by J. Reyome
August 2009
This
is a story about two people who, officially anyway, died on the same day, in
more or less the same geographic area.
It
should go without saying that in itself this wouldn’t be so unusual. People die
every day, and sometimes more than just two at a time. The circumstances,
though. The details. That’s what weaves what might have been seen as a pair of
unrelated tragedies into a most unusual event. But from a distance…say, the
distance from the cockpit of a helicopter flying over Interstate 65 in downtown
It
was funny, then, how as that helicopter droned toward him Dan Meyer ended up stepping
unnoticed out onto the roof of that tall building just below on that cold
winter morning, a faint smile on his face and a Haydn string quartet in his mind
as he stepped toward the parapet.
Now,
the concept of “funny” all depends on the perspective. Funny. Dan Meyer thought of his present situation as funny, but
humor had nothing to do with it. It was funny, yes, but as in, odd or
unexpected, though honestly, neither was strictly true in this case. More on
this anon. To the disconcerted woman standing behind him, funny was something more akin to unfortunate, perhaps tragic. The
woman's name was Candy Marcum, and she had first met Dan Meyer a few days' previous
when he had suddenly appeared in her office. And again, a word of multiple
meanings: appeared. It could mean
that he had walked in through her office door unannounced or without an
appointment, but of course, it did not. No, Dan Meyer had appeared before Candy Marcum's astonished eyes, out of thin air, as
it's said. Materialized might be a better word. At
This
had the expected effect on Candy, who was, fortuitously, seated at her desk at
the time, catching up on some work in her office on the 27th floor
of the
Oh,
there were interesting times, rare enough but spectacular. On one memorable
occasion a disturbed client had casually walked past security and found his way
up to Candy's office, a most uncomfortable situation indeed, especially when he
began asking some even more uncomfortable questions, such as, who exactly had denied
his wife the potentially life-saving treatment for her cervical cancer, and
why. Of course, she only processed the form. The denials were done in the
office of the chief claims adjustor, and she'd told him so. He'd then gone into
that office and proceeded to spill his guts. Literally. Cut himself across the
belly with dramatic irony. Also with a scalpel. Astonishing! To others in the
office it was a deliciously gruesome story that would be gleefully told for the
rest of their lives. But Candy Marcum was not so strong of stomach, and
besides, as the office’s OSHA liaison she'd had to help clean up the awful mess
left behind. She'd had to take a week off to recuperate from that. Never mind
the fact that Dr. Cross, the adjustor, hadn't even been in his office. It just
happened that he was in
So,
when Dan Meyer just…oh, let’s say, wafted
into view, now that was “funny” as in unusual. Visually, his appearance was
almost like a flame coming to life in a gentle breeze: a vague form, wavering
just a bit before gaining solidity.
Candy,
being seated, had the expected reaction to such an event: an almost
cinematically perfect spit-take, dropping her coffee cup onto her desk, where
it made a soggy mess of the papers strewn there. Great. More work to do. Or at
least, that's what she thought later, when her composure returned.
Her
first words upon seeing him were not words
so much as sounds. Then she invoked
the name of her Savior, then she finally gasped, "Who the hell are you, and where the hell did you
come from?"
And
at that, Dan Meyer grinned hugely, quite pleased with himself. "So, you
can, like, see me?"
"Yes!
I can, like, see you. Don't be stupid.
You're right there in front of me."
Another
wide-eyed smile, perhaps a bit calmer this time, and this perhaps in an effort
to calm her. "My name is Dan,
Dan Meyer," he explained, "and I'm in the middle of an out-of-body…experiment."
She
goggled up at him, astonished. "Oh, sure you are. Well, you can just experiment
yourself right back into that body, Mister…Mister Dan Meyer. I didn't come in
here early this morning to get my pants scared off by some fresh guy talking
hippie talk."
Now
he laughed, and here it first occurred to Candy Marcum that his was a very
pleasant laugh. "I'm about as far away from a hippie as you can get. I
voted Bush in 2000." He grimaced. "If only I knew then what we all
know now. Anyway, I'm just an ordinary guy."
"Apart
from the whole out-of-body thing, of course." She amazed herself with the
calm in her voice. But he seemed okay, and besides, he was sort of cute too,
after all.
"Naturally."
He looked around. "I am here,
then? You see me, you're talking to me. But I'm not really here." He
walked over to her desk, picked up a form she'd been perusing, a form now
drenched in coffee. "You see me lifting this."
