X: Chaos in Two Dimensions

X: Chapter 1

My first job started on a Monday and a week later it almost killed me.
The first three days, four hours and eighteen minutes of my employment were boring. I dusted the same clean areas multiple times just to have something to do. When I wasn't cleaning, moving furniture or staring at the phone, hoping it would ring, I was admiring the neat stenciling job I had done on the marbled window in the front door.
It said, with letters 3 inches high, "FACT FINDERS". That was the name my boss decided on. He let me add, after no small bit of negotiation, "If we don't know, we'll find out", in letters one half inch high.
I was just waiting to find something out. Anything!
So, I was bored. My boss hadn't even shown his face at the new office. He had moved his stuff, mostly books, into the office on Sunday. I wasn't even there at the time.
I hoped he'd be in on Friday, my first payday.
Elaine Westerfield knocked on the door three times, slowly and hesitantly, at 18 minutes after one, Thursday afternoon.
I didn't know who she was until after I answered the door.
She was about to hit the door again with her flexed and loosely fisted right hand. She let her hand and arm stay up in the air after the door had opened and I stepped out into the hall.
Her first words?
"I'm sorry."
She said it softly and haltingly.
She gestured towards the door and asked, "Are you, you know, are you him?"
"Yes, I do know," I replied, "But, I'm not him.
"Would you like to come in? He's not here now, but I'll be glad to call and get him over here."
"You can do that?" she asked.
"Of course. I do it all the time,” I lied.” Come on in."
I escorted her through the tiny waiting room. Three chairs and a desk, one small table with some really old magazines on it.
Our office had two desks, with two chairs behind them and two in front. The room was split in half by an invisible line.
My half was well dusted, but not as neat as the boss's side. It was more lived in, for one thing. I had a picture of Ms. April on the wall next to my desk. He had a picture by Escher. One of those pictures where things are drawn without a beginning or end. Really deep.
Ms. Westerfield introduced herself as I helped her off with her coat and placed it on our elephant tusk coat rack.
She was short, a bit over five feet. Her body was compact, but nothing was skimped on, believe me.
Her hair was brown and cut to shoulder length. It helped frame her face which, although appearing tired, pale and wan, was well proportioned and would have been pretty if she wasn't feeling poorly. Her light brown eyes were a bit sunken and a lot moist. What my old mother would have called sick eyes.
"Who are you, please," she asked after she had settled into a chair.
"Me? I'm the great man's factotum. That's a word I learned today from my learn-a-new-word a day calendar."
I reached over and showed her the box-shaped pile of paper. I fanned it and saw the word altruistic. I could wait for that one.
I leaned my butt on my desk and stuck out my hand.
"I'm Grady Masters."
Of course she hesitated before slipping her small boned hand into mine. There was only a little oomph in the squeeze.
I watched her look over my 6 foot frame. I’ve been told I’m “almost handsome”, whatever that means. I mean I work out enough to remain in good shape. My face is nothing special, but certainly not a problem. What makes most people look at me funny is the streak of pure white hair I have over my left ear. Like a witch in a novel, a girl told me. I got it during my time in Special Forces. How it happened is none of anyone’s business.
"I'm Elaine Westerfield," she told me a second time.
She slid her hand out of my grasp and clutched it in her lap. I guess she was making sure I hadn't made off with any of her fingers.
"What can we do for you, Ms. Westerfield?"
She looked around the office, her eyes slipping quickly over the office to make sure the boss wasn't really there, I guess.
"Well, I got your name, I mean, your boss's name, from one of the policemen I spoke to, a Lt. Canter."
I filed the name in my flesh and blood computer, and continued to listen.
"He said that he couldn't help me, that ‘the police weren't equipped to handle such matters’, was the way he put it. He gave me your name and told me that if I wanted to waste my money, this would be the right place to do it in."
She must have seen me scowl.
"Oh please, please, don't take any offense. That’s just what the man said."
Her moist eyes looked up at me, appealingly, trying to make sure she hadn't put her foot in it.
