In Between (part 1)

In Between



1


"Am I...," Jake Madigan could utter in a feeble voice.
"Dead ? No, but you're supposed to be," someone faraway said.
Jake fainted.




2


He awoke out of his delirium around three o'clock in the morning - he himself had no idea of the time though. Darkness was everywhere, even in his head. Why had he awoken in the middle of the night ? Jake grasped for his pillow, wanting to turn it over and put his head on the cold side. He discovered that it was not his pillow at all. His pillow was soft and feathery... This one was stiff. Jake looked around. His eyes not yet accustomed to the dark, he didn't see a thing. But he saw a window where there wasn't supposed to be one.
This place didn't feel like home at all. This wasn't his room. This...
What had happened ? Panic struck him, seized him by the throat. A strange sensation welled up in his belly. His mouth went open to produce a scream of fright, but no sound came out. Suddenly, a light was turned on, not in the room where he was sleeping, but a little bit further, distant. Footfalls to his right.
Then he knew: he was in a hospital. The button! Where was the button to call the nurse ? Eaten by the jitters, he searched the soft surface of the bed, found the button, pressed it with a shaking hand, and waited. He now felt his head was aching like hell.
Footfalls. The door opened. A nurse came in.
"What happened ? What's wrong with me ?" Jake asked before she got a chance to say anything.
"You've had an accident," the nurse said. "But now you must rest." The words seemed to come from far away, out of a different world, and floating in the air.
Footfalls. Door. Footfalls fading out. Everything distant.
now... you... must... rest. The voice echoed inside his head.
Worry made place for fatigue.
And Jake dozed off into a sleep that was deep and full of dreams.




