All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923) (25 page)

Ever since working at the carwash as a teenager Lester had honed his talent in the service industry. Now as a self-employed window washer, he had built up a steady clientele of regular residential customers. But the weather outside this time of year had started to change and business had slowed down. He probably wouldn’t have too much work again until it got a little closer to Thanksgiving. Everyone wanted clean windows before the family get-togethers. It looked like it might be raining all day anyway so he justified not feeling guilty about it. He set his bat back in its place and walked into the living room. He cleared his dishes and picked up the journal, put it in a bag, and hung it on a hook beside his coat. He turned around and stared at the cigarette in the ashtray.

“Man, I’m not putting that baby out,” he said, taking the ashtray and all into the kitchen. He set it on the counter in a spot where he was sure there was nothing else flammable and marveled at the cigarette once again. It looked as if it had only just been lit, barely burned up at all.

“Good night, Mr. Cigarette. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He turned out the kitchen lights and walked down the hall to his room. Two minutes later, he was asleep.

Morning came one minute later. At least it seemed that way to Lester. He rolled around under the sheets, bunching the pillow up over his face, trying unsuccessfully to pretend the sun had not risen. At last he dragged himself off the edge of the bed and half sleepwalked into the bathroom where he splashed water on his face. Refreshed, he brushed his teeth and relieved himself, going through his morning routine on autopilot. He was pulling on a fresh pair of drawers when he smelled smoke. Instantly he was wide awake.

Lester ran down the hall into the kitchen. It was definitely smoky. He looked around to see what was on fire and noticed the cigarette still sitting lit but unburned in the ashtray. A thin column of smoke rose up from the cherry on the end of it, curling around itself in whorls and meringue crenelations of white vapor. With no windows open the soot-smelling fumes had nowhere to go and had filled up the house. Lester turned on the range hood fan and was intrigued to see the smoke in the room alter its course as it was expelled from the house.

“A magic cigarette is one thing,” he said, “but I’m going to have to leave a window open.”

The phone rang

“Hey, Les, get any reading done last night?” Al asked when Lester answered it.

“Quite a bit actually,” he replied. “I’ve got a million questions.”

“Save ‘em,” said Al. “Meet me for lunch around one.”

“Sure. Where?”

“How about that new vegetarian place downtown, Peaceful Greens. I’m feeling like an omelet.”

“That’s funny because you sound like a ham sandwich.”

“Oh, you crack me up.”

“Are we gonna’ do egg puns all day?”

“Beats me.”

“I’ll see you there.”

“Eggsactly.”

Lester hung up the phone, shaking his head, and let out a belated laugh. Good old Al. Nothing gets past him. Come to think of it, an omelet did sound good. Lester glanced up at the clock—a quarter after twelve already. He started the coffee and dressed quickly. He poured himself a travelling cup of black adrenaline, made sure he had the bag with the journal, his wallet, watch, glasses, and house key before leaving, then opened the front door. It was windy out, but the rain had stopped.
Good,
thought Lester. Leaving the front door open to air out the place for a few seconds, he went back into the kitchen and grabbed the cigarette. “Can’t forget you,” he said to it.

Lester decided to walk the sixteen blocks to the restaurant.
It
feels good to stretch my legs and get a little exercise
, he thought as he puffed on his smoke.
Let the lungs fill up with some nature. Let the heart rate rise a little, get the old, cold blood pumping
. There weren’t too many people out on the gray overcast day, and when Lester finally reached the diner he looked in the windows before going inside. The place was empty.

There was a no smoking sign on the door. “Oh great,” he mumbled to himself. He set the cigarette on the ledge below the huge, plateglass windows and went inside. He found a little table for two tucked into an alcove up near the front windows, and when the waiter came around to take his order he asked for a menu. The place was Spartan but clean. Each table had a sage-colored cloth on it and a vase of fresh flowers. The floor looked recently refinished, herringbone parquet made from a natural rich, oak wood, inlaid with squares, triangles, and lozenges. The chairs were all of different styles from the late 1950s but had been reupholstered in vibrant, primary colors. Local artwork was tastefully hung on the walls and soft jazz played from hidden speakers.

Nice place,
thought Lester.

He ordered the signature scramble for himself and Al, omelet-style with mushrooms, green pepper, and olives, and two glasses of cranberry juice. The waiter had just walked away when the silver bell above the entrance rang and Al walked in.

“Six thousand years of unblemished health and now I think I might have a stroke,” said Al, sinking into a chair.

“What?”

“You got here before me. You must have been hungry.”

“Famished.”

Al had his black, leather satchel with him. He took it off his shoulder and unzipped it.

“I like your purse,” joked Lester.

“I believe the modern vernacular is ‘murse.’”

“Well, it’s kinda gay,” said Lester.

“Happy?”

“Queer.”

“Odd?”

“Homo.”

“Human?”

“Forget it,” Lester surrendered.

“Forgotten. Did you bring back my journal?” asked Al.

“Got it right here,” said Lester, picking up the plastic grocery sack from the floor and handing it to Al. Al grimaced and pulled the journal out of the bag.

“Very classy.”

“Well, it won’t be confused with a murse, that’s for sure.”

“Touché.”

“By the way,” said Lester, “there were a couple of pages missing from it. Torn out. I just didn’t want you to think I did it.”