"Don't worry about it, no offense taken, believe me."
I was surprised that anyone in the cop shop would give someone our name. The cops were not the biggest fans the boss had made. That much I knew.
I gestured towards the small refrigerator sitting by my desk. "May I offer you something to drink? We have mineral water, diet soda and iced tea. If you like, I'd be happy to make some fresh coffee."
"No thank you, I couldn't drink anything now. Or eat anything, either. I guess I'm too worked up."
I walked behind my desk and sat down, made a show of taking out a yellow legal pad and a pen and looked at her.
She looked back at me, a puzzled look on her face.
As kindly as I could, I said, "Ms. Westerfield, why don't you tell me about your problem."
Her face grew even paler, and the muscles under her chin began to jump, just a little.
"I'm not really sure where to begin," she whispered.
"Why don't we start with the easy stuff? Where are you from?"
She closed her eyes for a moment. I wondered if that question was out of bounds or too difficult.
Finally, she looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I guess I'll have to do this. Tell you everything, that is."
"That would be most helpful, if you want us to help you."
"My name is Elaine Westerfield. Oh, I guess I already said that."
I nodded helpfully.
"I live in Sherman Oaks, California. I came to Denver to visit my family. They live in the mountains, in Gaston. I was supposed to meet them for the weekend down in the Tech Center, at one of the hotels there. We had planned to make it sort of a weekend vacation.
"I hadn't seen my family in almost five years. Since I left for college. I mean, I talked with them, almost every week while I was in college, but after I graduated last year and started working; I've been sort of busy."
I gave her the best all knowing look I had.
"Well, you see, they wanted me to come back to Colorado after I finished college, but I really didn't want to. Then I got a wonderful job as a production assistant with one of the new, small video production companies. That kept me busy six or seven days a week. I mean, I loved the job, and being busy, but things started moving too fast for me."
I tried to raise one eyebrow. That was a trick I had tried to learn in fifth grade, watching Mr. Spock on the old Star Trek re-runs. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
"Well, there were my friends, who were great, and a couple of guys I got to know."
Let's hear it for my developing sixth sense. I figured there was a guy in it some where.
"Tom was one of directors in the video company. He and I, well, we became close."
"In the biblical sense?"
Her entire face grew crimson, not just her cheeks.
"Yes, you could say that."
Tears began to trickle down her face, so I dug a box of tissues from out of my bottom drawer and slid it across the desk to her. She reached for two and wiped her face, then blotted her eyes.
I stayed silent, just looking at her. I figured she would get to her problem in her own time.
"We dated for several months. Then he started asking me to get involved with some of his movies. I mean, I didn't even know that he had his own little sideline."
"How did he want you to become involved? As a production assistant?"
"No, he wanted me to act in them."
Her face grew even redder than before.
Knowing what I did about California, not to mention the sleazebags who lived there, I tried to help her, and fill in the blanks.
"Porno flicks," I said as helpfully as I could.
The waterworks started again, she grabbed more tissues and I waited.
"How did you know?"
"Believe me, it has nothing to do with psychic powers. I lived in California for almost ten years. I know what it's like.
"So, did you do any movies?"
She shook her head once, with a vehement wrench.
"I refused. He got mad, and then afraid that I would tell the director of the video company what he was doing and that he would be fired.
"He kept pushing me, and I kept refusing. He told me I'd be a natural!
"Unfortunately, by that time, we had been having an affair for several months and I guess he felt that he would know.
"Anyway, the bastard threatened me. If I didn't do the movies he would make my life miserable. I knew that if I did, I'd never be able to get away from him. Then he threatened me to be quiet about things. I told him I would.
"I guess he didn't believe me. My apartment was ransacked. Totally destroyed. He killed my dog. Someone broke into my car and destroyed the seats and dashboard. They left the radio.
"I moved in with a friend, and she began to get threatening phone calls at her work.