3


At nine o'clock in the morning, he woke up again, knowing as little as when he'd awoken in the night.
The light in his room was lit.
Jake looked around and saw he was in a hospital, not remembering that he had established that same fact last night. He pressed the button again. The nurse came faster this time.
"What happened ?" Jake asked.
"The doctor will be here any minute to answer all your questions," she said. "Don't you worry, Mr. Madigan."
She left the room again.
"Wait... wai-" Jake shouted after her, but she was gone already, like as if she had never been there at all.
Jake was really worried now. Had he had an accident ? Car crash ? No, he had no car. Did he fall off a stairs ?
Those questions drummed in his head. He tried to ignore them and looked out the window, but soon he was upset again. Was he all right ? Should he be operated on today or tomorrow ? Or had he been operated on already ?
Jake was biting his nails when the doctor came in. He was rather young, dressed in the usual white jacket, carrying a stethoscope over his chest.
Even before he began to speak, Jake's mind was a bit eased. Not by the appearance of the doctor, but because of a thought that had occurred to him. If he suffered from severe injuries, he wouldn't feel the way he felt now, which was to say fairly good. If there were major things wrong with him, he was sure he'd feel a hypo in his arm, leading to such a what-do-you-call-it, a jar filled with some medicine, which would feed him intravenously.
"What happened ?" Jake asked for maybe the tenth time. He thought he'd asked it only twice or trice, but he'd been pressing that little green button a lot more than he thought he had.
"Good morning, Mr. Madigan," the doctor began.
He's avoiding the question. Oh, God, something's wrong with me. Something's wrong with me anyhow.
"I'm doctor Ciballos," the man continued, giving Jake a reassuring smile.
Jake felt more disquiet rising in him. Great, I'm being operated on by a South-American. Does he know what he's talking about ? Maybe he graduated in a third grade University in the Amazon forest.
"Let me first say that you are out of danger. That should set you're mind a bit at ease, because you look pretty nervous." Ciballos smiled again.
It did calm him down. If he was out of danger, there was nothing to worry about, wasn't there ?
"You've had an accident. A very serious accident, Mr. Madigan."
"What kind of an accident ?" Jake asked.
"A deadly accident. Well... at least an accident that is fatal in normal cases." He coughed.
"You've had an electric shock of 10.000 Volts, Mr. Madigan."
"W-what ?" Jake said with a trembling voice.
Ciballos looked at him with a worried face. "You heard me, Mr. Madigan," he said. "It is a mystery even to me how you can still be sitting here in that bed, talking to your doctor. God may slay me if I only understand a speck of it.
You are the first man I know of to have survived a 10.000 Volts electric shock." Ciballos seemed to think for a moment, then continued.
"Last night, when you were brought in, you asked me if you... if you were dead. And I said: you're supposed to be. And that's more true than I figured yesterday, Mr. Madigan. You really should be dead."
Jake was gazing at the man in utter stupefaction.
"But... how come ?" Jake asked.
"What do you mean: how you are still alive, or how the accident did happen ?"
"Both," Jake said.
"Well, I have to pass for the first one. But I'll explain you how it happened. You don't remember, do you ?" Ciballos said, sympathetically. "Apparently, you suffer from a slight amnesia, but that's nothing to worry about though. Can you remember your name ?"
"Jake Frederick Madigan."
"Perfect. Address ?"
"200 New-York. 15 Fifth Street.
"All right. But you do not remember anything of last night ?"
"N-no...," Jake said, amazed. There was really a huge black hole in his memory. As if he had passed the forgotten time sleeping, or not existing.
"Let me help you, then," the doctor said. "You're part of the so-called 'qualified personnel'. You know, the kind of men people have 'to refer to' when they have a technical problem. You remember that ? "
Jake nodded. "Yes, that I remember."
"And it doesn't ring a bell ?"
"Not at all," Jake said. "There are bells ringing in my head, but those have everything to do with the worst headache I've ever had in my life."
The man in white laughed.
"Anyway, it all happened when you were working at one of those boxes in 17th street. You know, the electricity boxes with a lightning-symbol on it, and sometimes a scull and crossbones. And the words: 'caution, risk of an electric shock, refer to qualified service personnel only'. Apparently, you made a mistake. A mistake you normally would have paid for with your life." Ciballos scratched his chin. "Still nothing that has come back ?"
"Well, I do know about those boxes, of course, but I can't remember having fixed one - or being fixed - yesterday," Jake answered.
"Someone called us at 9.16 pm, saying there was a man lying unconscious in 17th street. He had seen it happen, he said. Said he was standing on the other street when he saw you flying backward when you 'touched something in a little green box'."
Jake nodded.
"If you don't remember working on that little box, you won't recall much about the storm of last night that ravaged over New-York. Electricity gave up the ghost temporarily in some parts of the city that night.
"I'm sorry," Jake said. "Forgotten. Gone."
"Apparently you, among others, were sent out to fix the damage. And you know the rest."
"Yeah, I think I do," Jake told him. "I know it but I understand no goddam thing of it." Jake looked outside and sighed deeply. "This is just impossible!" he said. "You know that as well as I do. I mean, isn't there any rational explanation for this ? Maybe it wasn't ten thousand Volts at all. Maybe..."
Ciballos shook his head firmly.
"No," he said. "The same thought crossed my mind immediately. The moment you were brought in, I called other 'qualified personnel'. They told me it could only have been that amount. If you mess with the box, they said, you get showered by ten, no more no less.
"And they were really really sure ?" Jake asked, looking at the doctor with big and glazy eyes.
"They said they were abso-bloody-lutely sure," Ciballos answered.
Jake looked out the window, believing he was trapped in a fairy tale.
Or a horror story.
"So all that happened yesterday, at 9 o'clock ?"
"9.16 to be exact, yes. The man called, we came, we brought you here, you fell asleep, and woke up half an hour ago."
Outside, Jake could see ambulances dashing across the immense parking lot. They were moving between large, glimmering puddles, souvenirs of yesterday's gale. People were walking along the driveway, probably coming to visit hosted relatives. Jake noticed that some of them still carried an umbrella with them. Looking at the sky he saw they were right. It was colored with a kind of grayish white, apparently ready to let out the rain.
"10.000 Volts. 10.000 goddam Volts', Jake said, still looking outside. "While the normal 220 is already fatal in most cases. I just can't believe it. I just can't."
"Your not the only one," Ciballos said.
A nurse walked in. Jake had never seen her before. She took his blood pressure, moved his head slightly up and looked into his eyes, not saying a word. Then she left the room again.
"You sure I'm not in heaven and you are not Saint Peter or something ?" Jake asked.
Ciballos laughed heartily. "I'm afraid not," he said.


