Chapter 4

After the specter faded from sight, I sat at my desk for a long time taking inventory of my faculties. I was pretty sure I wasn't nuts, although it's unlikely that many crazy people really believe they're crazy. Everything in my life seemed to be completely normal except for the fact that I'd just had a conversation with a dead person.

Ultimately, I decided that sitting around the house brooding would avail me nothing, and I may as well go to work and try to get my mind focused on something else, something real! I'd make up some excuse about my illness being nothing more than a bout of nausea that went away with a dose of Pepto-Bismol. In truth, the mere smell of that stuff makes me want to puke. And that disgusting pink! Barf!

Before I left the house, I called the bank and verified that the cashier's check had not been cashed. The lady who took my call said the check wouldn't expire until a hundred and eighty days after it was issued, so I would have to continue making monthly payments until that date. If it was never cashed, that money would be deposited back into my savings account and the deed to the house would be handed over.

A lot of what I was doing that day at the lab was collating data, and that's fortunate because it's practically unconscious work and doesn't really require much of the analytical capacity I was expending on my morning visitation. I kept going over and over my conversation with Annie LaTush, trying to pick out something that would give me a clue as to who and/or what she was.

I have a real problem with even the idea of ghosts. For one thing, the existence of spirits implies some kind of life after death. That, of course, leads one to assume the possibility of some kind of god, a supernatural entity powerful enough to defeat death. I've long since rejected any such notion because it makes absolutely no sense to me. There is no logic to it. I believe gods and demons are entities we created in antiquity when there simply weren't better answers to questions about the nature of nature. Through the ages, we've become habituated to our own mythical creations and have passed them on to our progeny as a convenience and a matter of faith in lieu of critically examining our social evolution in the light of emerging science and a rapidly expanding knowledge base.

Annie LaTush made no sense either, but then maybe I was thinking about her existence in the wrong context. If my education was accurate, Buddhists believe one's essence is reincarnated into another living creature after the corporal body dies. Maybe Annie is an essence that hasn't found, or isn't interested in finding another vessel. But then, what is essence? Is it possible for some form of un-embodied intelligence to survive the death of its host? Apparently so if Annie wasn't a total figment of my imagination, but how and in what form?

While my brain was grinding through these questions, her last comment popped into my brain. She said, "I have no idea" when I asked her what was holding her together. I pondered that for the rest of the afternoon, finally deciding to call an acquaintance who teaches physics at the community college and ask her if she knew anything about cohesive energy.

There had to be some way this thing calling herself Annie was able to pull together disperse atoms, ions, whatever, into a cohesive solid or at least what appeared to be a solid, and somehow recreate the synaptic connections that represented her memories and her consciousness. I hadn't touched her, so her apparently solid appearance might just be some sort of an illusion. On top of that, there had to be some kind of ethereal controlling force involved to give her the capacity to appear and disappear.

I'd have to be very careful how I broached the subject, because I sure as hell didn't want my friend to know I was talking about ghosts. She agreed to meet me at a little bar near the campus if I was buying.

She was already there when I walked in the door and waved me over to her table. "Hey, Stevie! Haven't seen you in a while. What's the occasion?"

I'd already decided on my story. "Hi, Jennie!"

A waitress came over as I took a seat and I ordered a beer. Jennie asked for a double scotch on the rocks.

"I just need a little technical advice is all. You might remember from our undergrad days that I was a major league sci-fi nut."

She laughed, "Of course I do. You lived in a world of your own and Yoda was your idol if I recall correctly. So, how can I help you?"

"Well, I'm trying my hand at writing as a hobby, and I've got this science fiction story going that has an entity that can physically disperse and coalesce at will. What I'm curious about is whether a cohesive energy field like that is even a physical possibility. If it is, then all I need to do is invent a way to make it intelligent. I know it's pure fantasy, but I'd like it to at least have an air of possibility."

Our drinks arrived and Jennie knocked down half of her scotch and shook her head. She was amused. "Steve, I'm impressed that you're diversifying, but I had no idea you aspired to being a writer. Good luck with that!"

"Thanks. I know it sounds weird but you know the old saying, 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained.' Anyhow, I'm not expecting to compete with Asimov, I just thought I'd give it a try. So, what do you think?"

