By the time they reached Salt Lake City, all of Chet's doubts were laid
to rest. The night before, Chet shared Ivan's mind and saw there was
nothing to fear from the man; instead, he found a kindred soul, and someone
he could care about. Not only that, he found he cared for Bart as well.
The two were a part of each other, like two halves of a coin. He was rather
envious of their closeness, their mental bond and the constant flow of communion
they shared. He wished he could join in and while Ivan tried, that ability
seemed just beyond his grasp. Chet could speak to Bart through Ivan and Ivan
could project Bart's thoughts and feelings fully to Chet, yet there was not
the same intensity or depth of feeling he experienced when communing directly
with Ivan. Even though it lacked something, Chet still felt closer to Bart
than to any other person alive, except Ivan, and he had yet to meet the
man.
That finally happened when they parked in front of a small private hospital
on Seventh East Street. Ivan led the way through the lobby directly to Bart's
room without interference from the nursing staff; in fact, they didn't seem
to notice the two men. Ivan's gift appeared extremely powerful at close
range, Chet thought as he followed the man.
Bart looked wan, drawn and very ill. The disease had taken a heavy toll
of the once robust man, yet his eyes lit up when he saw Ivan. They kissed.
Ivan held his hand while introducing Chet. Bart tried to speak, only his
throat hurt so badly he couldn't utter a word. Chet knew this from Ivan,
the thoughts between the three flowed much easier now and Chet could feel
Bart's pain.
“What do we do now?” Chet asked.
“Get a doctor in here.” He stood quietly for a moment, and suddenly a
young man appeared at the door.
“Hi, Doctor Brown. I have a blood donor for Bart, would you please get
it set up.”
Chet expected some formality,--- papers or wavers demanded, but instead
the doctor turned and called for a nurse. A few minutes later, Chet was
lying on a gurney next to Bart and thinking maybe blood typing should be
done first.
“Don't worry, you're one of those universal donor types, not one hundred
percent compatible with everyone, but close to it. I all ready checked
into that.” Ivan's mental projection came to a halt.
“What's the matter? “ Chet asked worriedly.
“MY, GOD. Bart's lifeline just went out of sight! I can't see the end
of it!”
Doctor Brown looked up distractedly, “What did you say?”
<< Nothing,--- Sorry doctor,--- pay no attention to me. >>
Ivan projected to the doctor. Doctor Brown returned to setting the flow.
“I can't believe it. It just shot out of sight. You've cured him, Chet!
Not only that, you've transferred whatever it is you have. God, if Penn suspected
it was this easy, he'd have the Army after you.”
“Are you sure it's a cure?" Chet harbored the thought Bart might require
regular transfusions to maintain his health.
“You're right,--- that's a possibity,--- that might be what it means.
I should know more in a few minutes.”
“One pint.” The doctor said, “That's enough nurse.” She pinched off the
tubing and Brown pulled the needles free. Bart all ready looked better, color
suffused his face and he thought to Ivan,
<< I feel strange. It's like a fire in my veins warming me. >>
The soreness in his throat rapidly diminished and he could swallow without
the raw painful feeling of just a few minutes ago He reached over and grasped
Chet's hand,--- tears came to his eyes,
“Thank you,” he said in a hoarse voice, “Thank you,---” He was still
holding Chet's hand when a wave of tiredness came upon him and he fell
asleep. Within Bart a sea of change began. Not yet noticeable to those
looking on, it would take many months to complete; however, at that
moment it was gnawing away at the cancer that was killing Bart.
Two hours later Bart awoke feeling far better. Chet's blood coursed through
his veins, multiplying, filling him with an energy he hadn't felt in months.
Chet and Ivan were still with him,--- Chet on the next bed asleep,--- Ivan,
napping in the chair. Bart watched the men sleep; the one he loved above
all else and the one who just saved his life. Ivan had said this would
come about and like all things Ivan promised, it came true. He was getting
well, he could feel the cure working inside him like a fire racing through
the damaged tissues of his body,--- not painful,--- only purifyingly hot.
