In Between (part 2)

8


The alarm went of at its usual time, and Jake ignored it once again. But this time, he was allowed to do so. It was Sunday. He had the whole day for himself.
Oh no! The barbecue!
That was true. The barbecue. But that was only at six o'clock this evening.
He decided to see Kelly. Maybe he could tell her about the phone thing. She lived at the other end of the city, but Jake thought seeing her was worth the trouble of a bus voyage. At the moment, he didn't have a car. He had had one once, but it was stolen two years ago. So now he used the public transport until he could afford a new one.
Eating seemed very difficult again. Almost impossible. But Jake forced himself to eat at least half a sandwich. It was extremely hard to do. It seemed like eating when you just had chewed a complete meal.
He got into his jacket and locked the door.
The bus trip seemed endless.
Maybe it is.
He heard nothing but coughing and sneezing again. Many people had a cold.
More than an hour later, he arrived at Kelly's. She answered the door herself.
"Oh hi Jake," she said. "How have you been doing lately ?" She kissed him on the cheek.
"Hi," he said, and entered.
"You don't look so good," Kelly said. "Is something wrong Jake ?"
"No, everything's fine," he said. But it didn't sound very convincing.
"Have you had three phone calls in five minutes yesterday ?" he asked.
"Yes!" she said at once. "Was that you, Jake ?" Kelly looked worried. "I just couldn't hear you. I didn't hear anything."
"I know," Jake said.
"And after those three calls, a man called. His name was, er... like Kennedy's second name. Fitzgerald! Had that something to do with it ?"
She's so pretty when she's worried, Jake thought. Hell, she's always pretty.
"Er... No. Yes! Yes, I'm coming to that," Jake said. "You know, something really strange happened to me yesterday.
I tried to call you three times, and you didn't hear me. I thought it was my phone. Then I tried at a payphone and at my neighbour's. You still didn't hear me. And then I let my neighbour make the call. He's Fitzgerald, you know. He called, and you heard him."
"Why yes! I heard him. But, Jake... do you mean that I..."
"No, no! Don't get me wrong. I'm not thinking you didn't hear me on purpose. Even if I'd like that to be the answer."
"Honestly, Jake. There were three bad calls, one good one."
"I know honey," Jake said. "I know. Do you have any explanation ?"
Kelly thought for a second.
"So what you are saying is that it's you that can't make a call, on any telephone ?" she asked, astonished.
"Yes, that's what I'm saying.'
She was silent again, thinking.
"Now that's really weird," she said after a few seconds. "It almost sounds... you know... supernatural."
"The word came up in my mind too," Jake said. "But I couldn't believe it. And didn't dare to."
Kelly looked like Jake felt: scared.
"There doesn't seem to be a logical explanation," Kelly said. "But then again, there wasn't one for your er... survival of that shock too!"
"I don't know," Jake said. "I just don't now what I have to believe."
Kelly went into the kitchen. "You want a drink ?" she shouted. "Why, yes. Gimme a pepsi," Jake shouted back.
She came back seconds later, the drinks and some cookies in her hands.
"Want a cookie ?" she asked.
Jake looked at them. and then, for the first time, a thought
that seemed very right, and would grow ever righter, popped into his head.
I don't need food anymore.
It seemed true. True and scary. It was a very shocking idea. Like if he had become some alien life form, whose bodily characteristics were totally different from earthy people.
He spoke his thought aloud, telling it to Kelly.
"I don't... need food anymore."
"What did you say ?" Kelly almost choked on her drink."
"It seems like I have no need for food anymore," Jake said. "Yesterday I haven't eaten a crumb.
Kelly looked even more alarmed now.
"Jake..." she paused. Concern and confusion were all over her face. "Jake, I think you should... you know, talk to somebody about this. It looks pretty weird. I mean, I could understand if you'd skip breakfast, or lunch, or supper, but not three, or even two, at the same time. Did you eat this morning ?"
"I did. Only half a sandwich. And even that seemed difficult."
"How about talking to a doctor ? You could do that."
"Yeah, I suppose I could."
"Do it Jake please. For me, too."
He kissed her. He put his hands on her waist, and she put her arms around his shoulders. They held each other that way for a long time.


9


He left her half an hour later. If it would've been for him, he'd have stayed there the whole day. And night. But he had to go to that damn barbecue.
On the bus home, Jake thought about Kelly's idea to see a doctor. It was a good idea. Ciballos had told him to call whenever he had a problem. And didn't he have one now ?
My voice isn't heard through a phone and I cannot, and don't need to, eat. Now if that isn't a problem, what is ?
It was a good idea, really, but nevertheless, he'd only do it two days later.
After something even stranger had happened.


