard.

“Yes. Which exit leads toward the Caladonian Hotel?”

Indicating the door to my right, the officer said, “That one.”

I thanked him and left the building. The street before me now looked familiar, and the hotel could be seen down the street. I decided the best way to locate the D. T. O. S. building was to walk and look, but first I needed a better idea of the layout of the streets. I walked across the street and took note of the street marker.

Feeling I couldn’t just walk aimlessly, I devised a plan to cover the area systematically. A great deal of area could be covered in a day. Beginning at that first marker, I walked away from the center for four blocks at which point a left turn was made. Another block was covered and then a turn back toward the center. It was then I noticed the center sat on a hill. The walk would take time, but would be more than worth it if I could talk with Susan once again. I had to find that building.

Walking was almost a new experience. I hadn’t walked more than a block at a time for years. It began to tell the fourth time the center was reached. My legs began to ache, especially on the uphill walks. By the time I reached the center again, my heart was working overtime and my breath came in gasps. It was as if I had run the mile in less than four minutes.

The day was still young and I wanted to go on, but my stomach said food was the order of the moment. A small café next to a bakery had a strong smell of food and made me even hungrier. I entered the café, slipped into a booth, and looked at the menu.

The children’s menu first met my eye. Susan would be able to read it now. I wondered what she might have ordered and decided to ask her with the next call. She would probably want to know how her mother was doing. What could I say?

I was facing the door and noticed the man paying his check at the end of the counter. Something about him looked familiar. What was it? After a few moments it came to me—the bowler hat and armless sleeve. It was Mr. Brock. I tried to get to my feet. My legs didn’t want to move. Sliding to the edge of the cushioned seat I was almost on my feet when the waitress coming to take my order accidentally knocked me down.

By the time I got back on my feet he was out the door. Hurrying as fast as possible toward the door, my aching legs turned a run into a slow limping walk. Jerking the door open and moving onto the sidewalk, I could see Mr. Brock about half way down the block. A yell at him did no good. Moving as fast as possible I could not catch him. He disappeared around the corner.

Now I would never know if it was him. He could have told me where the place was. Why hadn’t I called to him in the café? Where was the place? Hope filled me that he might be seen again.

My legs ached and could go no further. I sat on a bus stop bench and looked around. My legs twitched painfully. The center could be seen just up the street. At least I knew where that building was located. The hunger pangs slowly passed so I decided to return to my hotel, being too tired to continue the search for the present time.

The walk was painful and I could never have made it to my room if there had been no elevator. Hot water soon filled the tub and my body slowly slipped in, to soak. Hurting from the waist down, I felt as if my hip joints were swollen and would never work again.

As I sat in the tub, thoughts of Susan began to fill my mind. The telephone call ran over and over in my head. Visions of that building with the four pane window slipped in and out of my mind. The whole scene of the previous night passed before me. The pleasant thoughts of Susan and the warmth of the water soon put me to sleep.

When I awoke, the water was like ice, and my legs hurt even more. The cold water was let out and more hot run into the tub. This time sleep did not even tempt me. Even when the pulsating of my legs slowed down, it was still a struggle to get out of the tub. I crawled into the bed and tried to sleep, but to no avail. Out the window the sky was black. Rolling over to look at the clock I found my back was also stiff. The clock indicated the entire afternoon had been spent in the tub.

I lay back down, turned out the light, and, after awhile fell asleep. Again visions of Susan came into view. Not pleasant dreams, but nightmares. Every accident she had ever had from a fall out of the swing to cutting herself on a toy passed before me. I woke up with a start at the sight of her final accident. The sweat was pouring down my face.

Why must children die? They haven’t lived, really. But Susan had said she was happy. And that boy? What was his name? Joey. He could walk. I had to talk to her again.

Light was coming in the window. Daytime again. My legs still hurt, but I had to keep looking. After getting dressed and eating breakfast, the search was begun once more. A search which lasted several days.

Each day the search began with the first streak of dawn and lasted until the last ray of light. Each day I began fresh, only to collapse each night. Each morning hope held me, and each night Susan came to mind. Time was nothing with the sound of Susan’s voice driving me. How many days I searched no one knows, but find it I would. But where?