The two weeks Ivan spent back east were the longest weeks of Bart's
life, even though he was in constant touch with him, seeing what Ivan saw,
delving through Chet's memories as Ivan passed them on to him. From his
bed of pain Bart saw Chester, like himself buried his true identity
within the veneer of acceptable behavior. 'The demands of society can kill
the souls of those not able to fit in,' he thought. 'We become but smeared
carbon copies of an impossible ideal.'
Chet stirred. He opened his eyes to find Bart smiling at him from the adjoining
bed and he suddenly realized Bart was good looking, but not spectacularly
handsome; however, in Ivan's mind, the man seemed almost impossibly
so. Every little detail, his hairy chest, his the strong, muscular
body, even his thinning hair, his chipped tooth and a smooth mole on Bart's
face took on a different aspect when viewed through Ivan's memories. It
was disturbingly beautiful, and Chet realized why Ivan refrained from doing
deep reads at random. By now he must have hundreds of comparisons in his
mind and thousands of views of what others saw. Handling two was difficult
enough for Chet. How does Ivan stand it, he wondered.
“How are you feeling?” Chet asked
“Much better.” Bart's voice was stronger. “I could sit up if you
would hand me the bed control,” he indicated the cord hanging just out
of reach. Before Chet could move, the bed began to rise on its own accord.
Ivan was awake.
<< Remarkable! It's still there! I can't see the end of it.
>> His first thoughts were of Bart's lifeline.
“So, what do we do now? We can't have a spontaneous cure listed in the
hospital records.” Chet replied.
“What say, we get the hell out of here. I'm weak, but I can travel. I
think all I need now is food and rest.”
“Okay, Babe,” Ivan said, “where do you want to go?”
“Vegas, of course,” Bart replied with a smile, “we could use some traveling
money. Besides, where else can we get a plush, luxury hotel suite for so
little? Jesus, but I'm tired of hospital rooms!”
Chet laughed. He knew precisely the feeling.
They left the staff with the impression Bart died that evening and the
Plymouth minivan was really a hearse. The records would show those facts
even though the funeral home listed could not verify them. That should be
enough Ivan thought, since no one was looking for Bart anyway.
When they reached Vegas, Bart was able to stand for a short while. Hour
by hour he was getting stronger and after a few days of superb meals and
some light exercising in the hotel pool, he felt well enough for a foray into
the casinos. With the lesson of their fiasco at the Black Jack table behind
them, they stuck to the slots. Ivan was slowly gaining a more precise control
over machinery. Before, where he could fuse a battery, or make an engine
quit he now could force a payoff on a slot, not every time, but enough to
turn the odds in their favor. He didn't try for jackpots, that would have
brought in the local IRS agents, but consistent, minor wins do add up.
In four weeks they amassed a hundred thousand in smallish winnings from
casinos throughout the city. They were well on their way to their set goal
of a half million and Ivan could detect no interest in them or in the losses.
Bart looked healthy again, a little thin, but gaining fast.
Much transpired in those weeks. The three now shared more than memories,
more than the acknowledgment they all needed to disappear for awhile.
They now shared a bed as well. How that came about not even Ivan could say.
One night it simply happened and all three found it a natural enhancement
to the memories they shared. Chet was overwhelmed by the experience and
especially liked how Ivan could intensify a sexual encounter. Under his
influence an orgasm lasted not for mere seconds, but for minutes, it just
seemed to go on and on.
Sex was never been more satisfying for Chet, except perhaps for his few
years with Jim. That affair had truly been the high point of his life and
even now he sometimes imagined Jim was still alive, not dead these last twenty-five
years. Chet still dreamed about Jim, could still see his smile, those white
even teeth set in a face the color of midnight. What a gorgeous man he was,---
at fifty, still perfection, still deadly handsome. Chet unrolled that first
encounter, reliving each moment of it in his mind. They met at a rest area
just outside of Greenville. Chet was awed by the man's beauty, overwhelmed
by the fact that Jim came on to him. They sat in his car until sunup, talking,
necking, getting each other off time after time. Chet could visualize the
tiniest detail.
Everything about Jim was spectacular, from the fullness of his lips to
the smooth blackness of his manhood, the skin stretched so thin it looked
almost transparent, the taste of him, so delightfully different from others
he tried. It wasn't simply sex that brought them together, it had to be more
because it didn't end with sex. Love at first sight might describe what
Chet felt and perhaps that could be said for Jim as well. The next day Jim
phoned, saying he decided to move to Greenville permanently and asked if
Chet would help him find a house. Chet could still hear the nuances in Jim's
warm, mellow southern accent. That day as he waited for Jim, he felt like
a kid anticipating Christmas.
