X: Chaos in Two Dimensions

X: Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

I spent the evening trying to figure out how X seemed to know when something in the office needed his attention.
I couldn't.
The next morning I went to Lt. Cantor's office and gave my statement. After I signed it, I asked Cantor what was going on with Cindy.
He sighed, sat across from me at his desk and shuffled some papers.
"So," I said, "Did she tell you the same story she told me?"
He shook his head, took out a cigarette and lit it. Smoke spilled through his nostrils and half opened mouth, slowly spreading through the no-smoking public building..
"We got her to the station and put her in an interview room. She asked Officer Mentan for some coffee. She left the room, got the coffee and returned within three minutes.
"The girl was sprawled on the table, dead. We got the coroner right over
here; he pronounced her and bagged her.
"Doctor Saull called me at home about one this morning to report. He told me the girl had been dead for almost four days, according to the deterioration of her brain cells."
Cantor lit another smoke and contemplated the ceiling for a while, trying to blow a good smoke ring.
Finally, he continued.
"Our illustrious coroner told me that I must have played a joke on him, that there was no way in hell I could have been talking to the girl an hour before I called him to get over here. I told him he was full of shit. He insisted that he wasn't."
I thought I'd be helpful, so I added, "I spoke to her too."
Cantor crushed out his cigarette on his desk top. Maybe his mother never taught him any manners.
"That's the hell of it," he said. "You spoke to her, Officer Mentan spoke to her and I spoke to her. Still, Dr. Saull says she'd been dead for about four days.
"If I didn't know better, if I hadn't talked to her myself, I'd think this was some gag your boss thought up to piss me off."
He shook his head again.
"But, I talked to her myself. I don't get it. How could she have been dead for four days?"
"Excuse me, Lt. Cantor," I asked, hating to see a cop get maudlin, "Did you check out her story about the death of her friends, other than Frank?"
"The local cops said there was nothing to find. Then again, they sounded about as excited about checking out the woods as they would be having a root canal."
Cantor shook himself like a wet dog. He pointed to me and said, "You get out of here. I've got work to do."
I got out of there and braved traffic all the way back to the office.
For the first time in a week, X was in the office before me. He looked at me as I walked into the office and snapped, "Report!"
I told him Cantor's story. I really didn't know yet how he would react to news like that. I found out when he waited until I was finished and nodded once and said, "Of course."
Feeling a little testy, I shouted back, "What the fuck do you mean, of course?"
He held his hand up and stared at me. I actually felt myself calm down.
"Sorry, X, I shouldn't have shouted at you, but I'll tell you something. In the last twenty four hours I've heard some weird shit, but this is the topper. Cindy was sitting in this chair talking to me for almost an hour. How could she have been dead for four days?
"I think that question merits a bit more conversation than 'of course'."
X looked at me, a bland expression on his face, and said, "Of course."
I gritted my teeth together and walked around to my desk and, opening the bottom drawer, took out a bottle of scotch. I figured it was mandatory for a private investigator to have a bottle of scotch in his desk drawer. X frowned as I poured some in a water glass and took a large swallow.
Looking him directly in the eye, I took a second gulp. It went down the wrong pipe and I started coughing so hard I doubled over. The spasms passed in a minute or two. I poured the rest of the alcohol in the sink and got a diet soda from the fridge. I looked at X again. The expression on his face hadn't changed.
Finally, I got comfortable behind my desk and asked, "Will you please tell me what you mean by 'Of course'."
I held up my hand and said, “And please, don't answer my question with another 'of course'."
X was quiet for a moment. I thought I saw a corner of his mouth twitch. He finally said, "Certainly."
Before I could say another word, he continued.
"Grady, you are a man of action. I can respect that. You must learn to be a thoughtful man. To think before you act. You are frustrated because you don't know what's going on. Before you explode into action, stop and think."
I asked X, "Do you know what's going on?"
"Not yet."
He said it with a straight face, too.
"Fine," I said, "So what do we think about?"
"About Gaston, Elaine Westerfield and the walking dead."
My eyes moved towards the ceiling. I raised my arms in supplication and said, "Zombies! Of course! It’s plan 11 from outer space, and George Romero is in Gaston doing his next zombie flick. Why didn't I realize that?"
"Are you finished?" X asked me.
Suddenly I remembered that I had a lot to learn from X. I stopped with the wise cracks.
"Yes, I am finished."
"Thank you," X said. I think I saw the corner of his mouth twitch again. Maybe.
X opened his desk drawer and took out a milky white crystal about the size of a small plum. He placed it between his hands and began to rub it.
"Grady, as I said, you are a man of action. As you well know, so am I, but I have learned to temper myself. There are many things you don't know about me."
I grinned from ear to ear and answered, "Really?"
X ignored me and continued.
"You know that I am considered to be more than conversant with various areas of psychic phenomena, what you would call the occult. I get feelings about things. I just know things. More importantly, I have learned to trust my feelings. If I feel that something has happened, I trust myself enough to know that something has indeed happened.
"You have the same capabilities that I have. You call your feelings hunches. Sometimes you act on them, mostly you don't.