When entering the hotel last night, the thought came to me that the street looked different in the waning daylight. Perhaps that was the problem. The search had always been during the daytime. Of course the building would look different at night. Why hadn’t that fact come to me before now?

Hurrying out of the hotel, I almost knocked down a lady with two suitcases and a poodle. The dog barked at me and ran around the lady, tangling her legs in its leash. She said something to me, but I really didn’t hear it.

The sun was gone by the time I reached the center. I felt sure that now the building could be found and the call made to Susan. It would be so great to talk with her again. Greater understanding as to what the old man meant, when he said a person appreciated it more when the calls were kept short, came to mind.

It would be a short call, but I would call every night for the rest of my life. We could recall old times and happy events like that trip to the coast when she found that starfish. She talked about that trip for months after. Right up to the time she – .

Yes, right up to the time she died. The thought of that scene turned my stomach. I then realized it had been over twenty-four hours since I had last eaten. Oh well, food could be had after the call was made. There was lots of time.

Putting my hand to my chin, thinking about where to start, it came to me that I hadn’t shaved for the past several days. Quite a growth. Come to think of it, I had come in so later the night before and was so tired, that I just flopped on the bed and went to sleep. Now, however, everything was a real mess, including my clothes.

Thoughts about that first night came back to me. It suddenly struck me that I had seen no traffic lights that night. That could really narrow down the search area. The street light had also been different. It had been the old fashioned kind with the fluted base and the light hanging in a round globe from a curved arm. It was the kind we had so very long ago in my hometown. I hadn’t seen any like it during the entire search, but then I hadn’t been looking.

As I passed an alley, a light about the center of the block came into view. In all the days of searching, the thought that the building might be in an alley hadn’t occurred to me. It’s strange how a person can look at something and not really see it. Thinking back, I realized that the building could have been higher than first thought because the top just faded from view. Having thought of it as being on a corner, the idea of it being on the edge of a vacant lot was something new.

I walked toward the light in the alley. It was the same fluted type of light. At least one of them existed. That meant there must be more. Standing under the light, and basking in its beautiful glow, I could have hugged that fluted column. As I moved out of the glow into the shadow, they hit me.

The first was a grazing blow to the back of my head. Dodging to the left, I hit a brick window ledge. A warm liquid dripped down my cheek and then they hit me in the back. Pain stopped any intended movement as I fell to the ground. They took my wallet, watch, and everything from my pockets, including my hotel key.

After the sound of their footsteps had faded down the alley, I got to my feet. My ankle hurt. It must have been turned in the scuffle. The skin on my cheek had been laid open for about two inches below my left eye. The warm blood still oozed out and down my cheek. A pain shot down my right leg, and the right side of my lower back felt as if it was on fire.

I had to get help. Couldn’t call Susan while in that condition, and that call had to be made.

I limped to the end of the alley. A man was coming down the street toward me. The walk was familiar. My eyes were watering, but it looked like Mr. Brock.

Waiting until he got closer, I called, “Mr. Brock?”

He ignored me. I grabbed his empty sleeve as he passed.

“Mr. Brock!”

He looked at me in disgust, but it was Mr. Brock. He pulled away. I jumped at him and grabbed his lapels.

“Mr. Brock! You’ve got to help me!” I shouted.

“Get away from me, Old Man,” was all he said as he pushed me away.

My ankle twisted and I fell to the ground in pain.

“Get away from me before I call a cop, you drunken sot.”

Another call to him did no good as he hurried away. I watched as he turned a corner further down the street. My ankle might have been broken, my kidney ruptured, and my face cut wide open, but I was sure it was Mr. Brock. Why had he ignored me? What had I ever done to him?

My stomach began to churn. I felt I would have to heave my guts, but nothing came. My stomach began to ache. That gnawing ache of hunger. Susan had never been hungry. Not really. I wanted to talk with her. Tears came to my eyes as her name softly passed my lips. Then I cried. It was the first time I had really cried about her death.

