Chapter 11 Farnsworth
Farnsworth
Iforgot the absolute joy of a hot shower. It isn’t necessary, and nearly impossible to achieve down in the underworld, so it’s been a very long time since I’ve indulged. I feel like a new man, and despite a slight desire to blend in unnoticed, I couldn’t bear another day spent in modern clothing.
I fold the blanket I slept with into a tidy square and set it down next to me while I ponder the situation. Hopefully, the Wolcott family knows a thing or two about their departed relative, otherwise I’m not sure what direction to go in until the Horror makes its presence known again.
Glancing at the bathroom door, I shift uncomfortably on the couch.
I was able to wash away the remains of what I did to myself last night, and I do hope Borja doesn’t go looking through his laundry bin until the shirt dries.
How mortifying! I honestly can’t believe I gave in to such simple pleasures, but I’m still slightly pleased to know I have it in me to feel things like that. It’s been so long.
The bathroom door opens and steam follows Borja as he steps into the hall and then ducks behind his bedroom door. Just as well. The last thing I need is to see the man scantily clad again.
Dancing next to him felt amazing, and the mere thought of being so close to a man is… intriguing, but I need to stay focused on our mission.
Borja appears only minutes later, dressed in jeans and a simple gray sweater.
The stubble on his cheeks is close to a beard after only a day.
Instinctively, I rub my own scruffy chin.
Normally, I wouldn’t let it grow in, as I find it unprofessional, but it’s always been a challenge to manage, and perhaps a small indulgence while I’m in the Above isn’t so bad.
Borja’s own hair growth supports my choice.
“So, what do you think?” he asks.
“About what?”
“The Wolcott family.”
I nod. “Right. Do you have access to a genealogy center, perhaps? We need historical records.”
“Sure. The Boston Library is kind of a thing. If they don’t have them, they’ll know where to go.
” He lifts his phone. “We can try this, too. How many Wolcotts can there be in Boston?” Borja taps his phone screen a few times, then frowns.
“I stand corrected. It’s apparently a very popular surname in the city.
There must be over fifty listings here.”
“We need a relative of this specific Wolcott. Library?”
“Yes. Let’s go.”
With that, we head out of Borja’s apartment on our way to the Boston Public Library.
We take the subway again, which is definitely an interesting experience for me considering all the unique people around us, most of whom are traveling to work, based on how they’re dressed in smart clothes, sweaters, and blazers to handle the changing of the seasons.
That’s another thing I’ve missed about the Above.
Seeing the change of seasons happen, watching the sun rise and set during the day, the leaves changing on trees in the fall and the flowers blooming again in the spring, watching the ocean waves crash on the beach in summer with my toes buried in warm sand.
Those are all things you let go of when you pass from this life to the next one. I haven’t really passed, but how is my existence any different from those who have passed on? I reside in the same place many of those souls do. I go through the same motions. I live in the dark, but it suits me.
I get plenty of satisfaction helping Soul Chasers transition into their new roles, helping them find purpose by saving people who did nothing to warrant having a Horror attached to them.
Well, usually. Sometimes they bring it on themselves, but that’s neither here nor there. Horrors don’t belong in the Above, and it’s my duty and my pleasure to help keep that balance in check.
“Okay, here we are,” Borja says as the train doors slide open.
We exit and walk out to the sight of a massive, stunning piece of architecture etched with the words Boston Public Library on its stone facade. I must admit, I get a little bit excited seeing libraries. All that knowledge and adventure contained in one place makes me feel a little giddy.
They remind me of the hours and hours I spent reading books to escape the dreariness of real life as a youth.
Hundreds of years later, there are so many more books that I’ll never have time to read them all even with immortality.
Maybe while I’m Above I can indulge in a book or two, though I really need to stay focused on the mission.
We walk up the stairs together and enter the building, glancing around.
Borja walks over to an information desk, and I overhear him asking where we might find historical records of people who have lived in Boston.
We’re directed to a research area and head off into the library. The building is massive, with soaring ceilings, intricate carvings, and details that draw my eye. I’ve never seen a prettier library, certainly.
“How old is this place?”
