could have gotten dressed without knowing about it, especially not in clothes that he didn’t even own. He could dismiss the extremely fast clock in the kitchen as dementia, or the wonderful health he was experiencing. He could possibly get checked for a brain tumor, or something else of mild importance. But suddenly being dressed for the Royal Ball in clothes he’d never seen before was something else entirely.
He scoured the downstairs and found Marge in the reading room. She had a newspaper raised in front of her face. He took it as a cue to keep his distance. The chair in the corner was his usual one. It sat beside the phone table. While he waited for Marge to come around, maybe he would phone the police to let them know that he’d seen Elton watching the house. Marge would hear his voice, and she’d be able to hear what he was saying to the police about how dangerous Elton was. Maybe she would put their safety over her anger, and talk to him. It would also make her acknowledge his presence, and remind her that the man she married forty-five years ago was still in the room. The man who’d made one mistake and was willing to pay any price for it. His wife wasn’t a currency that he was willing to spend though. He could never lose her.
Perry reached for the phone. His fingers were rewarded with dead air and that familiar buzzing sound from earlier in the kitchen. He looked directly at it and tried to lift it again, but failed.
The phone rang at that moment. He jumped. Marge dropped her newspaper on the coffee table, stood, and approached him, bending to pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
Marge paused and said hello again, only to frown and slowly set the phone down. Perry watched as she walked across the room to the kitchen without even looking at him. He might as well be dead for all she was noticing him. Bewildered about how he couldn’t pick up the phone, Perry sat and stared at it. He wondered if he was responsible for making it ring.
Marge worked away in the kitchen, making what he thought would be tea. It was time to try to understand what was happening. For one thing, he couldn’t believe that Marge chose to avoid him by refusing to acknowledge his presence. There was no way she would carry it on this long without even one look into his eyes. That fact startled him immensely.
And when did I get dressed? Where did I get these clothes from? How can I make the phone ring? How’s that even possible?
He stood up and started pacing the floor. Voices called to him from a distance. It sounded like twenty or thirty people, repeating his name in unison. It was like an echo in a narrow hallway when it reached his ears.
What the hell is that?
He looked around the living room but couldn’t determine where the voices were coming from.
He stopped pacing and stared down at the newspaper Marge had been reading. It sat open on the coffee table. He saw a photo of a younger version of himself, dressed in black shoes, black suit pants, wearing the same jacket and shirt he wore now. He swung around the table and planted himself hard on the sofa, intent on finding out why he was in the newspaper.
The obituaries section featured an article dedicated to the memory of Marge’s beloved husband, Perry Strall.
Deceased four days ago. Shot in the head in his home by an unknown assailant.
Perry stopped reading and touched his head. Everything was intact. He ran his hands all over his body. Nothing wrong. He felt an intense calling to warn Marge. He didn’t know how he was still here or why. All he gathered was there must be a reason because he didn’t feel dead. If he was dead, then it must be that he came back to warn Marge.
He went on to read that his funeral had been the day the newspaper was printed, between 11:00am and noon. That might have something to do with why he lost track of time in the kitchen earlier.
The voices he’d been hearing increased
He scoured the downstairs and found Marge in the reading room. She had a newspaper raised in front of her face. He took it as a cue to keep his distance. The chair in the corner was his usual one. It sat beside the phone table. While he waited for Marge to come around, maybe he would phone the police to let them know that he’d seen Elton watching the house. Marge would hear his voice, and she’d be able to hear what he was saying to the police about how dangerous Elton was. Maybe she would put their safety over her anger, and talk to him. It would also make her acknowledge his presence, and remind her that the man she married forty-five years ago was still in the room. The man who’d made one mistake and was willing to pay any price for it. His wife wasn’t a currency that he was willing to spend though. He could never lose her.
Perry reached for the phone. His fingers were rewarded with dead air and that familiar buzzing sound from earlier in the kitchen. He looked directly at it and tried to lift it again, but failed.
The phone rang at that moment. He jumped. Marge dropped her newspaper on the coffee table, stood, and approached him, bending to pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
Marge paused and said hello again, only to frown and slowly set the phone down. Perry watched as she walked across the room to the kitchen without even looking at him. He might as well be dead for all she was noticing him. Bewildered about how he couldn’t pick up the phone, Perry sat and stared at it. He wondered if he was responsible for making it ring.
Marge worked away in the kitchen, making what he thought would be tea. It was time to try to understand what was happening. For one thing, he couldn’t believe that Marge chose to avoid him by refusing to acknowledge his presence. There was no way she would carry it on this long without even one look into his eyes. That fact startled him immensely.
And when did I get dressed? Where did I get these clothes from? How can I make the phone ring? How’s that even possible?
He stood up and started pacing the floor. Voices called to him from a distance. It sounded like twenty or thirty people, repeating his name in unison. It was like an echo in a narrow hallway when it reached his ears.
What the hell is that?
He looked around the living room but couldn’t determine where the voices were coming from.
He stopped pacing and stared down at the newspaper Marge had been reading. It sat open on the coffee table. He saw a photo of a younger version of himself, dressed in black shoes, black suit pants, wearing the same jacket and shirt he wore now. He swung around the table and planted himself hard on the sofa, intent on finding out why he was in the newspaper.
The obituaries section featured an article dedicated to the memory of Marge’s beloved husband, Perry Strall.
Deceased four days ago. Shot in the head in his home by an unknown assailant.
Perry stopped reading and touched his head. Everything was intact. He ran his hands all over his body. Nothing wrong. He felt an intense calling to warn Marge. He didn’t know how he was still here or why. All he gathered was there must be a reason because he didn’t feel dead. If he was dead, then it must be that he came back to warn Marge.
He went on to read that his funeral had been the day the newspaper was printed, between 11:00am and noon. That might have something to do with why he lost track of time in the kitchen earlier.
The voices he’d been hearing increased
Similar Books