“What? Where?” asked Al, a genuine look of alarm on his face as he flipped open a journal.

“Near the middle, I think.”

“Oh, that, yes,” said Al, turning to the spot and clearly relaxing, “that’s nothing.”

“Nothing? How can you say that’s nothing? Did you tear ‘em out?”

“Yeah, but I’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?”

“Tearing them out. Alright, look. I was a bit ashamed of what they said. You read the journal.”

“Yeah,” answered Lester, even though Al hadn’t phrased it as a question.

“Well, that was the part where I wrote down some of the things I’d said while I was praying. Things I shouldn’t have said. I was angry when I said them and I was trying to be true to myself when I wrote them down. But later when I went back and read what I’d written, it sickened me. To be reminded so starkly of my shortcomings and failures made me despise my base-nature. Which is not to say that that is a bad thing. Everyone needs to come to that point. But when I realized, hoped, that one day someone might read my words, it was just too much. I think you can still get the gist of the prayer without all the gory details.”

Lester nodded, letting Al off the hook, and the waiter appeared.

The plates that he set in front of them were beige and square-shaped. The food on them was artistically displayed, colorful, and steaming hot.

“Oh, wow, you ordered for us. This looks great. Thank you,” said Al as he looked up at the waiter.

“My pleasure, gentlemen. Enjoy.”

Al bowed his head for a moment and then the two men were silent as they took their first bites.

“Oh, this is delicious.”

“It does hit the spot,” said Lester.

They ate a few more bites before something clicked in Lester’s brain that had been nagging him for the last several minutes.

“Hey, Al, can I ask you a question?”

“I assumed that was why we were here.”

“Yeah, but this question isn’t one that I had thought to ask until just now.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Bang.”

Al just sat there and looked at him, as if the old joke was just that. Old.

“Alright, well, it just seemed like when I told you there were a couple of pages missing you overreacted. I mean, I understand that you forgot that you tore the pages out yourself, but you seemed like you thought maybe someone else had done it. You seemed worried.”

“Nah.”

“But last night you told me that besides you, I am the only one who has ever seen these notebooks. So why do I get the sense that you thought maybe someone else had taken the pages? I know it was only for a few seconds, but it was there. I swear it.”

“It’s nothing, Les. Don’t worry about it. Just a moment of uncertainty. I’ve done everything I can to take precautions with those journals, to not let them fall into the wrong hands.”

“The wrong hands?”

“Well, you know, if somebody inadvertently got their hands on these notebooks, there’s no telling what they would think of what I’ve written in there.”

“If you thought somebody got their hands on one of them, you sure didn’t act like you thought it was inadvertent.”

“Like you said, I overreacted.”

Lester felt like he was missing an important piece of the puzzle, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Al was clearly hiding something. Lester knew his friend well enough that Al’s dodge didn’t sit well with him. He had to try a new tactic.

“So, is it true that you picked up a two thousand pound hrak and carried it on your shoulders?”

“Oh, that. Well yeah, that’s true. It was an aurorch. An animal that, sadly, is now extinct. But I guess scientists are trying to bring them back. Analyzing their DNA from preserved bone material to create a close copy of their genome that they think will allow them to breed an animal nearly identical to the aurorch. They call it the Heck aurorch, I believe.”

“Interesting to be sure, but I’m more interested in seeing you pick up a car.”

Al laughed. “Sure, maybe some time.”

“How about now?” asked Lester, looking out the window and down the street at Al’s Chevy.

“Uh, I don’t think we want to advertise this now, do we, Les?”

“Advertise?”

“Don’t you think that if there were a guy out there picking up cars the news would be all over him like sharks on a chum spill?”

“Well, yeah I guess.”

“There’s probably a lot of shady characters out there too that would like to know how that guy happened to be so strong. I really wouldn’t have any answer for them, would I? I mean, what could I say? I work out? I eat my spinach? It’s not that heavy of a car really? What? What could I say that would get them off my back once they climbed on?”

And then it hit Lester, the thought that had been itching in his mind for the last few minutes.

“I saw somebody last night, Al.”

“A girl?”

“I don’t know.”

“Les, that’s not good. How much did you drink last night?”

“I saw somebody looking in my window. At least I thought I did. It was like three-thirty in the morning and I had just finished reading the journal you gave me. I hadn’t noticed while I was reading that it had started raining, and when I looked up and out the window I thought I saw somebody duck down.”

Al’s blood turned to ice water.

“I wasn’t sure and when I checked it out there was no one there. I figured that maybe it was just in my imagination. I was tired. I had had a few too many to drink at the bar. But maybe it was just kids, daring each other’s manliness.”

Al’s face had gone as pale as paste. Lester noticed a slight tremor in Al’s hand before he put down his fork.

“Al, you okay, brother?”

“I’ve tried to be so careful, covering my tracks. But they’re getting closer. How’d they find me? Bank statements? Property taxes?” Al seemed to be talking to himself. He surely couldn’t expect Lester to know the answers. Lester didn’t even understand the questions.

“How did who find you, Al?”

“The bad guys.”

“What bad guys?”

“The lightmen. The ones who are always seeking…enlightenment. They will want what I am. They won’t believe that it’s not possible.