Borja shrugs. “I don’t know, seventeen or eighteen hundreds, probably. It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“It’s incredible,” I whisper. “I could get lost in here.”
“I bet you could. It’s big enough.”
“No, I mean lost in the books. There are just so many of them. Where does one even start?”
“I don’t think this is a browsing library. I think you need to know what you’re looking for here.”
I chuckle. “Yes, I suppose, but I wouldn’t mind getting accidentally locked in here for a week or two. As long as I had the books, I think I’d be okay.”
He looks over at me and smiles. “Book lover, huh?”
“I like books. Do you?”
“I used to read a lot more when I was younger, but kind of drifted away from it. More of a movie buff now.”
“I have limited experience with the cinema. I used to see quite a bit of theater. That was the primary source of entertainment in my day: theater and operas. Now I suppose that’s a thing of the past.”
“Oh, no, there’s still tons of theater. There’s a whole district in New York. Broadway.”
“Broadway?”
“Yep. New productions come out all the time.”
“I suppose I thought nobody would like to see those anymore.”
“It’s certainly a specific type of person who wants to go to the theater all the time, but a lot of people enjoy it.
Pretty sure there are still operas too. The artists perform the classics, but you can still go see an opera in many places; definitely some of the bigger cities, and certainly in Europe. ”
That knowledge warms my heart somewhat. “Interesting. I thought everything was sleek and newfangled.”
Borja chuckles. “A lot of people appreciate nostalgic or retro things. Vinyls even made a comeback.”
“Vinyls?”
“Yeah, vinyl, you know? For music, like on a turntable. You know what a turntable is, for listening to records?”
“Ah, yes, that’s how I listen to all my classic music. I haven’t heard it called vinyl before.”
“For a while there, we went to cassette tapes and then CDs—these little discs that you put the music on and they play in a machine, rather than a turntable.” He’s gesturing with his hands, making round shapes in the air.
“But I don’t know, maybe in the past twenty years or so, vinyl has made a comeback where young people are appreciating listening to actual physical records on a turntable.
It’s kind of fun. You can buy a lot of new music on vinyl records too. ”
“Interesting. Does it sound better on a CD versus a record?”
“That’s an opinion that will have divisive answers.” He laughs. “For me, I like CDs because they’re convenient. I also like to stream music.”
“Stream?”
“The songs just play on the internet. You don’t have the physical thing in your hand at all. I can show you later.”
“Yes, please. That sounds fascinating.”
We make it up to the space where the library assistant sent us, and it’s a room with stacks and stacks of books and drawers, filing cabinets lining the walls.
Another staff member approaches us and offers help.
“Yes, we’re looking to research the Wolcott family of Boston,” I say. “John Henry Wolcott, to be specific.”
The librarian smiles and nods. “Ah, another true crime buff. Right this way.”
“True crime buff?” I whisper to Borja.
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” He winks at me.
We walk over to a table where the librarian gestures for us to sit down. Then she walks over to a shelf and pulls out several books, walks them over to us, and sets them down on the table with a soft thud.
“Here you go, gentlemen, this will get you started. These are our most popular and most updated works on this particular person. If you have any questions, please let me know.”
She walks away, and Borja flips open the first book. “So, what exactly are we looking for? Because he’s dead.”
“Yes, he’s dead. So, we’re looking for any victims that might stand out, victims he might have had some reason to revisit, their family members, or any surviving victims he may have had.
Horrors don’t always have a good sense of how much time has passed.
Perhaps the Horror may think that the victims who got away are still alive, or they may be attempting to torment the victim’s family.
We should definitely find out who the husband was who killed him in real life.
Perhaps there’s a lead there too.” I flip open one of the books.
“I think we just want to read through this as quickly as we can, look for things that might stand out, make notes, and see if there are any trails we can find.”
Borja smiles. “Okay, I can do that.” He flips a few pages and leans forward over the book.
“Man, this is gonna take a while, isn’t it?”
“I can’t think of a better way right now. We need something to go on—a name, a location, anything to get us started. Otherwise, I don’t know where to go.”
“I understand.”
The two of us stop speaking and focus on the books in front of us.
I can speed read, and I’m not sure how fast Borja can read, but he seems to be doing a good job, and he’s very focused on the situation.