10


Surprisingly, the barbecue was all right. Though it was almost October and fairly chilly, it was held outside. But that couldn't spoil the fun.
Jake was there at five though he was expected only around six. Maybe I can help a hand, he had thought. He hadn't discovered until now that he was a bit ashamed for not having offered his services. Other men had. Using the accident as an excuse didn't seem fair anymore. It was already more than three weeks ago, and even his boss had forgotten it now.
So he arrived at five, hoping there was still something to do. His chief welcomed him joyfully, saying it was nice of him to drop by a bit sooner.
"The barbecue smells great," Jake said.
The boss looked confused at him. "You can't smell anything," he said. "The piggy isn't even here yet!"
My imagination, Jake thought.
"What can I do ?" he asked.
The boss didn't need a second to think about it.
"You can help putting the chairs and tables in order," he said. "It should've been done by now, but someone got sick and now we're a bit behind schedule."
Jake felt even more guilty now. He moved toward the garden quickly and started to put the chairs around the tables.
The feeling of sadness he always had about the city and the houses seemed to have diminished a bit here and now. It wasn't completely vanished, but it was a lot less. Probably this had everything to do with the place. A building like this can't look woeful, Jake thought. Not even in the worst rain.
It was a modern structure, situated in another, better, part of New-York, with a magnificent garden in front of it. The building was conceived with a lot of glass and brick, forming a brilliant harmony with the rectangular garden. It was full of statues and trees. Jake had never been here before, but he felt at ease at once. He had no idea about the owner of this house, but he was sure of two things, namely that he had to have good taste, and secondly, that he was rich. Very.
The guests started to arrive at quarter off six. The barbecue lasted till twelve o'clock in the evening, and Jake had a wonderful time, against all odds. All his colleagues were there. Many among them were good friends, and the best thing was: they didn't know anything about his accident, which meant he wouldn't have to think of it for awhile. Well, he did think of it once. That was when he saw the pork and decided he wasn't hungry.


11


The bus brought him home at one o'clock. He went immediately to bed, yawning. He had the feeling sleep came faster and was better after the accident.
Supernatural, he thought.
And fell asleep.

The next morning, he woke up with a headache again. And he knew booze wasn't the cause, because he hadn't drunk a single glass of alcohol last night. It wasn't the first inexplicable headache in those three weeks. He'd had quite a few. But that didn't worry him as much as the phone and the food did.

At about two o'clock in the afternoon, his boss entered what Jake now called "his office."
"Can you come for a minute, Jake ?"
"Sure," Jake said.
He followed the boss through the building, and they arrived at a room Jake had never been in. It was some kind of a guest room, luxuriously decorated. It had a hifi, a tv and a video, nice chairs and a table. The walls were decorated with some paintings, and there was a pleasant carpet on the floor.
"I've got to show... ask you something," the boss told him.
Jake saw he got a video cassette in one hand, and a remote control in the other. He slid the cassette into the video slot and pushed the play button.
"I've played a bit with my camcorder yesterday at the party," the man said."
Jake saw he had put the party partly on video. The film covered some tables, going from one to another. He recognized, among others, the boss's wife and kids, people of his street, and people from work. The table Jake had been on was also on the tape, but it was apparently filmed when Jake hadn't been there for a moment. "Nice, isn't it ?" the boss said. "Lively memories. Wonderful invention that camera, is what I say."
"Yeah, true," Jake said. "Why did you want me to see the tape ?" he asked.
"I'm coming to that," the boss answered. He pressed the fast forward button for quite awhile. The sound was cut off, and suddenly, all the figures seemed to move as in an old Chaplin movie.
"Has to be somewhere here," the boss said. "Oh yes, almost there."
"Funny isn't it ? Seeing that slow Alex Grudman moving like he's being....-
But Jake didn't hear it anymore. His face whitened and he momentarily stopped breathing. He grabbed the remote control out of the man's hands and pressed the rewind button, hoping he would not see what he thought he'd seen.
"Hey, what are y..." the boss tried to say, but Jake didn't let him finish.
"Please!" he said, louder and harsher than he had intended.
He didn't have to press the rewind button very long. After a few seconds, he had found the scene he wanted.
On the TV screen, he saw the table of Mr and Mrs Heizman. They were eating along with Mr. and Mrs. Slater. Both were very rich families, and Jake didn't really know what they were doing at such a party. But it wasn't that what he was interested in. The thing which did held his interest was the glass of wine that stood on the edge of the wooden table the Heizmans and the Slaters were eating from.
He saw both pairs talking and chitchatting, moving their heads and hands in that way only important persons do. Then the four heads all looked to their left at the same time. The glass had fallen over.
I did that. I tipped over that glass. I was looking behind when Jimmy called me, and I ran into the table.
"And I am not on that tape," he whispered.
"What ?" the boss asked, stupefied and seemingly irritated.
But Jake didn't hear him.
He pressed the button again.
There was the sound of the glass falling on the table. Then the two women and two men looked in that direction. Next, they were looking up.
At me. At me, who isn't on the tape.
And if that wasn't convincing enough, the glass lifted itself up again.
He clearly heard Mrs Slater say "It's nothing". She had said that as an answer to his apology. Jake could clearly remember that he himself had said "Excuse me. I'm so sorry."
Which also isn't on the tape.
I thought I was momentarily absent when my table was filmed.
"I was not," he whispered again, causing the boss to look at him, not understanding a thing.
I was there, and the camera didn't see me.
It all boiled down to the following:
I do not exist for that camera.
"And I do not exist for the phone!"
Jake was on the verge of screaming. Or crying. Or both.
"Could you please explain me what..." the boss begun.
And Jake ran out of the room.
And he never got to know what his boss had wanted to ask him.


