The Conspiracy Club

“Heroics?”

“That’s what’s floating around. That somehow you figured things out for the cops, did your shrink thing, helped them profile the bastard. I’ve even heard a really crazy one saying you were there the night they got him.”

“Sure,” said Jeremy. “I’m dusting off my cape, as we speak.”

“That’s what I thought. Maybe it’s the administration, floating those rumors. It’s been a PR nightmare for them- anyway, I figured you should know- never liked that guy. Arrogant.”

“From what I hear, Bill, arrogance was the least of his problems.”

“True,” said the oncologist. “Speaking of heroics, the reason I’m calling is to give you a little good news, for a change. Our boy Doug has somehow managed to ease himself into a nice little remission.”

“That’s great!”

“I’d never have predicted it, but that’s my line of work- humbling experiences every day. Hard to say if it’ll be long-term or not, his presentation’s been so weird. But there’s no transplant on the horizon, and I’m sending him home, continuing his treatment on an outpatient basis. I thought you should know.”

“I appreciate it, Bill. When’s he being discharged?”

“Tomorrow A.M., if nothing changes. Talk about a cape. To my mind, this kid’s Superman.”

Marika sat next to Doug on the bed. Both of them in street clothes. Doug wore a Budweiser T-shirt and jeans. His prosthetic leg was attached. Both his hands were hooked up to IVs. His color was better. Not totally right, but better. Some of his hair had fallen out. He beamed.

“Hey, Doc. I kicked major-league medical ass.”

“You sure did.”

“Yeah, I told you that motherfucker leukemia was going to see who was the boss.”

“You’re the man, Doug.”

The young man nudged his wife. “Hear that? That’s coming from an expert.”

“You are the man, honey.”

“Right on.”

“So,” said Jeremy, “you’re going home tomorrow.”

“First thing I’m go

“Sounds great. Congratulations.”

“Thanks- c’mere, Doc. Gimme a shake, I wa

Doug thrust out his right hand. The IV line looped and thrummed. Jeremy approached. Doug grabbed him, squeezed hard.

“Impressive,” said Jeremy.

“Sometimes,” said the young man, “I feel like I can climb walls.”

56

The day Arthur came to see Jeremy, the mail brought another surprise.

Cheap white envelope. OFFICIAL POLICE CORRESPONDENCE stamped on the back.

Inside were two squares of cardboard taped together. Jeremy cut the tape and extricated what was sandwiched within.

The snapshot of Jocelyn and him. Her tiny frame made Jeremy look like a large man. Both of them happy. Her blond hair windblown, all over the place.

He remembered: The strands had tickled him like crazy, and she’d gotten a kick out of that.

Oh, you’re ticklish?

She’d gone for his ribs, grabbing with strong little fingers. Giggling like a kid, so pleased with herself.

He stared at the photo for a long time, placed it in an unmarked envelope, set that in a lower drawer of his desk.

Atop the Curiosity file.

One of these days, he’d do something with it.

Arthur had a tan.

The golden glow merged with his natural ruddiness, turned the old man’s skin into something luminous.

Nearly eighty, but the picture of vitality. Traveling- and learning- had served him well.

He found Jeremy just as he had the first time. Sitting alone, in the doctors’ dining room. Three P.M., an off-hour for lunch. Jeremy’d filled his days with patients, just as he had since the night underground, had eaten nothing earlier. The room was empty.

Arthur wore a beautiful royal blue pin-striped suit and a pink shirt with a contrasting white collar. His bow tie was gold shantung. A peacock blue handkerchief flowed from his breast pocket. In one hand was a cup of tea, a burnished leather briefcase dangled from the other. A large case, hand-stitched, stamped with Arthur’s initials, which Jeremy had never seen before.

“May I sit down?”

“Sure.”

Arthur settled, took time to dunk his tea bag. Stared straight into Jeremy’s eyes.

“How was your trip, Arthur?”

“Excellent.”

“Travel and learn.”

“That’s what it’s all about.”

“You taught me plenty,” said Jeremy.

The old man didn’t answer.

“Why the need to be oblique, Arthur?”

“Fair question, my friend.” Arthur sipped tea, stroked his beard, pushed the cup to the side. “There are multiple answers. First off, at the level of hypothesis, one can never be sure. I truly was learning. Second, I felt I needed to pace things so as not to repel you. Admit it, son. If I’d laid everything out, you’d have thought me demented.”

He smiled at Jeremy.

Jeremy shrugged.

“Third- and this may offend you, Jeremy, however I think a lot of you and would never dissemble- certain things need to be striven for to be appreciated.”

“No gain without pain?”

“A cliché but no less valid for that.”

“You guided me with riddles and games for my own good.”

“Exactly,” said the old man. “Perfectly put.”

Jeremy had known this moment would arrive. He’d wondered how he’d react. Weeks had gone by since the subterranean nightmare. He rarely thought about it, and the horror had faded to a macabre cartoon.

Interestingly enough, the late-night supper with Arthur and his friends had surged in his memory- grown clearer, more real.

“After supper,” he said, “you seemed to grow distant.”

Arthur nodded. “Forgive me. I was… torn. I knew what you were about to undergo. I wondered.”

Some things need to be striven for.

Now, having asked Arthur the question and receiving the answer, he could only smile.

“Okay,” he said.

“That’s it?” said the old man. “You’re satisfied.”

“About that I am. I do have other questions. Since you’ve pledged not to dissemble.”

“Fair enough.”

“Was your family’s killer ever found? One way or the other?”

Tears sprang to Arthur’s eyes, and that was answer enough for Jeremy. But the old man said, “Never.”

“Did any suspects arise?”

“One suspect,” said Arthur. “A local handyman. A clearly disturbed man. Later I was to find out he’d spent time in an asylum. I’d been concerned about him for some time, was certain I’d seen him leering at my wife.” Arthur’s voice caught. “She was beautiful, my Sally. Men were always looking at her. I have pictures, in my apartment. One day you’ll see them. But this man…”

“What happened to him?” said Jeremy.

“Nothing of a police nature, son. Perhaps now, with the technology we have, he might have been arrested. But back then…” The old man shook his head.

“You just let it go?”

“At the time, I was too weak to react. Everything I’d worked for, taken, just like that.” Arthur sniffed. Blinked. His beard trembled. “My children were sweet, Jeremy. My wife was beautiful, and my children were sweet.”

He pulled out the blue pocket silk and patted his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said Jeremy.

“Thank you.” Arthur stuffed the silk back in his breast pocket. Perfect casual fold. He said, “Two months after my family was taken from me- sixty-three days to be precise, the handyman was brought to the emergency room, here. Strangled bowel- one of those things that just happens. He was treated but to no avail. His guts turned to gangrene, and he was dead within three days. I never saw him alive. However, I did have the opportunity to assist at the autopsy.”

“Rotting from within. Appropriate.”