They looked, Jim bought and for the next three years, Jim became the
center of Chet's life. It was 1973, the sexual revolution in full swing.
The boys were gone, and Ivy was involved with a man ten years younger.
She and Chet spoke of divorce, only neither got around to doing anything
about it,--- they just went their own way,--- not interfering with each
other. Chet spent every non-working minute with Jim,--- Ivy with her boyfriend
and they seldom saw each other except at family functions. For Chet it
wasn't just sex that drew him to Jim,--- it was the pleasure they found
in each other's company. The movies, the books the restaurants they shared,
the weekend fishing trips, hiking, holding hands, but mostly it was a feeling
they belonged together, --- that, somehow, Chet's life with Jim was life
complete. The day before Jim died, Chet awoke wrapped in his warm
arms, feeling so comfortable he didn't want to move. It was a Saturday,
the sun beaming brightly through the window. Chet and Ivy again spoke of
divorce and he was about to mention it when Jim asked,
“Will you always remember us like this, Love?”
“Is water wet? Is the Pope catholic?” Chet chided, “What a question.”
Jim pulled him close and for awhile they lay in the pure contentment
of two souls in perfect harmony. Then Ivy called. Their oldest boy was involved
in a car accident in Ft. Wayne. If Chet hadn't panicked, if he only called
Ft. Wayne first, he would have learned John's injuries were minor. Instead
he and Ivy drove down there harboring the fear John was on the brink of
death. When he came back on Tuesday, it was Jim who died,--- a heart attack
in his sleep a neighbor told Chet,--- Jim's body was all ready shipped back
to Texas for burial. No funeral,--- no closure for Chet,--- just gone from
his life forever. The memory of that last day still haunted him. Did Jim
have a premonition that morning? Why would he ask such a question when he
all ready knew the answer?
It took years for Chet to recover,--- years in which he grew older and
perhaps a little wiser. AIDS came on the scene, a frightening specter which
quelled the urges that ran his life before meeting Jim, yet it wasn't simply
the fear of AIDS that kept him from the prowl, it was the realization that
no one could take Jim's place. Ivy's affair ended as well and the two settled
into a life bereft of joy. They hung on to their long dead marriage only
because being with someone was better than being alone.
I'm no longer alone, Chet realized. He hadn't felt emptiness since meeting
Ivan. Somehow, the lack of it brought back all his repressed memories of
Jim, but stranger yet, a zest for sex he hadn't felt in years. Everywhere
he looked he saw desirable men, but none quite as desirable as Ivan and
Bart. Even as he played the slots, his mind drifted back to them and increasingly
to memories of Jim. For some reason it always led back to Jim.
During the day they played the slots, building their ever-growing fund.
Nights they allowed themselves the pleasures of great food, star studded
shows and spectacular sex in a threesome of never ending delights. It became
a joining where Ivan no longer pushed the envelope,--- it wasn't necessary.
'Perhaps we are each doing it individually,' he thought, 'or maybe we just
don't need it anymore.' That's how it happened with him and Bart. Unconsciously
they fed each other's emotions and now the same thing was happening with
Chet. Love and lust are sometimes hard to separate he mused. Ivan checked
Chet's surface thoughts. Yes, it was there, but different.
Chet seemed to see Ivan and Bart as though they were one person, interchangeable.
His thoughts of them contained a mixture of lust, friendship, caring and
(longing?) Where did that come from, he wondered. Ah, Jim Locke, Chet's
one true love. Strange, all these thoughts of Locke were new, whereas before,
Jim was just vague yearning connected to the past. He peered deeper, following
the thread backward through time and found an area blocked off from the
rest of Chet's mind, one not even he could penetrate. The trauma of
Jim's death? Trauma could wipe out memory, even wall off a terrifying
experience. That Chet had loved Jim was crystal clear, but search as he
might, he couldn't find an opening into that blank area.