12


He had taken the first bus home, and now he was sitting in his chair again.
He was crying.
Oh my God. Oh my God, what's going on here ? What's wrong with me ? Please, God, help me.
He was nervous like hell, with that typical feeling crawling through his body, seeming to eat him from inside. His heart- beat was very fast. He wiped away a tear and breathed in through his nose.
"What's going on here ?" he said aloud. His voice broke on the first syllable of 'here'.
Jake looked at his hand. It was shivering. And he was cold.
I'm inaudible through a phone, I'm invisible on a video tape, and I can pass the day without eating a single sandwich.
He jittery pulled his upper lip with the trembling fingers of his left hand and swallowed deeply.
He took a banana out of the fruit bowl that was on the table in front of him, and started to slam it on table. The skin started to come of, and the yellow meat tried to break out. It caused a squashing sound. Jake stared at it, his eyes big and glazy. With his quivering index, he took the little blue Chiquita label off the banana skin and put it on his nose, not knowing what he was doing. The meat of the banana was now spread all over the salon table.
He found out he badly needed some sedative. Unwillingly, he got out of his chair and walked to the bathroom with unsteady legs. It was strange how thoughts had a way of changing the proper working of your body.
He found some perciline in the medicine cabinet, took a pill out of the box and went to the sink. When he filled a glass with water, he looked in the mirror.
He wasn't there.
There was the reflection of his sweater, but there was no face above it.
When he saw the Chiquita label in the mirror, seeming to waft in the air, Jake screamed.
He screamed as long as his breath would allow, and when he stopped screaming, he fainted.


13


He came back to the world two minutes later, but it seemed as if he had passed out for a lifetime. Jake just lied there for quite awhile, looking dreamily at the blue coloured ceiling.
You're supposed to be dead.
Ciballos's voice came back into his memory. He heard it as if tough were real.
I am dead. Only not physically. I am dead for camera's, telephone's, and mirrors.
"I can live with that," he said.
He thought this was true. But the problem wasn't there. Three days ago the phone, today the camera and the mirror. What would he find out tomorrow ? He shuddered at the thought. What would he find ? Or what would he not find ? His shadow that had disappeared maybe.
Still lying on the ground, he moved his hand through the air. It did cast a shadow. Still.
Yes, if that was all, he could live with it.
He moved his head slightly and saw the mirror again. There it was, hanging above the sink, staring at him like an evil demon. It had never opposed the smallest threat to him. But it did now.
I am a vampire ?
It was a zany thought, but it scared him nevertheless. A vampire had no mirror image. But as far as he could remember, there was no reflection at all when a vampire looked in the mirror. It was different with him. He had still seen his clothes.
And the chiquita label.
That had been the worst. It was the last thing he remembered, so he'd probably swooned after that. Yes, he had swooned by the sight of that tiny spot, just sailing in the air, moving from the left to the right as Jake nodded his head, saying no God.
Finally he got up, his legs shaking even more than before.
He stumbled toward the living room and let him fall in his favorite couch.
Something's got to be done about this. Fast.
Suddenly he remembered his conversation with the receptionist at the hospital. She had given him the name of the man who found him. What was it again ? First name's Roger, that he remembered. He moved to the closet and searched his jacket for the note.
"Ah yes, Tyler," he said.
Jake wasn't sure why he had asked the name in the first place. Of what help could the man be ? He had only seen the accident and called an ambulance.
"Roger Tyler," he whispered. "Sounds like he's a nigger."