She
snatched it from him. "Here, that's confidential,"
she said, trying for 'authoritative' but still landing somewhere around
'mystified'.
"And
wet," he noted. "Can I help you clean up?"
"That…that
would be fine. There's paper towels in the restroom, just down the hall."
So
he left, and while she had no expectation of his ever returning, he did anyway
to her surprise and delight, bearing a stack of neatly folded paper towels. She
hadn't budged in the meanwhile. "That's either the cleanest crapper I've
ever been in, or my sense of smell isn't transferring," he said,
matter-of-factly. "Beats the one at the plant all to pieces."
"This
is a health insurance office,"
she pointed out. "I would imagine our…crappers, as you call them, are at
least sanitary."
"Is
that what this is? I wondered." He laid half of the towels on the desk and
looked around. "I work in a factory myself. Run a band saw. It’s not much,
but it's a living. Only, somebody’s put boogers all over the walls in the men’s
room. Classy."
She
gagged. “Yeah. Classy.”
“It’s
somebody who smokes. They all have nicotine stains. Me, I quit about a year
ago.” He nodded approvingly as he looked around her office. “This is nice. I
wish I had this kind of view.”
“It
seems you do, today at least,” she commented as she patted up the pools of
coffee. “Doesn’t that seem strange to you?"
"It
should, I guess," he agreed, looking out the window and down onto the
interstate below. "That's where I am right now, you know." He pointed
down to the roadway where it crossed the
“Who’s
‘we’?” Candy asked.
Dan
Meyer looked back at her. “Oh, that’d be Joe and I. He’s my roommate. Kinda. He
owns a trailer house in Okalona. We share the lot rent and utilities. I’ve had
apartments with bigger closets than my bedroom there, but I reckon it beats
sleeping under a picnic table. And I’ve had to do that before.” He looked
thoughtful. “I suppose when we get there I’ll disappear. And probably you won’t
remember me. Like waking up from a dream. That’s how it’s been so far anyway.
Just so you know.”
“So
far?”
“Well,
this isn’t the first time I’ve been here.”
This
was news to Candy Marcum. “Mister Meyer, no offense, but I’ve been here for
fifteen years and this is the first time I’ve set eyes on you.” And too bad for that, she almost added,
but didn't.
It
probably ought to be noted at this point that poor Candy’s life had been rather
mundane up till the moment which Dan Meyer materialized in front of her. She
grew up working class in
Spinster.
There’s a word you don’t hear much anymore. Kind of out-of-date, old fashioned.
But that was Candy Marcum for you. Trapped in the seventies. About the only
good thing she had going for her socially was that she really, really liked
disco music, and it seemed to be back in vogue again. Mostly among gay men, but
that was okay too. It was entertainment. This, though…
"I've
been coming here the past several days," Dan Meyer told her. "Since I
figured out I could do it. We talked about it at the group meeting last week,
and I just figured I'd try it this week." He looked back outside.
"Funny. I figured I'd have woke up by now. I must really be out of
it."
"You're
confusing me," Candy said. "And I sure could use a replacement for
that cup of coffee. Would you mind if we took this discussion to the Break
Room?"
"Not
sure how long I'll be able to stick around. But I'm willing to try." He
got up and Candy did likewise—a little weak in the knees, admittedly, but
steady enough—and she led him down the hall a few doors to the company break
room, which was still deserted at this hour. "Pretty posh," he
remarked. "Our break room at the plant has plywood walls. Not even
painted. And some folding tables and chairs. No windows, except in the door,
and I figure that's there so the shift leaders can peek in and see who's goldbricking."
He drew two cups of coffee. "I take mine straight. You?"
"Lots
of cream and sugar, just like candy. Which is my name, by the way."
He
nodded as he worked. "I knew that."
Well,
of course he did. If he really had been
coming over the course of the week, he'd have had ample opportunity to learn
her name. And more, especially if he had been…invisible, if you will. With a
private office, she never hesitated to use it as a changing room for her daily post-work
run in the park. When exactly had he been there, and what exactly had he seen,
she wondered? Or perhaps the thought was something more earthy. One could
certainly forgive her had that been the case. So, it was only natural that her
next query might’ve been exactly that. But it wasn’t. Such was her comfort
level, and given the circumstances, that was at least understandable.
Anyway
when Dan Meyer came back to the table bearing two brimming cups, he sat across
from her and told a tale that was, at least, incredible.