Some time passes and a shadow appears over my shoulder.
I turn to my left to see a young woman standing beside us. She’s pale and skinny, but her cheeks are flushed vivid pink, giving her a strange appearance.
“Hello,” she says softly. “I have a strange question.”
Borja looks over at her. “Sure, what’s up?”
“You wouldn’t happen to be researching the paranormal or the occult, would you?”
My brow crinkles. “Not exactly. Why do you ask?”
She sits down in the chair across the table from us. “This is probably gonna sound really weird, but I think I have a message for you.”
“A message?” Borja asks. “Do we know you?”
“No.” She smiles, tucking a strand of brunette hair behind her ear. “I get messages from the other side a lot. Too much. My name is Katie.”
“Hello, Katie.” I’m interested now. “You’re getting messages from the other side?”
“Yeah, it’s happened to me since I was a kid. It’s really annoying, especially when I’m at the library. But I’m a student, and I need to be at the library.” Her eyes drift up as if someone is speaking to her.
I glance up to see the ceiling of the library covered with benign spirits. “Oh my.”
“You can see them?”
“Yes, but none of them are attempting to speak to me.”
“There’s a lot of spirits here. They love libraries and hang out here, but they aren’t the ones poking me, and I really need to deliver this message so I can get back to work.” She smiles. “If you don’t mind.”
Borja looks at me and half shrugs.
“By all means,” I say. “If you have a message for us, we’re listening.”
“How do you know it’s for us?” Borja asks.
“Oh, the messenger specifically told me to look for a man in a blue bow tie who looks like he should be onstage with Frank Sinatra. That looks like him.”
Borja chuckles, patting me on the shoulder. “That’s definitely him.”
Katie exhales in a huff. “Can I hold your hand for a second?”
Nodding, I take her hand.
She startles, looking at me with wide eyes and shifting in her seat. “Oh, weird. I’m not sure why they didn’t talk to you directly instead of going through me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you have your own abilities. You’re a spirit guide?” She tilts her head. “Or something.”
“Or something.” I nod, offering a curt smile. “Your message, please.”
“Oh, right. Hold on.” She closes her eyes for a moment, and her lips move as though she’s speaking to someone, but no words come out. Then she opens her eyes and exhales slowly.
“Okay, so you need to go to this address.” She takes a piece of paper from Borja and scribbles an address on it.
“The person who lives there is aware that there’s an object in their house causing them problems, and they’ve been working on trying to eradicate the problem, but everything they try makes it worse. ”
“Uh-huh, go on.”
“They know the object is cursed, but they’re interested in it instead of wanting to get rid of it. I’m hearing that this is an object you need.”
“An object I need.” I turn to Borja. “It must have something to do with John Henry Wolcott.”
Katie gasps, squeezing my hand slightly. “Oh yes. Yes, that is definitely the connection.”
Relief spreads through me. “Thank you, Katie, and whoever told you this, too.”
I start to pull my hand back, but Katie grips it even harder. “Wait,” she says. “There’s more.”
She leans forward to me across the table, whispering in my ear words that come so quickly I can’t process them, but I know they’re sinking into me somewhere.
She pulls back, looking slightly alarmed.
“Oh, I haven’t been channeled directly in a long time. Such a weird feeling.”
“Something channeled through you?” Borja asks.
“Yes, a message they wanted to give directly. Whew.” She drags her hand through her hair. “Well, looks like they’ve all left. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thank you again,” I say to her.
“Yeah, sure, no problem. Maybe I can get some of my own work done now.”
She hops up and bounces over to a different table as though that experience didn’t really happen.
Borja is stunned, looking at me with his mouth gaping open.
“People can be conduits to the other side,” I explain. “I’m still not sure why they went through her instead of speaking to me directly, but I’m happy for the message.”
“Conduits?” Borja repeats.
“Yes. It’s quite common actually, but most mortals ignore it or explain it away. Obviously, something wanted to get a message to me, and they found a portal through her.”
“And that isn’t weird to you at all?”
I shake my head. “No. Quite helpful, actually. Now we have somewhere to go without reading through all these books.”
“Yeah, okay, good point. Should we go, then?”
“Yes, we have our next mission.”