Chapter 21

Loni and I called Greta and Sable to a meeting. We sat at the small dining table drinking coffee. I had placed a notebook computer on the table.

"Sable, your wedding is around the corner," I said.

She smiled. "It is."

"Loni tells me that you've made arrangements for your dress," I said.

"I have," she said.

"What other arrangements have you made?" I said.

"As you know, the wedding will be here at Refuge," Sable said. "I've met with Greta about the reception. We discussed the menu for a sit-down dinner, but..."

"Loni and I visited the Gold Canyon Golf Resort yesterday," I said, interrupting her. "They can provide services and items for weddings that we don't have here at Refuge. How many guests have you invited?"

"Everyone who lives and works at Refuge, and their immediate families or guests, of course," Sable said. "Because of my situation, I can't invite family or old friends, but I invited some of the folks that I've worked with in the venture capital business, Philip Sams and Frank Camp, for instance. And Greg had a list, mostly family, but also some old army buddies. The list totals almost two hundred when wives and children are counted. Will that be all right?"

I chuckled. "Fine by me," I said. "I expected a larger number." I turned to Greta. "Can you handle a sit-down dinner for two hundred guests?"

"With Opal's help, I think I can handle the cooking," Greta said, "but we'll need to hire temporary help for serving, and instead of a sit-down dinner, we decided to go the buffet route."

"I don't own place settings for two hundred guests," I said. "Buffet style or sit-down."

"Place settings can be rented," Greta said.

I nodded and smiled. Greta had fallen into my trap. "Sable, what other arrangements have you made?"

"I've scheduled a photographer, and Greg, through his friend on the Phoenix police force, arranged for a judge to marry us. He and his best man – he asked his brother, Stuart, to be his best man – and the ushers will wear rented tuxedoes. I detest bridesmaid's gowns. My bridesmaids can wear what they want. Loni is my maid of honor. She'll dress appropriately." She looked at her sister. "If you look better than the bride, I'll scratch your eyes out."

Loni laughed, so I laughed, too. Sable laughed with us.

"What about the cake?" I said.

"Opal is making the cake," Greta said.

"Flowers?" I said.

"Not yet, but arranging for flowers isn't difficult," Sable said.

"Music?" I said.

"That's been arranged," Sable said.

"I own a tux. I'll wear it to give you away, Sable," I said. "Sounds like you've got things well in hand, but I think I can simplify things. The resort will supply tables and chairs and linens and place settings and centerpieces and ... ah, hell, everything and anything you want. They'll provide servers and will man the open bars with bartenders and supply the booze. They'll set up and tear down. Greta, if you want, you can concentrate on preparing a sit-down dinner and let the resort provide the hors d'oeuvres for the pre-wedding cocktail party. Your choice. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I've given the resort a blank check. I want the best, not necessarily the most expensive, but the best. There is a difference."

I paused and took a breath. "If it's not cold or windy or rainy, outdoors would be best. If the weather doesn't cooperate, we'll move the wedding and reception inside. It'll be crowded, but the living room, great room and dining rooms can handle two hundred guests, and we'll put the cake in a separate room. Or you could use the resort for the reception. Or the wedding. Whatever. Details. I'm no good at details. That'll be your job, Sable, and yours, Greta, and Loni says she'll help. The computer on the table is set to the resort's website. Check it out. Meet with them. Make decisions. Have fun."

I got up and started to walk away. I turned back and said, "About the photographer, tell him if he takes my picture, I'll break his camera."

With that, I left.

My final comment got me in big trouble.

Janice Green looked up from the computer screen. "Got him," she said quietly; then louder, "Vern, Dr. Johnson picked him, nailed him cold."

She'd been using facial recognition software to compare faces in their database to the man in the photograph that Dr. Johnson had selected from the casino videotapes as the possible serial killer. After comparing the most likely candidate, she'd planned to compare the other two 'more than maybes' to the same database. The other eyewitness hadn't been nearly as forthcoming as Dr. Johnson about any of the photographs they'd shown her.

"It was dark. I just don't know," she'd said.

Vernon rushed to Janice's desk and looked over her shoulder.

"I'll be go to hell," he said. "You're right. What's his name?"

"Lawrence Anderson," Janice said. "Thirty-five years old, brown hair and eyes, 160 pounds, 6-feet tall. Race: Caucasian."

"Is he one of our duplicates?"

"Don't know. Haven't checked that yet."

"Check," Price said.