Jennie thought about it for a bit and said, "I don't think I'll be much help. I mean, there is such a thing as cohesive energy in the subatomic realm; think of gluons, but in the macro-world of Newtonian physics, I'm not aware of any atomic field that could behave like you're describing without some powerful outside force. A hologram could give you the image but it has no substance or energy of its own." She reached over to put her hand on my arm and added with a grin, "Maybe you should consult a ghost hunter. They claim that kind of stuff happens all the time."

I laughed nervously, "Um, I think I'd rather stick closer to real science. I just thought there might be something out there on the horizon of discovery in the world of physics that could lend an air of authenticity to my character."

She finished the double scotch and ordered another. "There might be, but I'm not aware of it. Heck, physicists already theorize about parallel universes, so what we hold to be true today certainly isn't the last word. But no, for your character to appear and disappear at will, there'd probably have to be some tiny little space/time manipulation, at least according to currently held theories. You know, using some kind of energy source to shift into another dimension with a little bit of a time distortion. Does that make any sense to you?"

That didn't seem to fit what my ghost was doing but, hell, what did I know? I sipped my beer and shrugged, "Well, it beats my own theories. I guess the operative part of the term 'sci-fi' is the 'fi' part. Tell you what, I'll invent something and let you critique it for logic and tell me if it's in the realm of even a remote possibility.

"Stevie, you'd be surprised how many of my students have asked me if 'warp drive' is possible. I don't think you need all that much reality to sell a good science fiction story; just good writing skills and interesting characters."

"I suppose you're right. I hope I haven't wasted your time, Jennie."

"Hell no! It's really good to see you again. It's a chance to catch up on the last five years. Did you ever get married?"

"Me? No, I'm afraid I'm destined for a single life. Women don't find me very stimulating company."

She gave me an exasperated look. "Come on, Stevie! Why do you do that to yourself? You're a man with a lot of good qualities, and you sure as hell aren't an ugly toad. I'd have gone out with you if you'd ever had the balls to ask."

That was a surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah, really!" She took another slug of her drink. "Look, how about I cook you a nice dinner this coming Friday night. We can hash over old times and get stupid on booze and unhealthy food."

The idea of socializing made me uncomfortable and I almost declined, but then I thought, Why not? "I think I'd like that Jennie. Jeez, it's been ages since I actually had a date."

She reached into her pocket, took out a little notebook and wrote down her address and cell phone number. As she ripped off the page and handed it to me, she said, "Be there at seven and bring a bottle of whatever you like. I'll take care of everything else."

What a day for unexpected turns.

When I got home that evening, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat at the computer to try to run down archived news stories from the fifties. It took a while but I finally located a short news item about a missing woman, age twenty-three, by the name of Anna Bushkowski. She'd been seen last near her residence (which was now my residence) wearing jeans, a purple sweater and saddle oxfords. There was a phone number to call with any information regarding her whereabouts. The story was dated October 21^st, 1953. There was no reference to Alicia Trevino or the fact that the residence was a house of questionable repute. I stared at the screen and wondered out loud what the Madam had done with Anna's body.

"I'm buried in the basement. Madam even carried sacks of cement and sand down the stairs and poured a new floor over my grave."

I jumped at the sound of her voice and jerked my head around to see her peering over my shoulder at the computer screen.

"Damn it, Annie! Please don't sneak up on me like that!"

"What? Maybe I should call you on the phone before I appear?"

"Well something, anyhow! Jeez, you almost made me wet my pants!"

"Mmm, OK, what's your favorite smell?"

"I don't know, chocolate, I guess? Why?"

"Fine. Then that'll be your warning that I'm about to grace you with my presence."

"Thanks, that'll help. But now that you're here, I have a question. Are you as solid as you look? I mean if I put my hand on your hand, would I feel anything?

She held out her hand and said, "You tell me!"

I reached out tentatively and laid my fingertips on the back of her hand. What I felt wasn't anything like I expected, which was either the feel of cold, dead skin or nothing at all. It was like touching a warm cotton ball, very soft and barely perceptible. So she was more energy than substance, but she wasn't a total illusion either. The warm softness made my fingertips tingle and I thought it felt kind of sexy, although I couldn't say why.