“See,
I thought I was bored,” he said to her. “So bored I didn’t feel like living. My
therapist called it depression.” He shrugged. “Not that I put much stock in
what she said. But it was her who suggested I go back to school. I can’t
exactly afford to go back to school, but I heard the city offers adult
education classes.”
“They
do,” Candy noted. “I’ve seen the brochures at the library.”
“That’s
where I saw ‘em. Anyway, I picked one up, looked through it, and I found one
that sounded like I would enjoy it. Parapsychology. More important, it was free. I figured, what the hell, if
nothing else, it was something to occupy some time. Our class met at Southern
High School, twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays over eight weeks. It was
great. It was never the same thing twice. We started with ghosts and
poltergeists, which took a couple of nights, then we branched off into UFOlogy, ESP, telekinesis, spiritualism—which I thought was
really odd, considering how Catholic this city is—and we finished a few weeks
ago with meditation. Neat stuff. We had a great group, so tight that when the
class ended, we all decided to keep meeting informally. Only once a week, but
it beat not at all, and it was cheaper than going back to therapy. I gave that
up anyway. The woman who was my therapist…” He laughed cynically. “The best
thing I can say about her is that she was gorgeous. Mia, that’s her name. I’d do her, but I’d never be her patient
again.”
There
was a pause, almost as if Dan was waiting for Candy to ask the inevitable
question, which she obliged by finally breaking the silence with, “Why?”
“She
wanted to commit me.” He grinned. “I’m mad, you know. Or at least that’s what she thought when I told her what I was
doing. People can’t really do this sort of thing, she told me. But, here I am,
so what does she know? And when she suggested sticking me back in the nuthatch,
I thought pretty much the same thing and told her where to get off. Haven’t
been back since.”
“Ummm…back in the nuthatch?”
“Spent
a couple of weeks there a year ago for trying to kill myself.” He shrugged.
“Don’t ask me, we probably don’t have that kind of time. Anyway, I learned a
lot at those group meetings, more than Mia ever taught me. And one of the
things I learned was that supposedly you really can project yourself from one place to another…if you can focus,
focus completely, shut everything else out.”
“So
you decided to try it,” Candy concluded, “and here you are.”
“It
wasn’t that simple. I tried to do it at the house a bunch of times, but somehow
I never made it work. Tried everything that made sense. I got somewhere quiet,
thought of somewhere I wanted to go. And I fell asleep. Went to the woods,
figured communing with Nature would help. I got chased out by hornets. Last
place I ever figured it would work would be in a car, but that’s where it
happened first. Funny, I seem to relax more in the car than I do at home in
bed."
"Not
driving, hopefully."
"Not
driving. Joe drives. It's his car. I have a motorcycle."
"Really!"
Candy squealed. "So do I! Maybe we can go riding…" Then she
remembered she was speaking to a disembodied spirit—or whatever Dan Meyer
was—and she toned down the enthusiasm.
"Anyway,
we come through downtown pretty much every weekday morning about this time.
I'll stare out the window, sometimes we'll listen to the news or whatever. We
don't really talk a lot, Joe and I. Probably why we get along so well. Anyway,
I took to looking at what was happening in the windows of the office buildings
downtown, what I could see, and what I imagined
I could see. I’d look up, see which offices had lights, if there was anybody
visible, that sort of thing. After a few days I pretty much had it figured out
where I could look to find someone." He smiled at her. "That was you.
And you were always alone. So I figured, well, let's see if I can come up and
get a closer look at you. And this last Tuesday, I did it."
"But
I couldn't see you."
"No.
I knew something was wrong, that I wasn’t completely there. It didn't feel…" He searched for a word. "I guess
it didn't feel natural. Or as natural as something like this can feel, anyway. I mean, what is astral
projection supposed to feel like?"
"Well,
what does it feel like?" Candy
asked.
"Well
today it felt like I deflated in the car…like all the air went out of me. Then,
when I got here, it was like I kinda popped back into place." He laid a
hand on hers, and she surprised herself by not flinching, not even a little. "Look,
I'm sorry if I scared you. I wasn't sure where I was going to end up. The first
couple of times I got here, I tried to get a good look around so I'd know I
wasn't going to arrive in a closet or something. It worked out well enough, I
guess."
"I
guess."
"And
here I am. So, what shall we do?"
She
looked up at him. "Do? What do you mean?"
