Oh-Oh City

I stopped at a gas station and used the book in their phone booth to find her address. "B. Rushforth – Plum Hill 67a. "I assumed the small a meant the difference between her gatehouse and the main. The sky had started the morning blue, but had slipped down gray-white to almost brown by the time I entered the Plum Hill gates and started looking for numbers. A large black labrador retriever ran out of a driveway and followed the car, barking awhile until he lost interest a few houses down and wagged his tail back home. 63, 65, 67. The name on the mailbox was none other than Samuel Morgan, sole owner of the Morgan Computer Company. You know the one I'm talking about – each machine costs millions and is the darling of the U.S. Defense Department? I think the man is still in his thirties, but is reputed to be astronomically wealthy. Beenie rented her house from this guy?

The driveway wound up and around a long way before you actually saw anything. The 'gatehouse" came first, although it guarded no gate. No car was parked near her house, and, from what I could see, none were at the big house, either. I felt like a thief casing the joint. I am not a thief or a snoop, but I decided to snoop. I would do it in plain sight, however, so if anyone happened to come up, they'd see me at it. But I did have every intention of looking in whatever windows were there and finding whatever clues were available.

Snow had begun to fail, but it was light and playful. The whole feeling of what I was about to do lightened my mood. It was so out of character for me – so nosy and so none of my business to peek in a stranger's windows. I couldn't help smiling, although I was still pretty riled.

Flakes began to stick and melt on my glasses. I had to take them off for a wipe before spying in earnest. Specs in hand, I looked around and realized what an utterly beautiful scene it was. Acres of lawn, dark trees on the edges, the green-brown stillness of the lake behind the fat floating snowflakes ….

Beenie's house was nothing special. A small Cape Cod saltbox the color of silvery tree bark – from the outside, it appeared cozy and a good place for one person to live, two at most. Pink gauzy curtains framed the windows. From afar, I looked through and saw a couch covered in a large flower print. Eyeglasses back in place, I went to the window that looked into her living room. Typical stuff: appropriate furniture, a few throw rugs, dull pictures on the wails. For no reason, I looked at my watch and then chuckled. I'd seen too much TV. Without realizing it, I was spying the way they did it on television – check your watch a lot; check over your shoulder constantly; don't spent too much time looking in a window before moving on to the next. Check that watch again – you have only so much time. I had no idea how much I would have before someone noticed me peeking in windows, and came over or called the cops, and I would get myself into big trouble.

Moving slowly around the house, I passed a kitchen with the remnants of breakfast left out – a knife on a plate filled with bread crumbs, a coffee cuptipped over on its saucer. something touched my mind, but didn't come into focus until a few minutes later. a small window into a bathroom. standing on tiptoe, i could make out a yellow shower curtain and a rumpled towel tossed across the sink.

I was a step toward the next window, when it registered. "It's messy!"

Her whole house was messy. Beenie Rushforth, Queen Terminator of the dust speck, Grand Wielder of Mop and Broom/Look-Out-Dirt-Here-I Come, lived in a house with wet towels and strawberry-jam smudges on her tablecloth? It was not only hard to believe, it was nigh onto impossible. I know – People are a giant admixture of contradictions, and nothing should be surprising in life, but if you had seen the results of this woman's work, you would fully understand why it was inconceivable for her to live like this.

Still dumbfounded, I walked to the last window and saw dead A

It was a trick, a joke; I was drunk; I was insane. She was dead. She could not be there . But oh, she most certainly was. Twenty years' dead A

"A

She stood up and walked out of the room. I kept my forehead on the glass, and kept looking at the tangled bedspread where she'd sat. I had never in my life been so close to the answer, but I was petrified. Everything inside me howled and screeched and shook the bars of their cages. Let us out. Let us run away. The fire's close and will kill us. "Professor Silver?"

I turned, and there was A

"I don't know what to do. Can one talk to Death?"

"Yes, Professor. We have to talk."

"Is it because of Beenie?"

She nodded again, then gestured for me to follow. We walked a long way across the lawn and down to a boathouse beside the lake. There was a pinewood bench in front of it, and we sat down.

"She thought it was best if I came first, because you and I have the most to talk about. The other things aren't as serious."

"Sometimes I dream of talking to the dead. Sometimes the dreams are very vivid."

She frowned. "This isn't a dream. I'm really here, and we have to talk, so please don't pinch yourself or jump up and down trying to wake up. It's real; I'm real. I am dead, but I'm here now."

"Why?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Because I hate you, and you must know that. It was your fault back then. Or a lot of it was. You were the straw that broke my back. You said my book was bad, and bingo, that did it."

"Oh Anette, I didn't –"

" Yes, you did! I wasn't dumb, you know. I knew what you were saying."

"Should I have lied? You said you wanted the truth."

"I did, but not one that would kill me. Your truth was like stabbing a knife into my fucking brain!

"I was so sure it was good. So sure you'd say, 'A

"A

Beenie's firm voice came from behind me, but before I turned, I saw the girl's fury sink back into her face like a fist she had to hide. She still hated me, but was more afraid of what would happen if she didn't do what she'd been told.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Hiya, Scott. I wasn't expecting you so soon. Go in the house, A

Like the hyperbolic young woman she was, or had been, she got up without deigning to look at me, tsk'd loudly, and stomped off. I looked at her shoes, and realized they were the same high riding boots she'd worn and had been so in fashion when I had known her. "I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack, Beenie."

"Don't worry – your heart's as strong as a horse's. What you should watch out for is that uric acid. Stay away from tomatoes, is my advice."

I took a deep breath and looked at her. "Who are you?"

"God."

"Oh."

She smiled and took my hand. "Uh-Oh City!"

Had it gotten colder, or had my soul's temperature dropped ten degrees since sitting on the bench? Beenie had a large stick in her hand and was snapping off little bits. That was the only sound around us except for the occasional faraway car driving into the Plum Hill turnoff. "Don't you want to ask any questions?"