"I didn't know what to do, so I called my parents and arranged a weekend together so that I could see what they would think about my coming back home."
"Did you go to the police in California?" I asked.
"Yes, but I didn't have enough proof that Tom had done it, or had it done. They told me they couldn't do anything unless he hurt me first."
Damn, ain't our legal system great!
"So," I nudged her, "You came out to Denver to meet with your parents. What happened then?"
She did a number on some more tissues. I held up the trash can and she dumped the mass of sodden recycled paper into the can. Then she grabbed some more.
"My parents didn't show up. I got in on Friday, as we had discussed. They were supposed to be there and meet me. I took a cab to the hotel and waited. On Saturday morning, I called them at home. There was no answer. I tried again, about ten more times on Saturday. No one answered.
"I started getting worried Friday night. I got more worried Saturday. Then, I stopped being worried and began to get scared."
"What were you scared of," I asked, as if I didn't know.
"I was scared that Tom had hurt them, to get at me."
"Uh huh," I said. "What did you do then?"
"Sunday morning I rented a car and drove to Gaston."
She dummied up again, her eyes closed. She gripped her hands tighter together. I watched her knuckles turning white.
"My parents were home. So were my two younger brothers and my sister."
Both of my eyebrows went up. That is not what I expected to hear.
"That's great!" I enthused. "So what was the problem?"
"When I drove up to the house and honked the horn, no one came out. I parked and went up to the front door and knocked. My mother answered the door.
"She said that she was surprised to see me. I reminded her about our weekend plans and she said that she and my father must have forgotten all about them. We went into the kitchen and all the rest of the family was there. I sat down and we all had lunch, just like my suddenly being there was perfectly normal and expected.
"I mentioned the weekend we were supposed to have in Denver, and they were all blank about it, as if the whole idea was a surprise to them. It was as if we had never made any plans at all.
"Lunch was good. It was just like I had never left home. Even my older sister was nice to me, which was a first.
"After lunch we all sat around the living room, just like we always did on Sundays, and talked. Even though I hadn't seen my family in almost five years, it was like I'd never been away."
"That sounds great. It should have made you feel good, at least."
She shook her head. "You don't get it. They were talking about the same things we talked about five years ago."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. My sister Joanna said that she was still dating the same guy, Phillip, and she was expecting to marry him within several months."
"So what's the problem, I mean some relationships take forever to get off the ground."
Ms. Westerfield looked at me like I was crazy. "Phillip Lamont is dead. He died three years ago in an automobile accident. It was in all the newspapers, even the Los Angeles Times. He was hit head on by an army vehicle doing maneuvers around Gaston. The army even apologized publicly for the accident."
I cleared my throat. "Are you certain it was the same Phillip Lamont you knew?"
"Absolutely certain. I told you I talked to my family frequently by phone when I was in college. They told me that Phillip had died and that Joanna was devastated. She stayed in her room for almost three weeks after his death. My mother was afraid that she would starve to death, or something. The whole family was upset when he died.
"But that's not all. My father told me he still worked in the Forest Service around Gaston. But I know he retired two years ago. I sent him a retirement gift, an expensive fishing rod with his initials on it.
"Mother was talking about going to visit Mrs. Thomis, who, she said, was down with rheumatism. My mother told me that Mrs. Thomis had died from heart failure when I called her a month ago to start making plans to visit them in Denver.
"The weirdest thing was that my brothers were five years older than they were when I saw them last. One is sixteen and the other is seventeen years old. They both were talking about being in the forth and fifth grade, like they were when I last saw them.
"I stayed over for the night. They put me in my old room, which I had shared with my sister. It still had twin beds, and the same linens and covers we used when I was at home. The room was different in some ways. There were pictures on the dresser of men I didn't know, one of them dressed in an army uniform. I asked her who he was and she just shook her head, ignored my question and asked if I still liked Jed Ervin.
"I dated Jed just before I left home. I haven't seen him or talked to him since then.
"Later on, after we had gone to bed, I had trouble falling asleep. I was confused and I was also feeling frightened."