"Really,
Candy. Here I am. What will we do? It seems I'm unoccupied, and I bet you're
not officially on the clock yet either. Go somewhere, do something, maybe? I
don't know. I haven't had breakfast yet. You guys have a cafeteria here? I'll
buy." He checked his pockets and grinned. “I guess my money’s good when
I’m projecting. I hope so, anyway.”
She
thought about it for a moment, and came to the conclusion that nothing ill
could come of having a cute guy buy her breakfast, whether he was real or not.
He certainly looked and sounded human enough. And this would be a fine test,
anyway. If she got all the way to the café with him, why, then he was real
enough, and what was happening was enough to constitute a date. Which might,
perhaps, lead to more. She stood. "All right," she said, "but if
you're not with me by the time we hit the elevator, I'm just going to think of
you as a hallucination or something."
"Fair
enough." He took her hand and shook it. She had to admit he felt real too. A nice firm grip, and
warm too. Her father had always relied on a firm handshake to determine whether
her potential suitors were trustworthy; Dan Meyer would almost certainly pass
muster. Of course, with a name like Meyer he was liable to be Jewish, and Dad
might not approve of that. Still, she
wasn't exactly looking at him as husband on the hoof just yet. You just don't
do that with a guy that materializes in your office. At 5:15 AM, even.
They
did, in fact get to the elevator. They even passed a couple of people in the
hall along the way, one of which happened to be Candy's best friend, who asked
about Dan later and provided Candy with some much-appreciated confirmation that
she hadn't been hallucinating after all. Good thing that it hadn't been Dr.
Cross that had seen them; that might've been awkward. As it was, Candy was
still left wondering how to explain things, especially when the elevator doors
opened on two, she turned to lead Dan out, and found him missing. Dematerialized, she supposed. With a
sigh and a shrug, she went into the cafeteria, picked out a grapefruit half and
a bowl of Rice Krispies and spent the remainder of
the pre-work period contemplating the basic unfairness of the Universe, and
wondering if she'd ever see Dan Meyer again.
Which
she did, of course, the very next morning. And it was just as surprising,
though she at least managed to avoid splattering her work. "Hi," she
greeted him as soon as she'd composed herself. "I was hoping you'd come
back."
He
smiled at her. "And I was hoping you'd feel that way." He looked down
at her desk, where she already had breakfast laid out for both of them. Not
fancy, just biscuits and jam and coffee, but more than he would've had anyway,
and he told her so. "We never get much chance, Joe and me," he said.
"Money either. We do okay, mind you, but it's not what it could be."
"I'm
glad I could help." She took a bite of a biscuit liberally smeared with
strawberry jam. "So tell me, what it was it like to go back?"
"Rough,"
he admitted, sipping his coffee and giving her a thumbs-up. "Ah, nice and
strong. Thanks. It was like when you have one of those dreams where you're
falling. Know what I mean?"
"Sure.
And you wake up when you hit."
He
shuddered and looked most uncomfortable. "That's what it's like. Joe about
crapped his drawers. He thought I was having a coronary or something. Maybe I
was, I don't know. And maybe I will again this time. But I had to come
back." The fearful look changed into something more serene. "Mostly,
I was worried you'd be scared and you wouldn't be here."
She
shrugged. "Where else would I be? If I don't do the work, nobody
will."
He
nodded but smiled knowingly. "Maybe. But you sure do look nice today,
Candy." And she had in fact gone to special pains to make herself look
attractive that morning, almost like the last time she'd gone on a date. Which
was quite some time ago, honestly, and maybe that was why she had so
anticipated his…visit, or whatever it might be called.
She
blushed, and they shyly continued eating their breakfasts, until eventually he
said, rather abruptly, "Whoops."
"Whoops?"
"Whoops."
He looked disconcerted for a moment, then downright scared. "I think I'm
about to…"
And
he did. Disappear.
It
was abrupt enough that Candy worried from that moment until next she saw him
again, which wasn't till the next morning when he arrived, looking just a
little paler and peaked than he had previous. Still, she greeted him happily,
not so rattled as before, and this
time she had a somewhat more sumptuous spread, a proper breakfast: juice, eggs,
bacon and sausage, biscuits (homemade this time, not canned) and coffee. And
she was wearing her best dress, what she tended to call her “trolling” outfit,
the same one she'd worn bar-hopping with her younger sister Kim. She hadn't
gotten so much as a nibble during those trips, and it had been downright
depressing. Now though, now there was someone,
someone actually going out of their way to meet her, albeit in a most unusual
way. And by God, he kept coming back. She still wasn't entirely sure why or what—if
any—feelings he had for her, but she did know she’d already fallen for Dan
Meyer, and fallen hard. He was witty, intelligent, polite, and yes, he was
cute. And of course there was that whole mystery thing he had going…the ability
to appear and disappear…yes, there was a peculiar attraction in that.