4


"There is something else," Ciballos said. There were strange lights twinkling in his eyes. "We've forgotten something. Something important. And it's extremely obvious. Don't you know what I mean ?"
"Not really," Jake said. "I just can't believe what happened to me, but..."
Ciballos interrupted him. "You have survived the electric shock. We don't know how, but you did. The fact that you are still alive is mysterious enough, but as an added bonus, you are not... wounded."
Jack looked at him, not understanding.
"What do you mean ?" he asked.
"Don't you think that, if you had a ten thousand Volts electric shock, you would be at least toasted ? I mean, assuming someone's build is strong enough to survive such a shock, still he would be burned alive, wouldn't he ?"
"Yes... yes, of course," Jake said. "Why didn't I think of that."
"I mean," Ciballos continued, "I once found a mouse that got a shock. It smelled like roasted meat! And you don't seem to even have a scratch. We've examined you as soon as you came in; we've looked for interior damages, we did a brain scan, but nothing was found. Absolutely nothing."
Jack sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna break my head over it," he said. "If there is a God, I want to thank him that I am alive, and that's about it. It's a mystery, and it will probably remain one as long as I live."
"Yes," Ciballos spoke," I guess you're right. No sense in breaking our heads over it."
"By the way," Jake asked him," you do not plan to keep me here as a kind of unique thing in the history of science, do you ? I mean, I guess it could be interesting to examine my body and stuff... But I'm not planning to cooperate, you know." The thought had lingered in his mind for quite a while now, but he'd been afraid to ask. He supposed they could do that, if they wanted to. They'd give him the whole in-the-name-of-science shebang, and would tell him it was important for medicine.
"Don't you worry over that," Ciballos told him. "To be honest, the idea crossed my mind, but I figured that you have enough troubles as it is. And besides, I do not believe even the smartest doctor in the world would discover something funny about you. And a third reason: who would believe it ? Cause we are sure it happened, but we have no actual proof."
"Well, thank you, I guess. That's kind of a relief, you know."

They both looked outside now. The place was filled with an uncomfortable silence. There seemed nothing more to say.
Another nurse came in with breakfast.
"Good morning sir," she said, "I hope you slept well?"
"Can't complain," Jake answered, glad she had come in.
"Here's your breakfast."
She put it on the movable table which stood at Jake's left, and rolled it over the bed so Jake was able to eat.

"Any idea if something might still be wrong with me, doctor ?" Jake asked with his mouth full.
Ciballos seemed to think for a moment, then said:
"Well, actually, I'd like to ask you this. Do you feel pain somewhere, or... something else ?"
"Not a thing," Jake answered. "Oh, except for the headache I told you about, of course. But I figure that's no big deal.
What about the amnesia ?"
The doctor, who had been standing all the time, now sat down on the side of the bed, to the right of Jake's feet.
"There's really not much I can tell you on that subject. You see, I don't have any experience with people who suffered a ten thousand Volts shock. They weren't able to tell it, afterwards, of course. Who knows, maybe they're having amnesia in heaven now."
Jake took another bite of his sandwich.
"But I think there's no real problem," Ciballos continued. "It's like in a car crash. In most cases, if there is amnesia, people will never again remember the actual crash itself. But other things that seem to have disappeared, like their address, their name, such things come back in most cases, not long after the accident. "
"And you think that'll be the case with me?
"Well, are there things, apart from the accident itself that you seem to have forgotten ?"
"Well no! It's just a bit vague, but there's really nothing I can think of that I do not remember."
"Vague, you say," Ciballos returned. "Like you've dreamed the whole thing, like if your life was a dream ?"
"Yes! That's exactly how it feels like!"
"Well, that's normal. Perfectly normal. Now let me help you... to remember the things you do not remember, as you've put it so nicely."
"All right," Jake said.
"If someone would ask you, would you be able to describe your house ?"
"Yes," Jake answered.
"Your environment at work ?"
"No problem."
"Are you married ?"
"No."
"Girlfriend ? If yes, name ?"
"Yes," Jake said. "I have a girlfriend. Kelly. Kelly Helgeson."
"Everything seems all right, I think," Ciballos said. You seem to remember everything but the accident itself, and that's not a great loss but a good riddance."
"I guess I can leave you then, if you don't have any other questions ?"
"How long should I stay here ?" Jake asked. It was a rather important question. One of the first questions a patient asks when he's in the hospital, apart from am-I-all-right.
"Well, I think you'll be set free very soon. Probably as quick as today. That'll be tonight then, cause we're obliged to keep you here for 24 hours at the least. I cannot detect anything that's wrong with you anyway."
"Well," Jake said, "that's good news. You know, I was worried sick when I woke up this morning - "
"This night," Ciballos interrupted.
"This night ? Did I wake up this night ?"
"Nurse Tillman told me you've called her up to eight times!"
"I did ?" Jake couldn't believe it. "I can't remember anything of that."
"Very normal," Ciballos said, lifting himself up. "I've got to be going now. Other patients waiting for me, you know.
Mr. Madigan, that was one of the most entertaining talks this year. If you should have any problems, anything at all, don't hesitate to call me. I'm very interested in this case."
They shook hands. "Goodbye, Mr. Madigan," Ciballos said. "I hope to hear from you soon."
"Uh, one last question, doctor," Jake said. "Do you know the name of the man who found me and called the hospital ? Maybe I could talk to him about it, you know..."
"I don't know," Ciballos said. "You should check with the receptionist that did the phone yesterday. She may have written down the name."
"And who did the phone, yesterday at quarter past nine ?"
Ciballos thought for a moment and concluded he didn't know. "You should ask the receptionist who's on the phone today. She'll know."
"All right," Jake said. "Thank you doctor, and goodbye."
"Goodbye, Mr. Madigan," Ciballos said. "Call if you need me."
"I will."