He was.
Jake stood before the door, the black face smiling at him. He had found Tyler's address in the phone directory.
Tyler was a man of about forty, maybe forty-five. He was rather short, had big lips and curly, dark hair. The smile on his face was one of the warmest Jake had ever seen.
"Yes ?" he said.
"Good afternoon," Jake said. "My name is Jake Madigan. I don't suppose that rings a bell ?"
Course not, Jake, how could it.
"It doesn't," Tyler answered. "But come in, please."
"And," Jake said, sitting in a comfortable chair, "you don't remember my face ?"
"Nope I don't," Tyler said.
It's been three weeks, Jake. And maybe he's never seen my face at all, or had only a glance at it.
"You called an ambulance for me, more then three weeks ago. Seventeenth street, remember ?"
Tyler's smile darkened. He looked at the floor for a moment, and then stared in Jake's eyes.
"Yes," he said. "Yes I remember." The man seemed not very at ease. He shifted his legs nervously, then scratched his left arm. After a pause, he said: "How are you feeling ? Nothing serious, I hope ? You sure took a hell of a blow."
"Nothing serious," Jake said, pronouncing the opposite of his thoughts. "Just the usual 220 Volts. It could have been fatal, but it wasn't."
"Oh."
"I was wondering if you had noticed anything... special, or strange about me lying there in the street," Jake said hopefully.
The black man was silent for a moment. It seemed like he was thinking about what he was going to say.
"There was something," Tyler said after a long silence. And immediately, he added: "But it could've been nothing. Imagination, you know. Maybe it was even - "
"Please," Jake said calmly. "Tell me, whatever it was."
Tyler's tiny eyes moved quickly from the left to the right.
"I have seen something, or imagined something... "
"What is it ?" Jake was losing his patience.
"When I looked at you... I thought I saw... a baby."
Jake looked at him, fascinated.
"It was only for a split second, you know," Tyler continued. "I saw your body, then it was the baby, and then... it was your body again. But as I said... it could've been just my... I even believe I was a bit tipsy then. Yes, I was!"
The man obviously didn't want to believe what he had seen. Cause he had seen it; Jake was sure of that. He remembered the dream of the hospital, when he had seen himself as a baby. Coincidence ? Jake didn't believe it. You could as well say the phone was accidentally broken when he had called, and accidentally repaired when Alan had tried.
"You want something to drink ?" Tyler said suddenly. It came out very agitated. "There's cola and scotch and ale and... and..."
"Calm down, calm down," Jake said. "You sure there was nothing else ?"
"No," Tyler said. "Nothing else."
Jake had no reason to doubt him and he thought Roger was telling the truth.
"Well, I guess I better get going," Jake said.
"You sure you want nothing to drink ?" Tyler asked again ?
"Positive," Jake replied. He shook the man's hand, thanked him, and left.
14


"Now what ?" Jake thought the next morning, sitting at the empty breakfast table and sipping from a glass of water. He hadn't gone to work this morning. More serious things were on his mind now.
Ciballos. Ciballos, that's right. Call him.
"Caaaall him ?" he said to himself. "Call him ?"
Have you forgotten, maybe ? You'll have to go and see him, appointment or not.