She touched some keys on the computer, and a new page showed up on the computer monitor. "Yes," she said. "His name showed up three times, but not for the college at Palm Desert when we first started interviewing duplicates. Also, like about a hundred other men, we tried to contact him to set up an appointment for an interview but were never able to reach him."

"What's his address?"

"According to his driver's license, he lives in Tucson, Arizona."

"Isn't Tucson where the first rape was reported?"

"Yes."

"What else is in his file?"

She manipulated the computer again. "He works for a publisher. Text books, mostly college, but some high school text books, as well."

"That fits, too," Price said.

"Do we have enough to get a search warrant for his home?" Janice asked.

"Yeah, we do, not a no-knock warrant, but..."

"He won't be home, Vern. We'll need a no-knock warrant."

Price nodded. "I'll make some calls, call in some favors. Maybe..." he said and hurried toward his desk.

"One of the rape victims might identify him," Janice said. "That'd get us a no-knock warrant."

"Yes it would," Price said as he picked up a telephone. "Let me call in some markers first, though. Save some time, maybe. Besides, the bastard wore a ski mask."

"How about I call his employer, get his itinerary?"

"Not yet. They might alert him, mention your call." He dialed the first number on his list. "Regardless, we'll be leaving for Tucson as soon as I finish my calls."

I was in the library looking over a new Fantasy Fun, Inc, business plan that reflected a $5,000,000 capital infusion when Loni walked into the room. I put the handsomely bound business plan on a table and said, "How'd it go after I left?" I was referring to the wedding plans after I'd included the services of the resort.

"Good. The resort's involvement solves most of the problems. Greta is relieved. She couldn't see how she and Opal could do everything. And Sable is ecstatic. Gotta question for you?"

"Fire away," I said.

"Why are you worried about getting your picture taken now? Garfield and Anterra are no longer threatening you or anyone?"

I connected with her.

Let's go to silent mode for this conversation, I said.

All right, she said. Please answer my question.

Have you ever seen a picture of me with anyone?

No. Why is that?

I like my anonymity, I said. I had a hunch Loni wouldn't let me off the hook this time.

Hogwash, she said. Oh, I know you don't want any part of fame or notoriety. I can accept that, but refusing to have your picture taken at Sable's wedding, especially considering that you're a member of the wedding party, is going too far, Clint.

Could I get away with telling her that Clint Wilson was an alias without having to divulge that I wouldn't grow old with her?

"It's a nice day. Let's go for a walk," I said out loud.

We walked along the running path inside the walls of the compound. It was wintertime, but there'd been no frost yet, so the bougainvillea were still in full bloom.

"The grounds look good," I said. "Juan is doing a good job."

"Yes he is," Loni said. "You brought me out here to talk, Clint. So talk. Why are you so paranoid about having your picture taken?"

I sat on a park bench next to the path. Loni sat next to me.

Because Clint Wilson isn't my name. It's an alias, I said.

"What?" she said out loud, the reason I'd decided that we needed to take a walk. I figured loud verbal exclamations in the library would draw unwanted attention to our talk.

You heard me. Then I related essentially the same story I'd told Greg when I informed him I was using an alias. Almost word for word.

Greg bought that hogwash? She said silently.

He did, I said.

I don't, she said. To say you use an alias because you can is beyond ridiculous. You're not that eccentric, Clint, or whatever your name is.

Then she stopped being fair. Tears welled in her eyes, and her chin started to quiver.

"You don't trust me," she said out loud.

I trust you. What I don't want to do is lose you. I love you. If I told you the real reason behind my need to remain as anonymous as possible, I'd lose you. Since you came into my life, since you let me love you and you loved me right back, I've never been happier. I took her hand in mine. She didn't pull it away. Can't we leave this as is, and...

No, Clint, we can't. Clint! I keep calling you Clint, and Clint isn't even your damned name. What is your real name?

Thomas Patterson, I said.

I sensed if I weren't completely honest, I'd lose her anyway. It was time to tell all.

"Did you grow up on a horse ranch in Montana?" she said out loud.

Let's keep this silent, Loni, but to answer your question, no I didn't. I grew up in Reno, Nevada.

Did you inherit your money or did you steal it?

Neither, I made it the hard way.

You're not old enough to make the fortune you obviously have from scratch, she said.

Here goes nothing, I thought.

In that, you're wrong. On my last birthday, which was the 29^th of October, I turned 77. I stopped aging when I was 30, Loni. As far as I can determine, I stopped aging after the accident I told you about that made me a telepath. The accident took place on December 23, 1959.