Jake was alone again.
At eight o'clock pm, a nurse came in, telling him he could go home now. Jake took his wallet out of the little closet to the right of his bed and left the room, feeling quite all right.
He crossed the white corridor and entered the elevator. Downstairs, he filled in some papers in a room where they handled the administrative stuff.
"Could you tell me where I could find the girl that takes the phone calls ?" he asked the clerk.
The clerk, an elderly woman of about fifty, looked at him like as if she had smelled a rat.
"You go left, right, then third door on the left," she said. "But I wonder what business you have there."
"That's none of your business," Jake said and left.
Bitch.
Jake found his way through the maze of corridors and arrived at the receptionist's room. Behind the glass was a young and pretty girl. Jake was about to knock on the window, but then he saw she was on the phone. He was smart enough to consider that disturbing her could cost a life, let alone seconds.
When she put the receiver down, Jake knocked rapidly on the window. She looked in his direction, questionably, and then nodded with her head as a sign to come in.
"Good evening, Ms," Jake said when she was done. "I was wondering if you knew who was answering the phone yesterday at, say 9.15."
The receptionist thought for a moment and then said it had been herself.
"I was looking for the name of someone who called at 9.16. Could you find that ?"
"It depends," the girl said. "First, the person had to mention his name, and secondly, I had to write it down. I only do that when calls follow each other very quickly, when I don't have time to tell the ambulance before the next call."
"Oh, I see," Jake uttered. "But you could try ?"
"I guess so," she said. The girl smiled. She had a beautiful smile.
"Yesterday at 9.16 you say ?"
"Exactly."
She rummaged through her papers for a moment. Jake found himself looking at her closely. She reminded him of Kelly.
Got to call her soon.
"Looks like you're lucky, sir," she said after awhile. "Was the accident in 17th street ?"
"Yes."
"At 9.16 a man named Roger Tyler called, saying there was someone laying in 17th street."
"Yes, that must be him." Jake wrote the name in his notebook.
"You really are lucky," the receptionist said. "You know, it's very rare I write down the name of the caller, and it's even rarer that people identify themselves when call for an ambulance."
"Yeah, I guess I'm lucky," Jake replied.
And a lot luckier than you could ever imagine, dear.
"Thanks a lot and goodbye," Jake said to the girl.
When he opened the door to leave, the receptionist said:
"Excuse me sir, but was it you laying on the ground in 17th street ?"
"Yes, that was me," Jake told her.
"You don't look very injured," the girl remarked.
"I'm feeling fine." He smiled to her.
But I'm supposed to be dead.
"Keep it that way," she said in a jolly tone. "Bye."
"Goodbye."
Then the phone rang again and she answered it.
Now that one's a lot friendlier than that old bitch, Jake thought, and left the hospital, still thinking about the accident and wondering how he could possibly be alive.

That the worst was yet to come, he did not know.