It was half past eleven when he was sitting in Ciballos's waiting room. It was fairly crowded, and he guessed it would take quite awhile before he could get in. But he was wrong. When he'd been waiting for ten minutes, Ciballos opened the door to the waiting room, and peeked his head in. He opened his mouth to say the name of the next patient, but then he saw Jake and closed it again. He paused, probably thinking about Jake's name, and then said: "Jake Madigan, please."
Jake shrieked at the sound of his own name. He got up and went to the door. The other patients would have to wait for a long, long time.
"Mr Madigan," the doctor opened, "Long time no see!"
They shook hands.
"Problems ?" Ciballos asked.
"A hell of a lot," Jake replied.
"Yes ?" Ciballos' face looked worried. "Please sit down, Mr. Madigan," he said.
"It's Jake for you. Let me start from the beginning," Jake said, sitting down.
He told Ciballos the whole thing, starting with his lack of appetite, his headaches, over the phone and the video tape, to end with the mirror. It felt good to tell everything, and it made Jake feel less alone.
When he was at the video, Ciballos mouth fell open, and it stayed open till the end of Jake's story.
"You're kidding," he said when Jake was done.
"You don't believe me ?" Jake asked. He was surprised. He had believed in the truth of his accident, and now he couldn't believe this.
He has proof of the accident. Maybe I should give him proof of the rest, too.
"Well, it sounds pretty unbelievable," Ciballos said. "But actually, your miraculous experience was, too," Ciballos repeated Kelly's words.
"You have a mirror here ?" Jake asked.
"Right there," Ciballos said, bemused, pointing with his right hand to the left wall.
"I want you to look at my reflection," Jake said.
If any.
He went to the mirror and closed his eyes when he only saw his sweater again. There was no chiquita label now, but it was scary enough already.
Ciballos moved to the mirror, and looked at it. His mouth fell open again. He stared at it, and didn't say anything for a whole minute.
"I'm dreaming," he said at last. "I am dreaming. This is impossible. This can't be, this... - "
"You see what you see," Jake said. "I am just not there." In a way he was relieved Ciballos saw it too. Part of him had thought that he might be the only one who saw - or didn't see - it. That would've been even more disquieting. But Ciballos saw it, all right. And he was as amazed as he himself had been, apart from the fainting, of course.
"This is as fascinating as it is frightening," Ciballos said, sitting again, nodding his head as to show his disbelief.
"I can tell you," Jake answered," that the fascinating part is non-existent for me as much as I am non-existent for that mirror."
Ciballos looked at him, sorrily. "Yes, I can believe that," he said. "I'm sorry."
Suddenly he got up. "I have an idea," he said. Ciballos moved to a large closet that was sitting in the back corner of his office, opened it and took out an old shoe box. He put the box on the table, removed the cover, and Jake now saw it was an old radio.
"Still works," he said. "But I never use it."
He plugged the wire and told Jake to come closer.
"Let's record your voice," he said enthusiastically.
Jake saw what he was getting at. He knew exactly what he would hear: nothing.
Ciballos pressed the record button. "Say something," he said. "It doesn't matter what."
Jake brought his face closer to the micro and said a few words.
"My name's Jake Madigan. I live in 200 New-York, 15 fifth street." He paused. "And I think I'm going crazy."
"That'll do," Ciballos said. And pressed the stop button.
He pressed the rewind button, and then let the tape play.
They both listened very carefully.
Jake waited, heart beating in his throat and breathing heavily. He thought it had been a brilliant idea of Ciballos. But as far as he was concerned, the idea alone was enough. The performance was not necessary, because the result was pretty obvious. Not hearing his voice on the tape would fit in perfectly.
Say something. It doesn't matter what. That had been Ciballos. A pause. Some rumbling. Then, nothing.
"Nothing," Jake said. "I knew it. I just knew it." He put his hands over his face and said nothing.
"No, Wait!" Ciballos said. Listen!" He turned up the volume a bit.
Listening to the tape, Jake couldn't believe his ears. There were sounds on the tape.
They were baby sounds.
Jake did a step back. The sounds had the same tone as Jake's words, but they weren't words, and the voice was high-pitched. "A baby's voice," Ciballos said.
Jake said nothing. He shivered. He had never thought he would ever be frightened of baby sounds. They were the happy cackles of a newborn, but to Jake, it sounded horrible. He didn't understand anything of it, but he knew one thing: that was him The voice on the tape was Jake Madigan's, but it was his voice of almost thirty years ago. How in hell did it came on that tape ?
Supernatural.
Ciballos's voice on the tape again: That'll do. And then: click.
It was absurd, but somewhere within an attic of his mind, Jake was mad at Ciballos. He had no right to be, of course, but he supposed this was a natural psychological reaction. He was angry with him because his voice was normal. His voice was on the tape. He had no problems. It was unfair, Jake thought. But probably, it was all his own fault. God knew what a stupid mistake he had made when he was fixing that goddam box.
Why didn't I die ?
"That makes three," Jake said. "Oh my God, what is this ?
His eyes became watery. He was on the verge of crying again. Jake had never looked at himself as a sissy, but this was just too much to handle for him.
"What do you mean, that makes three ?" Ciballos inquired.
"Three things," Jake replied. "Three facts that have to be with a baby," Jake said. He hadn't told Ciballos about the visit at Tyler's.
"What three facts ?" The doctor was enthralled.
"This tape thing, a dream I was in the hospital during my own birth, and a vision the man who called the hospital had."


15


Jake explained about the dream and Tyler's experience.
"Do you have any idea what all this means ?" Ciballos asked Jake. He seemed without a clue. But who wouldn't be ?
"What do you think I came to you for ?" Jake returned.
"Yes. Yes, of course," Ciballos said dreamily. He was concentrating, and deep wrinkles appeared on his forehead.
"But I thought you might know what the baby means."
"I don't," Jake said.
There was a long period of strange silence between them. It had started raining again. A dreary September rain, washing New-York, depressing its inhabitants. It was clattering against the window and on the roof.

