The Haunter of the Threshold (8 page)

“A mountain?” Hazel questioned, “or summit or whatever it is?”

“Yeah, supposedly there’s a cottage at the top. Henry and my father found it over a decade ago, and I want to see it.”

“A cottage,” Sonia sputtered. “Of all the things...”

“They called it the Gray Cottage. Henry probably has some old papers in the place, which I’d need to see,” Frank continued. “The whole thing’s kind of curious.”

“Just do me a favor, Frank!” Sonia furthered her grievance. “Come down from there right now!”

“Tomorrow, like I said. I’ve almost found it, and I can’t stop after coming this far.” The noises crackled over the line. “And, honey, I’ve found out more since we last talked. When I got here Sunday—I’ve told you this part–the first thing I see is Henry’s body. He’d killed himself the night before.”

“But I thought the cabin was ransacked,” Hazel remembered. “Couldn’t someone have murdered him and made it
look
like suicide?”

“Nope. It’s true, someone went through the place looking for something, but they didn’t touch Henry’s wallet which was full of credit cards and cash. And, besides, Henry left a suicide note: a note specifically for me.”

Something about the way he’d said that gave Hazel a chill.

“It was right on the desk in his study. It read something like:
My
dear friend Frank: if you’re reading this, then I am already dead,
and some other stuff. But at the bottom was a phone number he wanted me to call.”

“A phone number?” Sonia asked, not happy with any of this. “Whose?”

“I’ll get to that. First thing I did was call the authorities. First the county sheriff’s department came out, followed by an ambulance, which transported Henry’s body to the morgue at Laconia General.”

“Frank!” Sonia yelled. “What was the number?”

“It was a lawyer, in Laconia,” Frank said. “So I called him, told him what happened, and then he told me he had urgent papers for me, in the event of Henry’s death. Next day, I got Henry’s death report and took it to the lawyer, and-and...well, here’s the shocker.”

Hazel and Sonia looked at each other.

“Henry’s last will and testament left his estate to me,” Frank said.

“You’re kidding!” Sonia gasped.

“No. He left me the cabin and the ten acres of land it’s on, for one thing. That could be worth a lot of money, but he also left me the fifty grand in his checking account, plus some stocks and certificates. The lawyer’s not sure exactly how much it’s all worth, but it’s at least another couple hundred grand.”

What a guy,
Hazel thought.

Sonia had her hand to her chest. “I’d say it’s wonderful but of course, not under these circumstances. Still, what a shock.”

“You’re telling me,” Frank said. “I don’t inherit anything until the will’s out of probate, but I honestly can’t see Henry owing people a lot of money. Whatever it’s all worth, I’ll finally be able to get my father out of that shit-hole assisted living place in Concord and move him into something primo.”

Sonia was stunned. “Oh, Frank, I don’t know what to say.”

“I know. It sucks to have a family friend die in order to make out like a bandit. I’m more pissed off than anything. I’m pissed off that he killed himself.”

“It was probably something that had been brewing in him for a long time,” Hazel offered. “That’s the modus for most suicidals.”

“Not in this case, I don’t think so. It’s all that damn storm. He never recovered from that. Dad talked to him a few times since May, said that Henry wasn’t himself anymore.”

“It’s understandable,” Sonia reasoned.

“Sure,” Hazel added. “He goes to Florida for a vacation and winds up witnessing one of America’s worst natural disasters
.
”

Sonia: “And
surviving
when so many others were killed. That would damage anyone’s psyche.”

Another pause on the line, then Frank said, “But there was one more thing that Henry left me through the lawyer: instructions.”

“To finish his work, the side project you, he, and your father were working on,” Sonia said.

“No, no, that’s what he told me on the phone when he invited me up, but remember, that was ulterior, just to get me up there. The instructions said he wants me to
destroy
all of his papers and files. He said the theory is unworkable, and he didn’t want it ever released to the public because he’d be regarded as a crackpot.”

“How strange,” Sonia said. “It was something you were working on for years.”

“For me, yes, it was years, but for Henry and my father it was decades,” Frank said.

Hazel had to ask, “What exactly was the nature of the work?”

“Non-Euclidean geometric patterns, but—” Frank chuckled. “You girls are lit-heads. It’d be useless for me to explain.”

Sonia didn’t have a clue. “Non-Euclid...”

“I may be a lit-head, Frank,” Hazel admitted, “and a great many men I’ve dated think of me as something else that rhymes with that, but I took enough math to know that
all
geometry is Euclidean. It has to be ‘cos Euclid invented it.”

“Did he really
invent
it, Hazel?” Frank queried, “or was he merely the first to understand the measurability of angles, planes, and points well enough to give it a name? Did mathematics exist before someone contemplated the equation one plus one equals two? Did plasma-physics exist a half-million years ago when the only proto-humans were awkward primates who didn’t have the sense even to use sticks for tools?”

Sonia and Hazel stared through a pause.

Frank began to spout, “Sure, the hypothesis of non-Euclideanism is considered gimcrackery, but only because it relies on
assumptions
that can’t disprove Euclid’s Ten Elements and all the laws of geometry that followed them. But in our theory—well, it’s mostly Henry’s—we’ve all but proved the existence of
inconstancy
between stable angles, planes, and points.”

“Huh?” Hazel asked.

“He’s on a roll now,” Sonia said. “But
you
asked for it.”