Ivan scrolled through Chet's memories of Jim and slowly became aware that
his memories were incomplete. Missing were numerous mundane things like
what Jim did for a living, the kind of car he drove, his date of birth, all
of which Chet surely must have known. In place of facts was a haze of emotion
that surrounded the man. Finding an impenetrable block was a new experience
for Ivan. Some day soon we will have to delve into it, he thought, if Chet
was willing to try. He turned his mind to other things. Their first goal
was accumulating the half million they needed to disappear and so toward
that end, Ivan increased the odds a bit. They set a limit of ten weeks to
acquire the needed funds and five of those were nearly up.
They didn't have time to achieve their goal. They were still a hundred
grand short when a Las Vegas tourist paper printed Chet's pictures and
the glaring headline,
“REJUVENATING MAN VISITS CIRCUS-CIRCUS.”
As Ivan learned so well in the past, he couldn't fool cameras.
* * * * * * *
Fennman's phone rang, the blinking light indicating the private
number Katz used. He picked it up.
“Penn here.”
Without preamble, Katz spoke,
“I take it you've seen the photo fax? No doubt about it, Latham
has been in Vegas almost from the time he disappeared. He's turned up on
dozens of surveillance cameras, only no one remembers seeing the man in person;
and, he's not alone. The two guys in the picture are in nearly every shot
of Latham.”
“Have you identified them yet?”
“The older one is Bart Ludlow, an ex-cop from Bellingham, Washington,
the younger one we haven't traced yet, but there's another mystery here.
Supposedly, Ludlow died in Salt Lake City last month. I have a copy of his
death certificate. The social security and Blue Cross numbers match. Ludlow
had leukemia and was in and out of the same hospital for months. The staff
knew him well and they say a younger man was with him most of the time, probably
the guy in the photo.”
“Isn't Bellingham right on the Canadian border?”
Katz acknowledged it was.
“Maybe you better check with Canada about our mystery man.”
“I've done that, but it takes awhile to get anything back from them.”
“I'm assuming the three are no longer in Vegas?”
“I doubt it, at least they haven't showed up on the tapes in the last
couple of days. They probably split the minute Latham's picture came out.
Say, how the hell can a man as well known as Latham wander about for weeks
and no one recognize him? He wasn't wearing a disguise when the cameras picked
him up, yet I haven't found a single casino employee who actually saw him.”
“Good question and the answer to it may lie with the unidentified man.
I want you to find them, Sid, pull out all the stops. I don't care what it
takes, find them!”
Penn leaned back. This new information only verified the fact something
strange and unheard of was going on. Who exactly was behind the sudden
weird turn of events, Latham or the other man?
Conner's memory loss was the first unexplained incident, but there were
others. Latham's disappearance, was one. Under constant surveillance, he
simply vanished. It took two weeks to trace Latham's car to Chicago, because
the dealer 'forgot' to register it. He couldn't even remember where it came
from. He also 'forgot' to send in the transfer on the blue minivan Latham
bought. Either Latham had abilities beyond anything appearing in his dossier,
or the unidentified man was helping him. Penn classified Ludlow as a side
issue, perhaps walking proof of Conner's hypothesis Latham's blood had properties
not seen in the chilled, treated samples shipped from Ann Arbor. If it was
true and Latham's blood could do for others what it seemed to have done
for Ludlow, then Latham was the find of the millennium.
Penn thought of all the trouble and expense Latham caused these last
six weeks. It took nearly forty hours of intense treatment using powerful
hypnotic drugs to restore Conner's memory, yet there were absolutely no leads
as to when, how or who washed him. In the ten minutes from the time Conner
faxed his report, to when Penn talked to him on the phone, Conner forgot
all about it. Could someone block memories in an instant, without drugs
or hypnotism, he wondered. The ramifications of it all gave him pause. If
it was possible,--- no one was safe,--- not the president,--- not congress,---
not even himself. From Penn's view, Latham was perhaps the most important
man in the world, only it now looked as though he might also be the most
dangerous. Or was it the unidentified man who was dangerous? Either way,
Penn decided he needed help. It was times like these when his contacts in
Washington paid dividends beyond the constant flow of money. The right person
for the right job, he thought as he picked up the phone.
“Marge, get me Senator Davis. Tell him it's a matter of national security.”