Still,
there were some puzzles, and concerning ones at that. She knew more or less where
he lived, Okalona, a southern suburb of the city, but she'd been unable to pin
down exactly where. He was a little too evasive on that point for her liking.
And he wasn't in the phone book either. Not that she hadn't looked; she'd spent
an entire evening calling every variation of Meyer she could find: D Meyer,
Daniel Meyer, Danny Meyer, J D Meyer (who knew, maybe he went by his middle
name, people do, after all) and various permutations of initials. To make
things worse, she wasn't even sure she was spelling Meyer right. Or maybe “Dan”
was just a nickname and his real first name was something unusual like Ignatz or Aloysius.
But
what was truly dismaying to her was that he hadn't bothered to ask any
searching questions about her
identity. Which led her to question whether or not her mystery man really cared
that much about her after all.
So
on this occasion, when he arrived, she decided she would do what he had not so
far: she would make sure he knew what he needed to know, which was to say, how
he could locate her without need for
any paranormal travels. And perhaps then she would really find out if he cared
as much for her as she did for him.
Then,
5:30.
5:40. That stack of claim forms in her Inbox wasn’t getting any smaller
either…in fact, other peoples’ problems seemed rather far away and unimportant
just now.
She
stood, paced, looked anxiously out the window. What was wrong? Because surely
something had to be wrong. He had
been as faithful as…well, as faithful as an astral traveler could be. Or
whatever he was. Sure, it had only been a couple of days, but
Abruptly
there was a faint but audible “pop” from behind her, and she whirled just in
time to see him swirl into view.
And
he did not look good. In fact, he looked quite weak. Maybe…
“Sick,”
he mumbled, trembling. “Sorry, Candy. I’m sick. Flu or something. I stayed home
from work today, then I remembered, if I didn’t come, maybe you’d forget me or
be mad or something…”
Candy
Marcum was wholly overcome with emotion. That is a very dramatic statement, yet
it's also very true. Even “overwrought” wouldn’t have properly described her. It
was especially so when she walked to him and got a closer look…because he
really did look bad.
“Oh…oh
dear,” she said, not sure whether what she was about to do was right or not. Or
what “right” even meant in this sort of situation. But, instinct being what it
is, she felt inclined to put her arms around him, so she did, and to her
immense relief—and delight—he rested his head on her shoulder and sighed a
happy if rumbly sigh.
“It’s
chilly out there,” he muttered. “I don’t really have winter riding clothes, I
just stay inside most of the time, or I borrow Joe’s car if I need to go out.
But I had to be here. Set the alarm, tried to do it from home…” He coughed, a
rough, choked cough. “Figured it’d be easier ‘cause I’d been here before. It
wasn’t. Had to…” Now he shivered, and violently. “I actually had to come
downtown, somewhere I could see your
window…”
She
held him tighter, and she also held her tongue, as she desperately wanted to
say something like, well, here’s an idea,
why didn’t you just come up? But maybe there were things at play here she
didn’t fully comprehend. And then again, maybe he wasn’t thinking properly. He
was sick, after all. Or, maybe she was in love with a guy who was a couple of
sandwiches shy of a picnic. There was that possibility too.
But
none of that mattered to Candy, not right now. She had a cold man in her arms
and she was determined to warm him up. And judging by the steady progression of
his trembling, she was doing a pretty lame job of it. “There,” she said, and
again, “There. It’s okay, Dan. You’ll be fine. Just…just stop shaking so.
You’ll heat up, just give it a minute. It’s nice and warm in here.”
He
looked at her and smiled. “I bet it is. Only, I’m out there.”
“No.
No you’re not.” Candy was firm about it. And why shouldn’t she be? He was here,
right here with her. How could he be cold? She loved him, after all. And she told him so. “You can’t be cold, Dan
Meyer, because you’re here, I’m holding you, and I love you. There's nothing
paranormal about that.”
She
felt the smile forming on his face, pressed against her shoulder, then her
neck. And now she was shivering.
“You
love me? Really?” At least his breath was warm, she felt it on her neck now.
“Really.”