After about an hour of crying, I felt a strange emptiness. Sitting there looking up into that inky blackness of a moonless night, I had no strength to even raise my arms. Far above the tops of the building the stars twinkled brightly. I remembered being a boy and sleeping on our back lawn looking up at the stars. That seemed so very long ago. Susan never did sleep out under the stars. I had to call her.

Why hadn’t Mr. Brock stopped to help me? Why had he just pushed me aside? Perhaps he didn’t even want to see me. Afraid I’d ask about that place. Probably the whole thing was a set up! Yes, that’s it. The whole place was a set up.

But Susan had sounded so real. What about Joey? She mentioned that boy Joey. Had to think. She did have a classmate named Joey, or did she? Couldn’t really remember.

The pain in my side seemed to erupt, cutting off the question about Joey for a minute, and then the realization came home. If there hadn’t been a Joey, there was nothing to support the phone call. It sounded like her, but I was upset. Any voice would have sounded like hers.

I couldn’t sit there all night. Had to get cleaned up. Had to try once more to find that place after I got cleaned up. My side and ankle burned with pain.

I finally tried to stand up. My face no longer oozed blood, but the pain in my side was worse. My ankle hurt, but walking was possible. I moved to the corner and noticed a cab parked in the middle of the block. Making my way to it, I discovered the driver was Dan. The only one in town I knew.

“My God! What happened to you?” he cried as he got out of his cab.

“Do you remember me?”

“Look, Mac, I never forget a person who gives me twenty bucks for a four block ride. What happened?”

“Had a problem in an alley.”

“Ya. That I can see.”

“They took everything. Can you take me to my hotel?”

“Yes, Sir. And this trip is on me.”

He drove hurriedly to the hotel and then asked, “Need help from here?”

“No, thanks. I’ll make it.”

He watched as I walked to the door, and then drove off. A cop stopped me near the door.

“Sorry, buddy. This ain’t the mission.”

“What?”

“This hotel doesn’t want any drunks sleeping it off in their doorway.”

“Wait a minute, Officer. I have a room here. I was just beaten and robbed. I want to clean up and then report the incident.”

He took me over to the light and looked at my face.

“Yes, that could be. What’s your name?”

“George Haws.”

“Just a minute.”

He disappeared into the hotel for a moment and then reappeared.

“They say you’re registered here. I’ll let you go in, but don’t let me catch you boozing it up on my beat or I’ll run you in.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Did I look like a wino? He walked on down the street. Where were they when you really needed them?

The manager of the hotel met me at the door.

“Mr. Haws! What happened?”

“It’s a long story. Right now I just want to get to my room and clean up.”

“Well, uh – That’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”

“What?”

“Mr. Haws, you have been here for sometime. I don’t want to seem pushy, but we were wondering if you might pay some of your bill?”

“What in hell do you want?”

“Well – uh.”

“Let’s go up to my room. I have some checks there. You will accept a check, won’t you?”

“Well – Uh – Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

We started toward the elevator when a man stopped the manager. They moved away a few steps and conversed between themselves for a minute. The manager kept looking over his shoulder at me as if he expected me to try to escape. He indicated to the man that their conversation was ended, and straightening his jacket, returned to me.

“Mr. Haws, I have some bad news. Your room was entered and everything was removed.”

“What?”

“We suspected it was a trick of some sort until just now. However, a tenant on that floor witnessed the whole thing. We can now see how they got your key.”

“Everything?”

“Do you have another room I can use?”

“I’m sorry, but we are completely filled.”

“Oh, my God.”

I walked to a sofa and sat down.

“Is there anything I can do?” asked the manager.

“Just leave me alone for awhile.”

He left, and I lay down and put my feet up. Pain ran through my body. Who knows if I slept or not, I only remember that terrible pain in my side. Blurred pictures came into my mind. Ghastly visions of men on black horses, decaying women with the flesh rotted off half their faces, tracked vehicles grinding people to a bloody pulp. The pain shot through my whole being and I suddenly sat up.

The lobby was empty and no one was behind the desk. I put my head in my hands and noticed my head was on fire. My ankle throbbed with pain and my side was tender to the touch. Again my stomach began demanding food. A cough left a racking pain in my side. I felt like throwing up my guts.