5


When Jake entered his house - he had gotten home by bus - he felt as if he hadn't been there in a very long time. Though he had been absent only one day and one night, coming home seemed like coming home from a long trip. He'd had that feeling on the bus too, the feeling he had been out of the world for a fortnight.
When he came in, everything in the house seemed strange, as if it weren't his property. If he would have met a new owner, sitting in his chair, looking at his telly, Jake wouldn't have been too surprised. But his chair was empty, of course. So was the house, though he figured it wouldn't stay that way too long. He and Kelly planned to live together. Kelly was studying at the university, wanting to be an architect. Jake loved her terribly. He'd call her first thing tomorrow. Now it was too late. She'd probably hit the sack already. Maybe he should do that too.
He couldn't quite imagine being at work again tomorrow, as if nothing had happened. He wondered if his fellows at work knew about the accident. If yes, he'd probably have to tell the story to each one of them.
Jake locked the door, went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and then entered the bedroom.
Still thinking about his miraculous experience, he slowly dozed off.
In his dream, Jake was in the hospital again. But not because of the accident. This time he was witnessing his own birth. He didn't know why, but he was scared in the dream. He saw his mother, lying on the white bed, sweating and struggling to give birth to her son. Some minutes later, it was done. He saw the gynecologist giving the baby to his mother, who smiled like she had never done before. The doctor said something. Jake heard the words. He said: "Here, Mrs. Madigan. Right on schedule." Jake couldn't quite figure out what those words meant, but he didn't care to know either.
At eight o'clock, the alarm on the radio went off. Jake ignored it. Considering his situation, he thought his boss would forgive him for once. Sleep kept him for two more hours and then he woke up, reluctantly. The only thing he remembered of his dreams was being in the hospital, and those words: 'right on schedule'.
When he reached the bathroom, he discovered that the headache was still there. More: it was worse than yesterday. Much worse. It was the worst headache he'd had in years. Not even a hangover can compete with this, Jake thought.
He stumbled to the sink, splashed some water in his face, and took care of his bladder. Then he searched the medicine cabinet for an aspirin, but found none. He doubted if they would've helped anyway.
Jake went downstairs and got him some breakfast. There was something strange about the food. He didn't know what it was. It seemed an awful long time ago since he had eaten, but he knew he'd chewed the tasteless meal in the hospital only yesterday evening. Jake discovered he wasn't hungry at all. He thought that was strange. On other mornings, he was always hungry as a hunter, but now it seemed like he had no need for food at all. He ate two sandwiches anyhow and then cleaned the mess he'd made.

He thought about Kelly again. She'd be at university now.
Jake glanced at his watch. It was ten o'clock already. He'd better get up and go to work now.
He guzzled some more coffee and then lifted himself up.