Another
long sigh. “You know, I figured something good was going to come out of that
class. Knew it. Joe thought it was a waste of time. But I knew. I knew.”
And
now, he put his arms around her. And that was good. Very good.
But
at the same time, also she knew it was wrong.
"Look,"
she said carefully, "you're sitting outside right now, aren't you?
Somewhere you can see my window?"
He
didn't answer.
"You're
sick, Dan. You need to be in somewhere where it's warm."
"Are
you telling me you want me to leave?"
There
was a moment's hesitation, then she said, "Yes." Firmly. "Go
home. Come back when you can do it without hurting yourself."
And
he did, and Candy Marcum spent the next several days wondering if she had just
driven off the first man to whom she'd proclaimed her love. Five days, in fact,
days spent thinking and despairing. Days even her sister knew it was probably
best to keep her distance, that Candy was not in any sort of mood for comfort
or condolence. Company, yes, but little else. She would come out of it on her
own eventually. And of course she did, but it wasn’t till Dan Meyer made his
return, and that wasn’t till the following Thursday morning. At
Candy
hadn’t grown tired of waiting for him, but by this time she’d almost grown
accustomed to not seeing Dan appear
that when he did appear, it came as something of a surprise. Thus the look on
her face when she saw him materialized was already disconcerted, and it was
even more so when his being swam into focus.
Dan
Meyer did not look good. Fact was, he looked positively awful. Not cold, not
like the last time, but certainly more cadaverous, thinner and more pale,
appreciably so especially considering she’d only seen him three times over the
course of less than a week. She stared at him with something akin to shock, so
much so that he asked her, “What’s wrong? Do I look that bad?”
“Yes,
Dan, you do,” she replied, getting to her feet and walking over to him. “You
look like you’re really, really sick. And skinny. Are you eating at all?”
“Mostly
what you’ve been feeding me,” he admitted. “But I haven’t had a lot of time for
it otherwise. I’ve been working on perfecting this astral projection business,
and I think…”
Candy
very nearly shrieked. “Do you mean to tell me you haven’t eaten anything in the
past five days?”
Dan
looked at her, surprised. “You mean it’s been that long? Wow. I guess that explains why I feel so rotten right
now.” He looked down at her—and it only occurred to her just now how tall he
was—and he smiled. “Well, I guess we’re finally going to have a leisurely
breakfast together now, aren’t we?”
“Are
we?” she asked him, her voice an unsteady mixture of doubt and hope.
"Yes,"
Dan replied firmly. "Yes, we are. Today, we are."
So
Dan and Candy walked the same route they did that first day, down the hall and
to the elevator. This time, when they got on the car, she took his hand, and
she didn't let go of it, even after the doors had opened and they'd stepped out
onto the second floor and walked into the cafeteria, which was rather quiet
this early on a Thursday morning. But it was open, and everything smelled
wonderful, and there was even music playing, something appropriately swirly and
romantic. "Oh," she said as the music rose to a dramatic pitch,
"I know that. It's…" She thought for a moment. "Oh, I know it.
It's that guy who was in the Raspberries. What's his name?" She snapped
her fingers. "Damn it, I know it, it's right on the tip on my tongue. Eric
somebody."
"Rachmaninov?"
Dan said.
"No,
no, nothing foreign. He's from Cleveland. Eric…"
"No,
it's Rachmaninov. Sergei Rachmaninov. It's his second symphony. It's Eric
Carmen you're thinking of, and yes, he did crib a bit from this piece."
She
looked up at him, again noting the difference in their relative heights.
"I never knew that."
He
smiled at her. "Most people don't. I just happen to like Rachmaninov. I
think Carmen wrote some nice lyrics for it though."
"Never
gonna fall in love again," Candy said, following him as he carried their
tray to a table. "Yes, I thought that too, Dan. What about you?" Then
she stopped. "No, wait a minute. First…" She took a pen and paper
from her purse. "What's your address and phone number? Just in case you
get pulled out of here early."
"Good
thinking." He gave her his address at a trailer park on the south side of
town. "And yours?"
"Never
you mind," she said. "You just be ready when I come get you tonight.
No excuses. Showered, shaved, and ready for the night of your life."
This
seemed to amuse Dan Meyer, but anyone who happened to be looking could tell by
the look on Candy's face that she was deadly serious: this date would be
Birthday, Valentine's, and Christmas all rolled up into one, with a little
Thanksgiving thrown in for good measure. She certainly looked ready enough to
give thanks.