She jumped up. "Oh, you make me so angry! One outrageous lie after another. Why can't you tell me the truth?" She stood completely confrontational, with fury in her tearstained eyes, and her hands on her hips.

"I'm trying, Loni. Be honest with me. Do I frequently exhibit more maturity than a twenty-seven-year-old man?"

"Yes, but..."

Sit down, I said, reverting to silent mode. Let me tell you my life story. When I'm finished, if you still don't believe me, I can offer proof.

She sat down.

I was born on Black Tuesday...

I talked for over an hour. For the first half-hour, she didn't interrupt, and then she started asking questions, which I answered freely. By the time I finished, she knew almost everything, and she believed me.

She believed me, but she wanted to see my proof.

We walked back to the house and to my office where I opened my safe and removed some documents and a packet of photographs.

"My birth certificate," I said and handed it to her. "And this is a picture of my mother. I'm the baby in her arms." She looked at the picture but didn't comment. Her thoughts told me the birth certificate and photograph of my mother didn't provide proof.

"This is a picture of me and my first wife, Barbara," I said. "Note that I look younger than I do now. The picture was taken in 1951 before I stopped aging. I was twenty-two years old at the time."

My second wife stood by my side in the next photo. I'd kept that one photo from my marriage with Nora because she was looking up at me with love. "That's Nora and I shortly after we were married. Notice, in that photo that I look like I look now. I'd stopped aging five years before I married Nora; I just didn't know it. Also note the date stamp on the photograph." I flipped another picture on the desk. "That's a picture of me when I resurrected myself as Vince Smith. That photo is date stamped, too. And here's another picture of Vince Smith. I look older. I had to look older. I put the gray at my temples with hair dye. In twenty-five years or so, I'll have to do the same thing if I remain Clint Wilson."

I stood up and started gathering the proof I'd shown her to put it back in the safe.

"I have a question you must answer fully and honestly, Clint. Do you have any more secrets? Is this it?
"You know everything now," I said as I closed the safe.

When will you leave me? I said silently before turning back to her.

Why should I leave you? she said.

My head snapped toward her. Because I can't grow old with you, Loni, I said. I planned to steal two years of your life, two years for me to love you, for you to love me. I figured two years wouldn't harm you too much, that in two years you'd still be able to find another man to love, a man who'd love you like I do, but a man who could grow old with you, maybe give you children...

I don't want children, she said. I want you.

She stood up. "Hold me, Clint. Put your arms around me and hold me, and I'll tell you how it will be for us."

Confused but full of hope, I wrapped her in my arms.

"I'm vain. You know this about me," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"You also know that I love you."

"Like I love you."

"Yes," she said. "The divorce rate in this country is about fifty percent, so not counting the weird reality that you don't age, the odds for us to succeed as couple is not much better than fifty/fifty anyway."

"No, not for us. If I didn't age, we'd grow old together," I said.

"Maybe. Probably. Then there are accidents. I could lose you in an accident."

"True," I said. "Or I could lose you."

"Uh-huh. Not to mention that someone shot you twice not too long ago."

"There's that," I said.

"Getting back to my vanity. I won't like it that I'll grow old but you won't. There will come a time when I'll hate that, and I might even start resenting you because of it."

"I can see that happening."

"But I'm young. The rift won't happen for many years. You wanted two years. How about twenty?"

"The best years of your life?" I said, my voice expressing my surprise.

"Yes. Why is that so surprising to you. I don't want children. Like you, I want to love and be loved. And I love you. Why not spend the best years of my life with the man I love? There are a couple of conditions. First, I want to be your wife, not your mistress."

"My preference, as well," I said.

"And we need to deal with the terms of dissolution now, not later. That might sound cold-blooded, but we both know that somewhere along the line I'll start hating the fact that I'm growing older and you aren't and start to resent you, or somewhere on the same timeline I'll stop being desirable to you. Knowing these eventualities in advance and not dealing with them now would be stupid."

"I agree."

"We can handle the dissolution terms in a prenuptial agreement," she said.

"Okay, waddaya want?"

She laughed. "Enough to live for the rest of my life in the style to which you'll make me accustomed. Waddaya want from me?"

"Twenty-five years and monogamy."

"Monogamy for sure, I want that, too, but let's make it twenty years, renewable annually thereafter with the consent of both parties."

"Deal. When our contract ends, I'll engineer my demise as Clint Wilson and start over again in another place. Do you want Refuge and Respite and enough... ?"

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Long Life and Telepathy

Paul Phenomenon

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