6


At 10.15 Jake left the house and locked the door. He walked the hundred meters to the bus stop, the wind whirling under his coat. The world looked gray on this September day. New-York was dipped in a gigantic cloud-stripe that only rarely allowed the sun to illuminate the city. It hit Jake that the buildings had never looked so somber and lifeless to him. He'd always liked New-York, unlike many other people who hated the crowd and the stress. But today the Big Apple really seemed different. Jake figured that this probably had something to do with his amnesia. Everything seemed different. And it was not a pleasant feeling. It was like New York was... in mourn.
Jake waited for the bus to come, hands in his pockets, the gust slapping his face. It arrived five minutes later. He got up and found himself a seat. The bus was almost empty. The big crowd had already gone to work, and now there were only some elderly women and men, coughing and sneezing. Jake didn't care to look out of the window now. There were only the buildings he'd seen a thousand times, the streets that would never be new for him again, and the people who all looked the same. He was glad when he could get off after ten minutes.
Now he had to make a stroll of about half a mile to get at his work. The feeling was still there, the feeling that New York was in great sadness. It seemed as if the buildings were crying, it seemed like the city was on the eve of destruction.
Qualified personnel.
The thought welled up in Jake's mind with no reason. "Qualified personnel," he said aloud. It had never occurred to him that he was qualified personnel. Those words were on all the high-tech items. It was on hifi chains, on computer terminals, telephones... Caution! To reduce the risk of electric shock, do not remove cover.
to reduce the risk of electric shock.
"Speak about the devil," Jake thought when he saw a 'box' at the other side of the street. He stood still, looking at it.
Something had come back. Or seemed to have come back. Now it was gone again. Jake crossed the street to look at the box from closer by. He was staring at it, fascinated.
And scared.
Yes, he was scared of the box. It seemed to invite Jake to open it again.
Would I survive another time ?
His hand moved to the green surface of the box.
Maybe I am...immortal ?
The word 'danger' was printed on it in big, red letters. Jake touched them with his index finger, his eyes looking to nowhere.
"Don't push your luck, Jake," he said to himself. His finger slid down the surface of the box and went back into his pocket.
Could it have been this very box ? He still couldn't remember, but he supposed it was quite possible. Of course it was this box! This was 17th street wasn't it ?
"You bastard! You almost killed me, you bastard!" he yelled, and slammed with his fist on the cover. It produced a terrible bang, but there wasn't anybody but him to hear it. Then he did a step backward. And another one. His feet slowly slid over the pavement. They went faster. He turned around.
Then he started running. He bolted across the street as fast as he could. He heard the brakes of a car, coming from some other reality, but didn't care. He had to get away from the green box. That was the only thing that mattered.
Jake continued running for two hundred meters, and then came to a stop, seeing how ridiculous his behaviour was. He laughed nervously, trying to convince himself of how unreal he had been acting.
Unreal ? I'll tell you what's unreal goddammit! That I am alive is unreal!
Jake discovered his face was dripping with sweat. He was panting heavily. His heart-beat had doubled in five seconds time, and he felt it everywhere.
He did the last two hundred meters to the building where he had been working for four years now. It looked gloomy and woeful to him, like all the other structures in the city.
Maybe everything looks that way because I am depressed, Jake thought.
But he didn't feel that way. Not even after his world record sprint.
Maybe I'm dead. That's why everything looks different. I'm in another world!
"Don't be ridiculous," he said to himself, hushing the tiny voice in his mind.
He entered the building and asked himself if he was going to tell about the accident or not. He had to come up with a story to tell his boss anyhow, because he was not going to do the same chores anymore. At least not today.
At least not this week.
Jake went straight to the boss's office.
Not even this month.
He'd never had any trouble with his boss.
Or year.
It was not an unfriendly man. Not the leemy-'lone-I'm-busy type. In a way he was close to his employees.
He knocked.
"Come in!" a muted voice said.
Jake pushed the door open and went in. The man was sitting behind his desk, doing some paperwork. He was a big man. Really huge. A man you'd expect to be a cop. That was exactly what he looked like. A cop. Or maybe, sitting behind that desk, a rank higher. A chief-cop. Yes, that was more like it, Jake thought.
"Ah, Jaky," he said. "Where were you when we needed you yesterday, boy ?"
Jake was thinking. He didn't know what to tell.
"In the hospital," he said finally. Since he was a very lousy liar, the truth was the most easy thing to tell.
"In the hospital ?" The boss ignored his paperwork, got up, and leaned with his hand on the desk.
"What happened ?"
If he would tell the truth, he'd have to go trough it all over again. But he would have a reason for asking other work.
And besides, there was an irresistible urge to tell the whole thing to someone, to a non-doctor. Who would be able to help him better than his boss, who knew all about the work ?
"I only know it from my doctor. Amnesia, you see ?"
"Yes ?" The boss was all ears.
"I had an electric shock."
"Oh," he said. His interest seemed to weaken. "That happens frequently, isn't it. But... it doesn't happen frequently that someone has to be hospitalized as a consequence."
"No," Jake said. "And a shock of ten thousand Volts is also less frequent."
Jake went through it all over again, as he had thought. But this time, he played the role of the doctor and the boss was the amazed and unknowing patient that he had been some time ago.
"Would you mind giving me some paperwork ?" Jake asked after he had finished his tale.
The man behind the desk scratched his cheek dreamily. He seemed to awake out of a deep sleep when he answered.
"Oh, sorry. Er... yes, Yes of course. I can understand that. You bet I can understand that!"
"May I ask you not to tell other people at work about my...
experience ?" Jake almost begged.
"If you wish... If you wish," the boss said, staring at the top of his pencil. He was clearly as staggered as Jake himself had been yesterday.



7


That day, something happened.

It was more than three weeks after the accident. September was slowly but surely growing into October. Trees in the streets - as far as there were trees in the streets - were quickly losing their leaves. The weather was getting colder, and winter's footsteps could be heard around the corner.
To Jake, the city still seemed to mourn. It was probably imagination, he thought, but the feeling stayed, and could not be denied.