So,
they ate and they talked, and they had a delightful time…so delightful, in
fact, that when Dan looked up at the clock and discovered that it was nearly
seven, he gasped in amazement. "Well, won't you look at that!" he
said excitedly. "I've been here over an hour, Candy! Do you know what that
means?"
"That
you're madly in love with me, and you'll want to go look at rings with me
tonight?" she replied playfully. "Make sure it's got a ruby in it. I
adore rubies, and red is my favorite color."
He
took her hands across the table. "And I guess if I asked you to marry me
right now, you’d say yes, then?"
Now
she looked surprised. "I…I think
I'm supposed to say something about this being so sudden," she stammered.
"Dan, I don't…"
He
grinned at her. "I won't hold you to that. But Candy, what it really means
is that I've got this astral thing whipped. I can come and go as I please now."
He looked out the window facing west. "Right about now I'll have clocked
in, and I'm at my saw. Putting the first stack up, I'd say."
“I
hope that’s not dangerous.”
Dan
Meyer seemed to mull this over. “Well,” he finally said, “I reckon I always
figured my job didn’t require a whole lot of brainpower. This ought to prove
it, hmmm?”
And
they talked some more. They talked about their pasts (his, fairly lurid, hers,
as previously noted, mostly mundane) their present (rather the same case as the
past, actually), and what they expected for their futures. It should come as no
surprise to anyone reading this that their latter tales tended to parallel each
other, and by the time they finished, they’d as much as concluded that they
might as well go and look for those rings tonight after all, because it seemed
clear that Fate had brought them together, and you sure can’t fight that sort
of thing, can you?
By
now the clock had moved its slow hand all the way around nearly a full circuit,
and it was almost time for Candy to begin her work day proper. “Would you
escort me to my office, Dan?” Candy said, standing and offering him her arm.
“Delighted,”
he replied, and they disposed of their breakfast tray and walked to the
elevator together, and to the rest of the world, they appeared to be a couple
now, a couple perfectly happy with one another and looking forward to, perhaps,
a lifetime together.
The
elevator door opened, discharged its passengers, and they climbed on, and Dan
almost pressed the button labeled 27. Almost. Instead, he looked over at Candy
and asked, “Do you think we’d be able to get out on the roof?”
“On
the roof?” She was questioning, but at this particular instant she would
entertain most any suggestion he might make. “I suppose we probably can. Why?”
“I
have a thing for high places. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see what the city
looks like from above.”
“And
27 floors up isn’t enough?”
He
shook his head and pressed the 40. “No way! It has to be the top, and not just
any top, but the very top.” He tapped
his foot anxiously. “It might be a little chilly though. Maybe we ought to stop
and get a coat for you.”
And,
in an absurdly romantic move, something she would have never done in her old
life— meaning everything she had known prior to meeting Dan Meyer, of
course—Candy leaned against him and said, “Not so long as I have you to keep me
warm.”
Absurd?
At least! God, but it was so sublimely corny, had she not been the one to
actually utter those words, had she been a bystander hearing them instead, she probably would’ve burst out laughing
hysterically. Instead, it was marvelous. Enough to bring tears to the most
cynical man, which Dan Meyer definitely was not. He put his arms around her,
pulled her to him, and for the first time, kissed her.
They
were still engaged in the most serious of lip-locks when the doors opened onto
the 40th floor and depositing them, breathless, in a deserted
hallway with a door marked “Roof Access” just a few feet away. They disengaged
long enough for her stroke his face lovingly—noting the impression her glasses
had made on his cheeks—and then she took him by the hand and led them up two
flights to a door that opened onto a graveled surface with the most amazingly
unobstructed vista of their chosen home.
“Oh,”
Candy Marcum gasped, and not just from the view. It was that, and the passion,
the suddenness, and her mounting happiness. It was all just a bit too much to
take in, so much, so soon, so…odd. But, so wonderful. “Oh Dan. Look at it.”
He
already was. “It’s unbelievable,” he cried. “I've never been so…" He
wheeled around, his arms outstretched joyfully. "So close to the sky! It’s
beautiful!”
She
pointed up and to the southeast. “Look! A helicopter!” She started waving
wildly. "Look, Dan! We're going to be on TV!"
Yes,
there was a chopper up there, approaching slowly. Most of the local news
stations had a morning drive copter. Probably it was one of them.