"I have learned to trust my feelings, my hunches. I therefore get more of them and I have taught myself to rely on them. Some would say I have cultivated my sixth sense, or psychic abilities. Whatever I have done works for me. You can make it work for you too, but that will take some time and effort.
"Another important factor is that I have learned not to think linearly. Many times several bits of disparate information will allow me to come to a conclusion that most people reach logically, by going from point A to B to C to D and so on. I can jump from A to D without necessarily needing to have B and C presented to me.
"Whether that is done psychically or not, I don't know. I just know that I synthesize information differently from most other people."
"How did you learn to do that?" I asked.
X shook his head and answered, "Perhaps sometime in the future I will tell you, but not now."
"Fine. Then tell me the results of your synthesis of Gaston, Elaine Westerfield and the walking dead."
"Before I do, let me tell you one other thing. I probably have a different belief system than you do, a different frame of reference. Partly this is due to my mind remaining open to different possibilities than most people will allow themselves to accept.
"If you immediately disallow certain things from existing in your reality, your ability to comprehend and synthesize information will suffer by becoming stilted and generally too simplistic."
"So, X, you are saying that zombies exist because Cindy was here and was actually dead, and Elaine Westerfield's family were actually zombies because both incidents occurred in Gaston?"
"No, but you're closer than you were.
"First, I have not used the word zombie, you did. I am not claiming that Cindy was a zombie nor that Ms. Westerfield's family were zombies.
"What I am saying, is that in the space of twelve hours or less, we have had three clients who have essentially the same concerns. Ms. Westerfield's family wasn't really her family. The old lady had a pet which didn't act the way it usually did. Cindy and her friends seemed to encounter something which induced dramatic behavioral changes. That is, we must make one assumption, that Cindy, before these events happened, was at least intelligent enough not to go camping with a person who was a known homicidal maniac. So, we must assume that something happened to change them, as well as enable Cindy to come here, as she reported she was told to, when she was in reality dead for four days before she got here.
"Why here, to this office, is the operative question. We know only one thing, that Lt. Cantor sent Elaine Westerfield here. Would she have made it here if he didn't? I would think that yes, she probably would have.
"So, we have a series of two events, leaving out your little old lady and her pet, because Gaston wasn't mentioned. These events involve Gaston and more importantly, they appear to involve us.
"Someone or something wants us to come to Gaston. Not Lt. Cantor, not anyone else, but us, or, at least, me.
"Finally, whatever it is that wants us to go to Gaston is powerful in a way we aren't, in a way we don't understand."
I must have looked puzzled, because X stared at me for a moment and then continued.
"That's right, Grady, something that can enable a dead woman to walk and talk."
"And," I added, "She didn't even smell like she was dead."
X frowned.
"Sorry, I couldn't help it."
"Of course you couldn't."
I shut up.
"Those are the basic facts, if you will, that are presently on the table. What can we make of them? Just what I have said. I don't have enough other information to draw a more definite causal relationship. In other words, we need to know more.
X held up the milky crystal he had been rubbing.
"I am going to use this to focus myself. This may take several minutes or a lot longer. I want you to sit quietly and wait. If I ask you to do something, do it, whatever it is. I may not be able to ask you more than once."
I nodded, sipped my diet drink and watched as X placed his hands on the desk, the crystal between them, closed his eyes and begin breathing slowly, from the diaphragm.
After ten minutes, I was starting to get bored. I didn't move, however. I tried to remember the transcendental meditation techniques I had learned years ago. I kept my eyes on X.
Once, when I dropped my empty pop bottle into the trash can, X's face contorted and he whispered, "Remain quiet!"
So, I sat unmoving in my chair. Still as the dead, I thought, until I remembered Cindy.
Several minutes later, X started talking to himself. He spoke so softly that I couldn't understand a word he said. Then he began rubbing his hands over the crystal again. His face became contorted and his eyes opened. They stared at something that I knew I couldn't see. What ever it was must have been miles or even dimensions away.
X mumbled some more, then spoke clearly, so loudly that I jumped in my chair.
"Take the crystal from my hands."
His eyes stayed open, his gaze distant, his face contorted. I sat and stared at him, unsure of what to do.
"Take the crystal!" X repeated.
I got up and went to his desk, leaned over and tried to grab the crystal from between his hands. Unfortunately, the crystal felt red hot. I jerked my hands away and shook them.
X's hands stopped rubbing the crystal. I watched as the crystal seemed to melt into the flesh of his hands. X's face broke out in a sweat. His lips barely opened but he seemed to yell, "The crystal, take it from me!"
I tried to grab the rock again, but it was still sinking into the flesh of X's hands. There wasn't enough crystal for me to grab.
Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed his forearms with my hands and tried to pull them apart. They didn't budge.
Now, I work out all of the time. I can press 400 pounds, with my 190 pound frame. I'm in great condition, but I couldn't move X's arms.
I was beginning to get desperate, as his hands were beginning to smoke. Only about a half inch of the crystal was visible between the flesh of his palms.
I stood back from his desk and centered myself. With a silent prayer to whatever or whoever was watching over X, and hopefully me, I grabbed his forearms again, closed my eyes and pulled. I thought, after a few moments, that I felt something give. I opened my eyes and I thought I could see more crystal between his hands. I kept pulling.