“This inconsistency is generated by
identifying
certain sequences of angular degrees that, when properly aggregated, come together to form a
manipulable
configuration. In other words, that configuration changes
without
changing.”

Sonia sighed. “Frank. Enough.”

“In other words
constancy
and
in
constancy become one in the same. A forty-five degree angle can assume a state of fictility—”

“Oh, sure, we know what that means!” Sonia exclaimed.

“—and, hence, widen to forty-
six
degrees while the original forty-five remains constant.”

“Frank,” Sonia said, “don’t run your cell battery down.”

“But what’s the ultimate point of the theory?” Hazel asked.

“I’m glad you asked that, since
lit-heads
would never be able to understand without delimitating into layman’s terms. The ultimate point is essentially infi nite. What we’re talking about here is the
malleability
of the unmalleable, Hazel. The tenets of Non-Euclideanism have the potential to produce unlimited energy. They could transpose objects of unequal weight and mass between two points of vast distance. They could prolapse
gravity.
They could elevate an object the size of the Great Pyramid into outer space with an energy cost of
zero.
They could convert the top eighth of an inch of water in the Atlantic into enough hydrogen to provide the entire world with a decade’s worth of electricity, for
nothing.
”

“Frank,” Sonia said, “We have to go now, but we’ll see you tomorrow!”

“To me it sounds like pie in the sky,” Hazel said. “It’s like cold fusion. Sure, it would be great to achieve nuclear temperatures without a nuclear source, but if it’s even possible, the initial energy expenditure would be more than the energy produced.”

“Hazel!” Frank shrilled. “You’re catching on!”

“Frank, seriously. Let me ask you something–”

Sonia groaned. “Hazel, honey, please don’t.”

“Between you, your father, and Henry Wilmarth, who’s the smartest?”

Frank didn’t hesitate. “Henry, beyond a doubt. He’s a genius.

When he was alive he understood geometric thesis better than anyone in the country.”

“So, logically, if the smartest of the trio has determined that the theory can’t work, then what’s the most rational conclusion?”

A sigh over the line. “I know, that the theory is indeed unworkable. But you don’t understand how exciting this was for us. I even called my dad and asked him what I should do.”

“What did he say?” Sonia asked with a frown.

“He told me to respect Henry’s wishes and destroy all the work. I mean, I
will
do that, I have to. He left me his entire estate and only asked one thing in return, I
have
to do it.” The cell connection drifted. “I
do
have to check this cottage and see what he’s got in there, that’s all. Bear with me.”

Sonia began to whine, “But, Frank, I don’t
like
the idea of you gallivanting around on a mountain—”

“It’s just a minor geographical summit, honey.”

“Whatever! I need you to come down
now.
I
need
you. Tonight! And you...you
know
what I mean...”

“This is just a wild guess,” Hazel laughed, “but I think she means oral sex, Frank.”

“Oh, ah, of course!” Frank blurted. “Believe me, honey, there’ll be plenty of that tomorrow, and plenty of the, uh, other kind once junior’s seen the light of day.”

Sonia slapped Hazel on the arm; Hazel only laughed.

“And by the way, how’s junior doing?” Frank asked.

“Kicking away as usual,” Sonia replied, rubbing her belly. “I really do think it’s going to be a boy, and one with a penchant for soccer.”

“Perfect! Look, girls, I’m going to get back to my trail-blazing, so drive safe and I’ll see you tomorrow. And have fun at the cabin. I’ll call you tonight around nine to see how it’s going.”

“Be careful up there,” Sonia pleaded once more. “And don’t forget, I love you.”

“I love you too—a shitload.”

“How romantic!” Hazel squealed.

When the farewells were finished, Sonia ended the call, a tear in her eye.

“He’ll be fine,” Hazel assured. “Men pushing forty get on an adventure kick. Don’t worry.”

“
Fuck
adventure,” Sonia made the rare profanity. “He shouldn’t be climbing mountains and mucking about in the woods. There’s
snakes,
for God’s sake.”

“Don’t worry! If a snake comes along, Frank’ll bore it to death motor-mouthing about geometry,” Hazel offered.

That got a smile out of Sonia.

“And since you won’t be with him tonight,” Hazel added without thinking, “I’ve got a three-set of vibrating love-clips, if you want to borrow them. They’re
great.
” She grinned. “I’ll even put them on for you.”

Sonia laughed, astonished. “Hazel, please...Just drive...”

Two hours later, the turnpikes’ monotonous panorama of asphalt, concrete, and flurries of cars had lapse-dissolved into one of plush foliage, hundred-foot-tall trees, and shaded, curving forest roads. Everything was so deliriously green that Hazel had to catch her breath.
I need to get out of the city more,
she thought. She’d never been the outdoorsy type but suddenly being in the midst of all this wildlife, she felt bereft, as though she’d been missing out on something important for so long.

“It’s so beautiful,” Sonia observed, eyes wide on the scenery pouring past her window. “And it’s so cool we’re driving on a road called the Daniel Webster Highway.”

“Only English majors could appreciate that,” Hazel remarked. “But Benet’s story still pisses me off.”

“
Why?
It’s a wonderful story!”

Hazel flapped her hand. “It’s a ripoff of Washington Irving’s ‘The Devil and Tom Walker.’”

“It’s a variation on a theme, Hazel. Not plagiarism.”

“And the asshole wins the Pulitzer!”