About
a quarter of a mile away and about half that above them, Gregory Farzo did his best to keep his cameras aimed at the key
junctions, fly the machine—and mind you, a helicopter is an amazingly complex
thing to keep in the air—and stay out of the way of the traffic from Louisville
International, which had always been way
too close for his liking. Oh, and he was also subject to the inane chatter of his
overly enthusiastic rider, a local car dealer who used the traffic reports to
pitch his business. More than once Greg Farzo had
been sorely tempted to shove the guy out the door, but that might've hurt
somebody below.
He
didn't see Candy Marcum waving. Not yet, anyway. But he was heading straight
toward her.
Back
on the roof of the Norton Building, Candy was so lost in waving at the
helicopter that she didn't notice Dan walking away from her…away from her and toward
the edge of the building. By the time she saw, he was halfway there…and she was
mystified. "Dan! Dan! Where are you going?"
He
was saying something. She could only just hear it, but he was saying something…and it wasn't anything
coherent, just one sound, over and over. "Oh. Oh. Oh."
"Dan?"
she cried, running to him as he continued to advance, slowly now, his eyes
fixed at a point to the west, just slightly above the horizon. "Dan,
what's wrong?"
His
unusual actions reminded her of his troubled past. And he'd said he had a thing
for high places…but surely, not now,
not after…
But
he was close now, maybe a step, maybe two away. "Dan!" she screamed.
"Dan! Stay away from the edge!"
He
looked back at her, and the look on his face…it was not what she expected, not
a look of despair, not the darkness of one bent on suicide. Instead, it was
more of a look of wonder, of fervor for…what?
He
paused, stared at her, his eyes wide, his mouth faintly smiling. Traces of
tears, tears of joy, speckled his cheeks. "Don't you see it?" he said
breathlessly. "Don't you see it? It's beautiful!"
"Dan?"
Candy held out her hand. "Dan? Come away, Dan, come away with me…"
He
turned back to the parapet, stepped up, arms out for balance, one in front, one
behind. It rather looked like he was rock-hopping across a creek.
And
then Candy Marcum thought, I don't know
what he sees…but I want to be wherever he is. Or wherever he's going. I will
not live without him, one way or the other.
She
reached out, grabbed his trailing hand.
He
looked back, his face awash with love.
Greg
Farzo had seen them now. It was the woman waving that
had caught his attention. Somebody on a roof downtown, especially a woman…it
was too cold for sightseeing, surely…instinctively he banked toward them, nose
down, his view unobstructed now. If nothing else, it would make for an
interesting shot for the morning crew, someone…no, two people it seemed, out
enjoying the view…
Wait.
Wait. The man, for one was a man, he was walking toward the edge of the
building, with the woman following him. And she was calling to him, Farzo couldn't hear, of course, but he could see, and that
was enough to tell him that he was seeing a tragedy in the making. Dynamite
footage, yes, but was this something people really wanted to see? Was it
something he wanted to see?
Still,
he was committed. And if he got close enough, maybe somehow he could…
He
gasped. "Oh no. No." The man had stepped up to the edge, put a foot
onto the parapet. "No, no, no…don't…"
It
got worse. Way worse. The woman took the man's hand. And just when Greg Farzo thought that she was going to pull him back, instead,
she stepped up with him…
And
then, together they stepped
Dan
Meyer's hand closed around hers.
In
that instant, Candy Marcum looked, saw,
saw what he had, saw what lay before them. Her eyes widened, filled with tears,
tears of joy.
Together,
they stepped
Hours
later, in his office at the station, Greg Farzo paced
back and forth, still trying to compose himself, and trying just as hard, and
about as successfully, to reconcile what he'd filmed versus what he'd seen.
What he'd filmed: a
woman, stepping off the Norton Building and plummeting to her death.
What he'd seen: a
man and a woman, stepping off the Norton Building…and vanishing.
He'd
seen it. And rationally, he knew what had to have happened. People don't just
vanish. People do step off buildings,
to die. Happens every day.
The
woman had killed herself. Simple.
Or
not. Not what Greg Farzo had seen. Two people, not one. Two. Hand in hand, the expressions on their faces unmistakable.
They weren't depressed, they weren't suicidal.
The
film he'd shot would never be seen.
Candy
Marcum's death barely rated a paragraph in the newspaper that day.
Across
the river in New Albany, the removal of Dan Meyer's body from the passenger
seat of a car in the parking lot of Midwest Fabrications was noted only by his
co-workers and his roommate.
Together,
they stepped…up.
Copyright ©
2008 James David Reyome. All rights reserved.
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