Jake strolled slowly to the bus station. It had been a lousy day at work. And there were more, much more, lousy days to come. He had discovered he hated the paperwork. And he hated desk-sitting. He knew he made a very witless and careless clerk, but he was just too afraid to be confronted with wires and green boxes with sculls on it again. Even after three weeks, he shivered at the thought of cutting a cable. He somehow found that strange. It was strange that he was afraid of it when he remembered nothing about it.
There was something else that worried him though. He hadn't eaten at lunch time. He'd forgotten to pack himself some sandwiches this morning, and he had found out he hadn't missed them at all. At twelve, he'd gone to the cafeteria, and had discovered he wasn't carrying the usual little package in his pocket. Jake had considered buying a lunch or something, but he just knew there was no way for him to swallow any food. It was very strange. He'd eaten nothing this morning, nothing at all at twelve, and now he still wasn't hungry.
The first day after his accident taking breakfast had already been hard to do. And it had become worse ever since.
And if this wasn't enough, there was another reason for depression to settle down.
Jake had been about to leave his work when his boss had come in.
"Will you make it to the barbecue tomorrow evening ?" he'd asked.
Jake felt a trifle of despair crawling in his mind, darkening his mood. The barbecue. Of course. He'd forgotten. If it depended on him, he'd rather stay home. But going to the city-service barbecue was an act of social behavior. And he, as one among the organizers, was even more obliged to go. The barbecue was there to collect money. It helped the city-service to come through winter, just the way the All-Night-Long-Party fed the Fire Department and just the way the P.D. got some pocket-money from their annual bike-meeting.
"I'll be there," Jake said. "even though I really don't feel like it." Jake looked at his boss. "I'll be there on one condition," he said, looking straight into his eyes."
"Yes ?" The boss looked surprised. There was an expression on his face that said: since when do you follow up my orders under conditions ? But ever since the accident, the boss had become more understanding.
"On the condition that I can sit behind this desk as long as I want to," Jake had said.
"Sure," the boss said. "Sure, no problem at all."
"Well, that's settled then," Jake had finished the conversation.