"Maybe I could perform, you know, some tests on you," Ciballos said after awhile. "Blood, urination, and stuff."
Jake considered it for a moment and then said it could be a good idea.
"I could do it right now," Ciballos said, "but it is preferable that your stomach is empty."
"It is."
"Huh ?" Ciballos asked. "Oh, yes I see. Of course, you've quit eating."
"Yeah," Jake laughed. "It's a nasty habit anyway."
They both laughed, but Ciballos' features were at once serious again.
He was rubbing the skin on his chin. "There's no point in searching for a rational or a medically justified answer. What I mean to say is... this, your experience is...what's the word... supernatural. I know it, and I guess you know it too now. No point in denying it anymore."
Jake nodded. The word had been in his mind from the time of the accident itself. He had only given it serious consider- ation when he'd seen the tape. And he was believing only now. Whenever the word had popped into his head, he had always pushed it away with foolish arguments, like imagination, drunkenness. Or he had used the "there's got to be a logical explanation" sentence.
Until now.
Now he believed.
What was going on was supernatural. As Ciballos had said: there was no point in denying it. And Jake knew it.
"So your stomach is empty ? You're sure you've eaten nothing this morning ?"
"Positive. And not only this morning!" Jake laughed, in spite of himself.
"You don't feel weak or lazy or something ?" the doctor asked.
"I know what you mean," Jake said. He did. When he would've skipped only breakfast a month ago, he would've felt languid and weak the whole day. "But the answer's no," he said. I don't feel feeble at all."
"Well then," Ciballos said, "here's one for your bladder." He handed Jake a little plastic jar. "Go to the toilet and take your time. When you're done, I'll take some of your blood."
Jake went to the john and discovered he could urinate without any trouble. He had not expected half of what he got. Then he went back to the office and handed his work to his doctor.
"I'll send this to the lab and we'll have the results in three or four days. Five at the latest."
He took another jar out of a closet. "Could you spit in this please ?"
Jake did.
"All right. Now, I wonder if we will get any wiser, but now at least we are doing something."
Jake nodded
"I'll guess I better get going then," he said. "You have other patients waiting for you."
"Damn them," Ciballos said. "You are much more important now."
Jake smiled sadly.
"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better ?"
"I don't know," Jake replied. "Don't think so."
"How are you, you know, in general ? Do you suffer, do you -"
"I'm scared," Jake said softly. "I'm so goddam scared of what could happen next."
"I can imagine that," Ciballos said sympathetically. He was silent for a minute. "And I hope you believe me when I say that there is very little, almost nothing, I can do."
"I know that. I don't expect you to conjure my mirror image back into that mirror, like a magician or something. God, I never thought something like that might actually happen to me. I didn't even believe in those things till now."
Ciballos rewound the tape and listened again.
The timing was perfect. There was even the pause between 'street' and 'And I think I'm going crazy."
Jake hadn't even listened anymore.

"I'll be going then," he said. "In case you find something, call me pl.. No, you can't call me, I forgot."
"I'll come," Ciballos said immediately.
"That's very friendly," Jake uttered, "but I don't think -"
"No problem. I'll come as soon as I know something."
"T-thank...you," Jake stammered.
"You're welcome," Ciballos answered. He hugged Jake.
"Goodbye," Jake said.
"Goodbye. And... good luck, Jake."


16


Doctor Henry Ciballos had a busy day. He had already had four patients when Jake arrived, and after him, eleven more came. Of course, with Jake's visit taking so long, he was dreadfully behind schedule. There had been a patient who had scowled at him for about five minutes, telling him he had an appointment at eleven, while he was only in at one, but he had been too tired to discuss it.
Ciballos hadn't even taken the time to lunch, which did not happen very frequently. By the end of the day, he was exhausted like he had never been before. It was nine o'clock then. Normally, he stopped working at seven, but there was no way he could send his patients homeward, of course.
He couldn't help yawning during the tale of the last patient, an old woman, self-pitying all over the place. Ciballos had made an educated guess about her age. He had thought sixty, but later she had told him she was seventy. And she had also told him she had seven children and thirty grandchildren. Ciballos had wanted to push her outside, but he thought he was obliged to listen to her crap because she had had to wait for about two hours.
When she opened the door to go home - still telling what a nice doctor he was - Ciballos thought he was going to faint.
He then gathered his stuff and left the room. He dropped in by the lab and handed Jake's blood, urine and sputum, to doctor Cattlet, a good friend of his, asking him to examine them as soon as possible.
When he walked down the corridor through the seemingly deserted hospital, an idea popped up in his mind. He turned around and went to the archive room. He had placed Jake's medical file there, more than three weeks ago. He had done that after the accident, when he had considered his file closed. But now he needed it again. He searched the first M-cabinet and found the Jake Madigan file almost instantly. It was a fairly thick record, and he decided to get back to the lab and read it there. He was overtired, true, but this really gripped him.
Back in the lab, he sat down, put on the desk lamp and started reading. It was dark outside, and his wife was probably worried, so he would do it in a jiffy, thinking he wouldn't find anything anyway.
So he quickly went through the file, reading all about Jake Madigan. When he was done, he discovered, to his own enormous amazement, that he was only reading this file for the first time. He learned about Jake's child diseases - he'd almost had them all -, data about address, parents, and general health condition, but didn't find anything of interest, as he had expected.
Ciballos thought he had finished the file, when he discovered there was another page behind the last blank page. It was the space reserved for special remarks that deserved special attention. It was written down a long time ago; Ciballos hadn't done it himself.
He read the paper thoroughly. There were some data at the top of the page, but Ciballos didn't know what was special about them.
It was at the bottom of the page.
When Ciballos read it, his eyes grew big, and a tiny sound escaped his mouth.
He felt his heart beating everywhere.
Could this be it ? Could it ? It was just too simple to be true. He reread the paragraph, passing over the words with his finger.
He looked up for a moment, thinking.
This is it.
"And it's bad news for Jake Madigan."


