“I don’t really know. I closed my eyes, and Iremember thinking, ‘I want to go home,’ and the next thing Iknew... I opened my eyes and saw you.”
I took the chair opposite him. “I suspectyou’ve been asleep for a good many years.”
He seemed to accept the situation. “But whywake up now? Why here?”
“Because...” I didn’t really know, but then athought came to me. “You wanted to go home, so you’ve beentransported to the next best thing, a flat that looks like home toyou.”
“I find that a bit far-fetched.”
I shrugged. “Perhaps nobody else decorated aflat to look like yours during all that time.”
He rose and paced the floor, apparentlybecoming used to the idea and beginning to assert himself.
“Very well.” He turned to me. “Now that I’vecome home, I should be obliged if you would leave.”
His words shocked me at first, but Irecovered quickly. “Sorry, but I can’t do that. I live here now andhave nowhere else to go.” Of course, I could move in with Tessaagain, but she’d lose her writing room. Or back with my mother inLos Angeles, but only over my own dead body.
“Speaking of which,” I said aloud, “howevermuch it looks like home to you, you don’t own this flat or thisbuilding, and I do. Or, rather, my grandmother owns the building,and it’s in San Francisco, remember?”
He sat down, closed his eyes and rubbed hisforehead again. “And this is really the twenty-first century?”
“I can show you a calendar if you like. Ihave one in my office.” I pointed toward my bedroom door.
“Where have I been all this time?”
“Uh... dead?”
“I’ve already thought of that, but why have Ireturned from the dead at this time? Am I a ghost? Do I look like aghost to you?”
“I don’t know what ghosts are supposed tolook like. In the movies—”
“The what?”
“Oh, you don’t know about movies, do you? Letme put it this way. People who have seen ghosts tend to describethem in one of two ways. Either they’re formless, white cloud-likethings, or else they’re transparent and you can put your hand rightthrough them.”
“I believe they’re described that way inbooks, as well.” He glanced down at himself. “I don‘t believe I’meither of those. Do I look like a white vapor to you?”
“No, you look like a sturdy man.”
“Am I transparent? Could you put your handthrough me?”
I reached out and grasped his arm. Quitesolid. “No, you’re a real person as far as I can tell.”
He rose and paced some more. “There’s oneother thing. The people in my flat in London ignored me. Is itpossible they didn’t see me?”
“Perhaps, but I see you. I can touch you, andwe’re talking together.”
“Yes, but what if only certain people can seeme? You, for instance, because you’ve decorated your flat to looklike mine?”
Obviously, the man’s brain suffered no damageduring his ninety-some years of being dead, anyway.
“I suppose it’s possible. We’ll know soonenough.”
I said the latter because Holmes had left thehall door open, and I heard footsteps on the old wooden stairs.Slow footsteps. Not Doc. I rushed to the doorway to help Tessa.
“Tessa, you shouldn’t have come up all thisway.”
In her strong voice she put me in my place.“Stop treating me like an invalid. It’s only seventeen steps, and alanding halfway besides. I wanted to see with my own eyes whatyou’ve done up here.”
“What about your own knees?”
“My knees are fine, and the day they’re notI’ll have them replaced.” She walked about the room as if showingme her knees still worked, even though not as good perhaps as inthe days she often bragged about, when she did the Jitterbug to“One O’Clock Jump” by the Count Basie band.
Actually, I couldn’t see her knees becauseshe always wore either long pants or a long skirt. She often toldme she preferred to wear those with the low-heeled shoes she neededthese days. That day a blue and white striped sweater topped hernavy blue skirt, which went well with her naturally-curly,unnaturally platinum blonde hair. Luckily, although she might onlybe my step-grandmother, I too had curly hair, but mine was brown,not “Bashful Blonde” from a drugstore bottle.
Tessa surveyed everything through her readingglasses, and then gave me the rolled-up newspaper she held in herhand. “I’ve brought the Chronicle in case you want to readit.”
I took the newspaper from her. “Do you seeanything of interest in my apartment?”
“Just a lot of old junk. I like periodfurniture myself, but this looks more like the rear corner of arundown resale shop.”
She hadn’t seen Holmes. Apparently he’dassumed correctly, and not everyone could see him.
He spoke up. “I fear I’m invisible to her aswell. You’re all alone in this, my young friend.”
“‘Doc’ Watson might see you. He’s ourmaintenance man.”
Tessa said, “Of course he’s our maintenanceman, but why would he want to see me?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Tessa. I wastalking to Sherlock Holmes.”
Holmes said, “Dr. Watson is here? Are youtelling me he has returned from the grave as well?”
Tessa gave me a stern look. “It’s one thingto redecorate and hang out a detective shingle, but if you’re goingto carry on conversations with imaginary people—”
“He’s not imaginary. He’s here.”
“Who’s here? Doc?” Tessa said.
“Who’s here? Doctor Watson?” Holmes said.
I raised my eyes. Good grief. This couldn’tbe more awkward.
I guided Tessa to the armchair I’d recentlyvacated. “Sherlock Holmes is here. You can’t see him, but Ican.”
“I may be old, but my eyesight hasn’t givenout yet. There’s no one here but you and me.”
“Let me explain. Holmes has awakened from...along sleep and showed up here because this room looks like hisflat.”
“Showed up? You mean his ghost?”
“Madam, I am not a ghost.”
“Let me explain,” I said.
“You already said that.”
“I was talking to him.”
She squinted her eyes and leaned toward me.“You can talk to a ghost? Does he answer you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“You can if you want to, but you won’t beable to hear his answers. I’ll be glad to repeat them, butapparently I’m the only one who can see and hear him.”
“And Watson,” Holmes said. “I’m certainWatson will be able to do it.”
“Maybe not. Our Watson