"Shit!" he told himself, kicking a coca-cola can that lay lost in the street. He passed the green box again, but he kept looking down at the street till he had passed it, like he had done since the first day after the accident.
There was the buss ride again, and the hundred meters, and then he was home, feeling utterly depressed, ready to scold at the first person that came in his view.
Once inside his house, he let himself fall in a soft chair and did nothing.
Kelly. Call Kelly.
Yes, calling Kelly seemed a little twinkling light in the darkness of today. He'd told Kelly about his experience, and it seemed to him that their relationship had become better since he had. He was sure he would cheer up by the sound of her voice. He got up and moved to the phone, picked up the receiver and dialed the number. There was a second of silence, and then he heard it ringing.
Going to kill myself if she ain't there.
But she was there. She even took off the phone.
"Helgeson residence. Kelly speaking." It sounded like a question.
The voice indeed cheered him up a little. Not much, but a little.
"Kelly ? It's me, Jake. How are you dear, ?" he spoke into the phone.
"Hello ?"
"Kelly ? Jake here," he repeated.
"Hello ? Who is this please ?" Kelly didn't seem to hear him.
"Hello ?" Jake shouted in the phone "Hello ?"
"Anybody ?" Kelly said and then there was a click as she put down the receiver.
"Ah, shit!" Jake yelled, and he hit the closet with his fist.
"Damn! Now the phone's gone bugshit!"
Jake tried again, with the same result.
He thought about fixing it but concluded he couldn't.
Not qualified to do that, hah!
There was a phone cabin right across the street. Jake checked his pockets for change, and then left the house again.
He put the coins in the slot and dialed the number for the third time now.
This time, Kelly's mother answered.
"Mrs. Helgeson ? Jake Madigan here."
"Hello ? Hello ? Who is this please ?"
"Oh shit," Jake roared. He put the receiver down again and left the cabin.
So it's her phone that's fucked up, and not mine. Damn, that means I can't phone her today.
Jake was back in his own house, sitting in his chair, leaning back, feet on the table in front of him.
"Shit-shit-shit!"
There was, however, still the urge to talk to somebody. And if not Kelly, then someone else.
Jake grabbed the phone and put it in his lap.
Alfred.
Alfred was a fellow workman, his best friend. Everybody called him Flippo. Jake didn't know why, but he did too anyway. For the fourth time in five minutes he dialed a number.
"Alfred Fisher speaking," the man said. It sounded very jolly, just the way he was.
"Howdy, Flippo," Jake said. "It's me, Jake."
"Hello ?"
"OH NO NOT AGAIN GODDAMMIT!"
"hello ?"
Click.
"Oh shit what is this for chrissake ?"
So both my phone and Kelly's phone are fucked up. I could use the payphone again to see if Flippo's is too, but it isn't worth the trouble.
Jake got up and poured him a drink in the kitchen.
But this is just ridiculous! How can both my and Kelly's phone be fucked up at the same time ? And maybe Flippo's too!
"Oh damn, none of my business anyway."
But it was his business, of course.
I can't believe this. I can't use MY phone to make a call, and I can't use the payphone to make a call. Which simply boils down to the following:
"I can't make a phone call."
Because that was it, wasn't it ? Assuming Flippo's phone wasn't fucked up - and why would it ? - he couldn't call anybody. And it had nothing to do with the phones! It was him! Oh stop this crazy nonsense! It's probably some general problem.
Hey! Wait a minute! I'm just going to try it next door!
That was a good idea. His neighbor was a good friend of his. Alan Fitzgerald was his name.
Jake left the house again and then rapped his knuckles loudly on his neighbor's door. It was opened instantly.
"Howdy, Jake," Alan greeted. "What wind took you here ?"
"Good afternoon, Alan," Jake said. "I wonder if I could use your phone for a minute ? Mine doesn't work."
"O'course," Alan said. "Come on in!"
Jake entered the house. He'd always liked it; it was decorated in a very cozy way. You instantly felt at home.
But not today.
Please Jake, cut the crap. This house looks like it did a month ago, like it looked yesterday and like it will look tomorrow.
It wasn't true, but Jake didn't think about it any further.
He went to the phone, grabbed the receiver, and waited...
Wait just a minute! Maybe Kelly recognized my voice and she doesn't want to talk to me. I dunno why, but it could be!
It was a crazy idea. And it looked even more moronic when he considered that the same thing had happened with Flippo. But nevertheless he took his hanky out of his pants and put it over the receiver, like they did in the movies.
"Yes ?" It was unmistakably Kelly. She'd probably gotten tired of the callers she didn't hear and did not bother to say her name anymore.
"Kelly, it's Jake." He waited hopefully, but what came was what he had feared.
"Hello ?"
This time, Jake caused the click sound himself.
So it's a general problem all right.
But some part of his mind seemed to doubt this.
"Alan, would you mind calling somebody for me ?"
"Why ?" Alan asked, not understanding.
"Could you ?" Jake said impatiently.
Sure." Alan had the receiver in his hand already. "Tell me the number."
"555-6969"
Jake feared Kelly wouldn't answer the phone anymore. But she did.
"Yes ?" It came out in a big sigh.
"Er...Good afternoon," Alan said. He made a quick sign to Jake as to ask him what he had to say.
Jake shrugged. It didn't matter anyway.
"Hello ? Who is this please ?"
Jake was relieved.
"Er... Alan Fitzgerald.
"Yes ? Do I know you mr. Fitzgerald ?"
The relief was gone. Even though Alan had the receiver tightly pressed against his right ear, Jake could clearly make out the words. She had heard Alan. None of the phones were fucked up. It had everything to do with him.
What the hell is this ? Some kind of a joke ? Oh man, I think I'm going crazy.
"Put it down," he said to Alan.
"Was that you who's been trying to call three times ?" he heard Kelly asking.
Alan put the receiver down.
"Now why did I have to do this," Alan, who hadn't heard Jake's call, asked.
"Never mind. I tell you some time. Later. When I find out." Jake was confused.
"Is there something wrong ?" Alan asked. "Can I help with something ?"
"No. Never mind. Goodbye Alan. And... thanks."
Jake left, not knowing what to think of this.
Some moments later, he sat in front of the TV. But he was unable to fix his mind on it.
Nobody can hear my voice over the phone. Now could there be any rational explanation for this ?
But he remembered giving up looking for rational explanations more than three weeks ago. Why would he worry over this ?
Could it be some kind of hoax ? No, can't be. With Kelly and Flippo in it at the same time, it couldn't be. And besides, he'd changed his voice.
Three weeks ago, something much, much more inexplicable had happened to him. So why would he worry about some phone- problems now ?
Jake zapped a few times, not finding something that he was interested in.
It was seven o'clock. Because there was nothing else to do, he went to bed. And against all his expectations, sleep came immediately.
Before he drowsed, one last thought crossed his mind.
I have eaten nothing the whole day.