She caught her breath, sighed deeply, and asked me for some iced tea. I retrieved a bottle of the stuff from the fridge, opened it for her and presented it and a clean ceramic mug. She looked blankly at the glass for a moment, then placed it on the table and took two long sips from the bottle. She licked her lips and continued.
"About an hour after we turned off the lights Joanna got out of bed and walked over to mine. I pretended that I was sleeping. She must have stood over me for a good three minutes. Finally, she left the room.
"I waited a couple of minutes and got up. I got dressed as fast as I could and went out into the hall. I was quiet; I didn't want to wake up my parents or my brothers. I heard noise downstairs and so I went half-way down the stairs and stopped. I heard them talking; everyone, I mean my whole family was downstairs, but there were no lights on."
She stopped talking and looked introspective. I guessed she was still living the experience she was telling me about.
"What were they saying?"
She looked at me a bit strangely, I thought.
"I don't know. They were talking in a language I had never heard before.
"Neither of my parents had even graduated from high school, for God's sake, they had never even learned a foreign language. Just some bits of Latin from church, but that was by rote.
"They were all in the living room speaking some gibberish. Then I saw a light outside the front widow. Someone knocked on the door and one of my family opened it. No one said anything else, they just all went outside. I heard the front door close.
"I waited until I had counted to ten and then went down the rest of the stairs and looked out the window. There must have been twenty people walking in single file behind someone who was carrying a lighted torch. Not a flash light, but a torch."
Ms. Westerfield's eyes looked somewhere above my head, unfocused, into the immense distances in her mind. Her voice grew softer.
"I followed them. They went through the fields about a half mile, to a clearing I remembered playing in when I was a little girl.
"The man who was carrying the torch placed it on the ground into a group of rocks which held the torch upright. It looked like it had been there previously, and had been set up specifically for the torch.
"Everyone in the clearing made a circle, everyone holding hands. They spread out as far as they could, still holding hands. Then they laid down on the ground, still holding hands, their heads towards the center of the circle. Then," she shook her head and became quiet.
"Then?" I asked.
"Then I don't know. I suddenly felt sleepy, very sleepy. But I was also very frightened. I wanted to get out of there. I felt that if I fell asleep I wouldn't wake up again.
She looked back at my not unlovely face.
"Then I ran like hell back to the house, ran to my room and grabbed my purse and went down to my car and drove as fast as I could back to Denver. I stopped at a motel I found off the 70 on Federal and got a room. I got into bed and just shivered for hours before I fell asleep.
"When I got up, I thought about what had happened at home and was too nauseated to eat any breakfast. I decided to go to the police. I did, as I told you, and spoke with different people until I got to Lt. Canter. He heard my story and told me there was nothing the police could do about a 'dysfunctional family', as he put it. That's when he gave me the name and address of your boss."
She took in a deep breath, her chest flaring, and let it out.
"That's why I'm here."
I made a few more notes on the pad, the third page since she had started talking, and looked at her.
"I'm still a little bit confused, Ms. Westerfield. I'm not sure why you are here. I assume that it’s because your family was acting strange, but as Lt. Cantor told you, that isn't anything that's against the law. I'm sorry your visit to your family was so, weird, I guess is the right word, but what is it you want from Fact Finders?"
"I guess I didn't make myself clear, Mr. Masters, I'm sorry."
I was starting to get a bit pissed at the ambiguity.
"Just what is it you want us to do? Ask your family why they were acting so strange?"
Ms Westerfield sighed again.
"What I was trying to explain to you is that my family did not act strange.
"Whatever was going on in Gaston, who ever those people were, they were not my family."
She started to get weepy again, and grabbed more tissue.
"I don't know anything, really, except that I don't know who those people were. They were definitely not my family.
"I want you to find out who they are and what happened to my family. My real family. Not those impostors I had dinner with in Gaston, in my family’s house."
Her voice grew even softer until she was practically whispering.
"I want you to find my real family."