The only place I could get rid of the stuff was in the gutter outside. Hobbling to the door and out to the curb, I leaned over to let fly. Nothing came except pain. My side felt as if it might explode. The pain made me dizzy. I reached for the upright on the awning and stood erect.

I opened my eyes and saw the fog. Not just any fog, but that same eerie fog that had covered the city on the first night. A ray of hope came with the fog. Perhaps that place could be found in the fog. I staggered off in the direction of the center.

The fog hid everything that was away from the lights. The buildings looked strange in that thick, cold mist. I walked to the corner and looked for the traffic light. There was none. Where was it? Did they shut them off late at night? I didn’t understand.

The fog slowly began to creep in the holes in my clothing. The neck was first. I could feel the moisture run down inside my collar. My hands were slimy from the dampness. I wiped them on my trouser leg and noticed the pants were also damp. I felt slimy all over as if my clothes had been left on when taking a shower. Sweat burned my eyes. I wiped them with my hand and only made the sting worse.

The search for Susan’s voice after this night could not be continued. I was broke, had no clothes, and no place to sleep. That place had to be found. The alleys would be the first place to look. That street light had been there earlier.

The light in the alley was greenish. I passed under the light and watched my shadow swim into the fog ahead of me. The pain in my side made a stab at stopping me, and each step sent an electric shock up my leg. I kept pushing through the fog.

I could see the building in my mind, there in that fog, and began talking to myself softly.

“I’ll talk to Susan one more time. Oh, hell! It’s all a trick. You can’t talk to the dead. But why not? No one around here seems to have heard of the place. The old man did say they weren’t well known even through they don’t charge. Why don’t more people know about the service? Why wouldn’t Mr. Brock speak to me? Who the devil does he think he is, anyway? He sure isn’t a god. Maybe he is the devil. He called me an ‘old man’. I probably looked so bad he just didn’t recognize me. He would have told me where the service is.

“Ya, he would have told me so I could take some of his time. Of course, that’s why he wouldn’t speak to me. I’d use some of his precious time. That dirty son-of-a— Wait! The calls are short. I wouldn’t take his time. Or his money since the service is free.

“I’ll bet the service isn’t free. After they let you talk to that recording the first time anyone would be willing to pay. Look at me. I’d be willing to pay to hear Susan’s voice. It’s got to be a set-up. They led me into it some how. Anyone in town could have known I was coming here for that meeting. They checked back and found out all about all of us.

“The dirty rotten – I’ll prove they’re fake if it’s the last thing I do. They won’t get away with this fraud!”

I had gone through several alleys by that time. My head was on fire and about to explode. My side was one big burning pain, and my foot almost dragging behind me. I had to go on.

The fog got thicker and colder. My clothes began sticking to my skin. I felt sick at my stomach and went to the edge of the alley to throw up. Again, nothing came out. I leaned against the fluted lamp pole and closed my eyes.

“Must go on. Got to prove they are fakes.”

Opening my eyes I saw it. The small building with the four pane window. I shook my head to clear it. Yes, it was the building. The phone could be seen through the window. I moved toward the building. The old man was asleep on his stool. Weaving outside the door, I wondered how to prove them a fake. The only way I knew was to call someone who was alive. Why not myself?

The small step up into the warm room caused immense pain to shoot up my leg. My side intensified the agony and I almost cried out.

“Must not wake the old man,” I thought.

It was pure hell moving to the phone.

“Must write down the number. Must get it right. Let me think.

Grandmother’s maiden name, mother’s maiden name, my last name, and my name. Must get it right!”

It was painful writing down the number as my whole side boiled with pain.

“Must dial correctly.”

Each turn of the dial was a roar in my ear.

“1A 3N 1D 3W 3I 3L 2H 1A 3W 1G 2E 1O 1R 1G 2E.”

I waited. The pause seemed eternal. My side seethed with pain, sweat began to pour down my face burning my eyes and cut cheek. I felt faint and dizzy. My legs began to give way as a voice said, “I’m sorry, but that number will not be connected or in service until tomorrow.”

THE END