17


Doctor Ciballos pondered a few moments about what he would do next. He glanced casually at his watch. Ten o'clock. He couldn't call Jake. Well, he could call him, of course, but he wouldn't hear Jake. By the time he'd get there, it would be half past ten or later. Jake would undoubtedly be in bed by then, if he wasn't sleeping already, that was. This was a matter of great importance. He should tell Jake about it as soon as possible, but he figured there was nothing to do about it. He should just know, that was all.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, could be done.
Ciballos swallowed. Jake was a special patient to him, and not only because he'd had a special accident.
He was his friend.
His friend in trouble.
His dying friend.


18


It was 10.38 when Ciballos stood before Jake's locked door. With a shaking hand, he pressed the button and heard the bell ring. In his other hand was Jake's file.
Ciballos waited. There was a chill wind rising. The streets were dark and deserted.
Jake was in bed, having one of the worst nightmares of his life. In it, he heard the sound of the baby. The baby was laughing, but it was horrible.
Ciballos rang again.
The baby in Jake's dream was still laughing. It turned its face toward him. On his back, there were a scull and crossbones. And the word 'danger'.
Ciballos rang a third time.
Jake jumped awake, bathing in sweat, trembling all over his body. It took him a few moments to realize that the bell had rung.
The baby has come for me.
The nightmare was still inside his head, causing crazy thoughts to well up in him.
Who might that be ?, he thought, and then immediately knew it had to be Ciballos.
He pushed the blankets off his body, got into his slippers, and stumbled down the stairs.
Ciballos was about to ring again when the door was being opened. He saw a terrible looking man in front of him. Jake seemed to have aged ten years in ten hours.
"Come in," Jake said.
Ciballos walked in quickly and closed the door.
Jake yawned.
"Do you have news ?" he asked.
"Yes, I have."
Jake looked into his eyes and he knew at once that it was bad news.
What news can he possibly have. This whole thing is not scientifically predictable.
"You better sit down," Ciballos told him.
"I'm fine where I am," Jake said impatiently. "Please tell me what there is to be told."
Ciballos swallowed. During the trip to Jake's house he had tried to prepare this. He had thought about the way in which he would tell him. But now it was difficult nevertheless.
"I...I," he stuttered,"I have reasons to believe that you will... die in two days.
Jake had expected something like that - what else could the bad news have been ? - but he hadn't thought it would be so soon.
And looking at Ciballos's face, he saw he was rather sure of what he had just told."
Ciballos continued. "An hour ago, I took your medical file," he said. "and I think I have found what this is all about."
"You have ?" Jake was scared as well as engrossed.
"You were born a month too late," he said.
"What ?"
"I said you were born a month behind schedule. You've been in your mother's womb exactly ten months."
"Bu-bu-but," Jake stammered, "but... doesn't that happen frequently ?" It was the first thing he thought of, and he spoke it out aloud.
"It happens frequently that a child is born too late. But I haven't heard of many cases where it was as long as a month. That is exceptionally long."
Jake nodded.
"But didn't you know about this ?" Ciballos asked.
"No, I didn't. Apparently my parents never told me," Jake answered. "They never had much chance to tell me. Killed in a car crash when I was seven.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Ciballos said.
"But... what makes you think I have only... two more days to live ?"
"You have been born a month too late," Ciballos answered,
"and I think you will die a month too late."
Jake looked at him, not really understanding.
"It does make sense," Ciballos continued. "I don't know if you believe in God or don't. I don't. But I believe in the supernatural. Only because I've seen it with my own eyes of course."
"I believe in it, too," Jake said softly. "You bet I do."
"Yes," the doctor said. "You were born a month behind schedule...
(here, Mrs. Madigan. Right on schedule)
"... which means you lost, wasted, a month of your life. Now you are given another month. Somebody, call it God if you want to, but I don't know, gives you the lost month back, by letting you live thirty days longer." Ciballos was excited in spite of himself. "In any normal case, with which I mean: if you had been born on schedule, you would have died 28 days ago, by an electric shock."
Jake nodded, bewildered. It did make sense. It really did.
"That also explains, in a way, those baby... what do I call it... manifestations. The time you are living now is the lost time in the womb. Hence the baby voices, and that man's vision."
Jake was amazed. It all fit in perfectly, like a puzzle.
"What about...," Jake tried to say, but his voice broke.
He pressed his lips tightly, preventing him from weeping. He tried again. "What about the phone, the mirror and er... the tape."
Ciballos meditated for a second and then said: "I haven't quite figured out that myself, but I think it has to do with your process of... dying."
Now Jake was really weeping.
"I'm sorry," Ciballos said.
The room was filled with dead silence. They could only hear the sound of the rain and the wind, twisting around the house. Jake didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to feel. He was crying, but at the same time, there was an urge to laugh.
"So your guess is that I will cease to exist... the day after tomorrow ?"
"Well," Ciballos replied, "if we take exactly nine months as the rule, then you were born exactly a month too late. So..."
"So I'll die in two days. In fact... I've already started," Jake said.
"Yes. I think so," Ciballos said. "I'm really sorry for you Jake, but maybe I can comfort you with this: normally you were already dead for a month. And now, you have lived a thirty days longer."
"Yeah," Jake said. "Some life. I feel like a shadow, you know."
"Yes, I know. But you don't suffer physically, do you ? I mean, there is no pain."
"No, not yet," Jake said.
"You need a glass of water ?"
"Yes, that would be nice."
Ciballos fetched him a glass and went back to the chair.
"A question," Jake said. "Why does it happen to me, and not with all the people who are born later ?"
"I can't answer that one. I'm sorry, but that's the supernatural for you."
Jake smiled weakly.
"You know," Ciballos continued, "It's only because you hoped you had survived the shock, that you are disappointed now. But if you were told you'd live a month longer at the moment you got the shock, you would've been happy like never before."
"I guess you're right," Jake said. "But still I am scared. You know, it isn't a normal death. I'm dying slowly."
"Yes, you are," Ciballos said.
"Anyway, thank you for telling me all this."
Ciballos nodded. "You know, there is, of course, a small chance that this is all nonsense and imagination, but...-"
"But I - and you - don't think so," Jake took over. "It all fits in. Everything.
"Yes, everything fits in. I'm sorry."
"No need to be," Jake said. And then, with a soft voice: "It's all my fault anyway."