Slowly I was able to force his hands apart. I could see more crystal as I kept up the force. I felt X's body move and saw that his head was no longer erect, but lolling down. I jumped on the desk, placed my left knee over one of his arms and used both of my arms to pull his other arm. More quickly now I saw the crystal come out from within the flesh of his palms, leaving no sign that it had been embedded there.
I pulled harder, one last time. X's arms flew apart and the crystal shot off of the desk, onto the floor.
I jumped off of the desk and pushed X back into his chair. He didn't move, so I picked him up and carried him in front of his desk and, kicking the chairs to one side, laid him on the floor. I ran and grabbed some ice from the refrigerator and placed it on his face. In seconds he opened his eyes and sat up. It seemed to take him a few moments to realize where he was and what was going on.
I held him in a sitting position, not saying a word.
After a few moments, he looked up at me and asked, "Is there any more scotch?"
I helped him back into his chair and gave him a glass of the stuff, on ice.
He took a few small sips, then a large swallow. His eyes got back some of their luster.
"What the hell happened," I asked him.
"Give me some time to process it all," X answered, "Then I'll tell you."
I went back to my desk and poured myself some scotch and sipped it, while I watched X regain his strength. He appeared lost in thought the entire time, as almost an hour went by without him saying a word. I had no smart ass remarks to make, so I was quiet too.
Finally, X looked at me and placed his glass on the desk in front of him. I thought he looked a bit strange, but I haven't known X long enough to be certain.
"There is something there. Something which I feel that I should recognize, but I do not. What ever it is has some meaning to me, but I'll be damned if I know what it is."
"That's it?" I asked.
"Yes, essentially, that's it."
"Bullshit! Something gave you a hard time," I said, thinking about the stone disappearing into the flesh of his hands as they began to smoke.
"Grady," X said, "Something is going on in Gaston which definitely involves me. What ever it is appears to specifically involve me. It wants me in Gaston and it seems confident that I won't refuse to go."
He looked at me and raised one corner of one eyebrow. I couldn't decide if he knew that it drove me nuts when he did that.
"What ever is there in Gaston knows who I am and what I do. It is powerful enough to challenge me and it was only thanks to you that I didn't succumb."
"What would have happened if I wasn't here to help?"
X was quiet for a moment before he spoke.
"I would have lost my essence, my soul, if you will, which was traveling around, focused by the crystal. I, or at least the part of me that thinks and is self aware, was in the area of Gaston, traveling in what you might call the astral plane."
For the first time in my life I raised one eyebrow higher than Spock could. It hurt, but the look on X's face made it worth it.
"What is this astral plane?" I interjected.
"Simply put, it is an area which consists solely of thought and energy. Probably all human beings dive into and out of it constantly, without knowing that they have even been there. Metaphysically speaking."
"Of course," I offered.
X stared for a moment, and then asked, "Would you like me to continue?"
I had several cute rejoinders, including, "You can dish it out, but you can't take it!"
Instead, I said, "I'm sorry. Please continue."
"There was another consciousness there where I was traveling. It was powerful, it appeared to expect me and it felt totally malevolent."
I must have looked puzzled, because X added, "Evil in the extreme."
"It, whatever it is, almost had me on the ropes, Grady. I've never experienced something that was so strong. It would have been pleased to kill me or at least wipe out my consciousness."
It was X's turn to look puzzled. Then he continued, his face a bland mask.
"I feel it deep in my soul, Grady. That thing was waiting for me. It knew me and it was playing with me, the way a child plays with an insect. I also felt that I recognized it, but I can't tell you how or even what it was that I thought I recognized. It's just a gut feeling."
X was quiet for a while, his face still masked, but his vision turned inward.
"So," I asked, "What's our next move?"
"That's simple, we make a decision."
"Yeah? What are our options," I asked.
"We can do nothing, forget what has happened and go on with our lives, or we can go to Gaston and risk getting killed. Or worse."
"Right!" I smarted off, "What could be worse than getting killed?"
X looked me right in the eyes.
"Becoming like Cindy," he said.
Touché!
"Fine by me," I said, "So when do we leave for Gaston?"
X shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not certain I want to involve you in this."
"Crap!" I exploded, "You already admitted that you don't even know exactly what 'this' is, X. Look, we're partners in Fact Finders. Where you go, I have to follow. It says so in the hand book for amanuenses, or factotums, or what ever the hell I am in this organization.
"So, I don't want to hear another word of this crap. If you are going to Gaston, so am I."
I could have sworn I saw both sides of X's mouth twitch. Probably not. He doesn't get that emotional.
He did sigh, deeply, and add, "We'll leave tomorrow morning. I'll meet you here at nine."
With that, X got out of his chair and left the office.
Me? I sipped some more scotch and wondered what the astral plane was like. A plane of thought and energy, X had said. I guess that meant that I wouldn't be meeting any good looking women there.
Then again, I wondered, how would I know if something or someone there was female, never mind good looking.
I finished my scotch and headed out to try to scare up a late date.