19


Jake passed the next two days at home, doing nothing. He'd said goodbye to Ciballos, telling him they would see each other again sometime.
There was still a part of him that could hope that he and Ciballos were all wrong, but that part was growing smaller and smaller.
The day after Ciballos had come, Jake sensed something else. It was a smell. He remembered saying, a few days ago, that the barbecue smelled great. The boss had answered they didn't even got the pig yet. He had thought it was his imagination, but it wasn't. It was the same thing he smelled now: his own death. He was supposed to have died by electric shock.
(don't you think you'd be at least toasted ?)
That was what he smelled now: roasted meet. His own.

That night, his last night, he called Kelly. Just to hear her voice. He knew she wouldn't hear him. He had thought of passing the day with her, but in the end he had decided against it.
So he dialed her number.
She answered the phone.
"Helgeson residence, Kelly speaking."
"It's me, Kel, Jake," Jake said with tears in his eyes.
"Hello ?"
"I wanted to say goodbye, Kelly."
"Hello ?" she said again. And then: "Jake! Is that you ?" She sounded worried.
"See you soon Kelly," he cried.
"Hello? Hello? Jake!"
He laid down the receiver.

At eleven o'clock, Jake left his house.
A stranger. A dying man in the dark.




- Epilogue -



Jake walked and walked and never knew where he was going. He wiped a tear off his cheek, and under the light of the lantern, he saw that his hand had become diaphanous.
"I'm not dead yet, but I'm also no longer among the living.
I'm in-between."

At two to twelve, the barbecue smell had become much stronger.
At twelve o'clock exactly, Jake died. Falling on the ground, he saw that without knowing it he had walked to the very electricity box with which his nightmare had started.
An old man found him there, ten minutes later.
Seeing Jake's corpse, he screamed.
His skin was burned all over his body. "Like as if he'd been electrified," the man would later tell the police.