15. Olly #3
Shepard laughed, but it wasn’t particularly bright.
“Ah, Edward, who I have met. The astrophysicist wanting to save us all from Thanos and climate change. Just finish up there fast and go home, Olly. Take a bubble bath and then climb into bed. Things will seem better in the morning, okay? I promise you that.” We ended the call, and I turned an accusatory stare toward the man now sitting on the couch, the only other piece of furniture in this great room.
“So you’re an astrophysicist, yeah? What kind of research do you do?
” I asked, feeling like I was interrogating the old man and not caring.
I mean, I did feel that I had an obligation to him for at least letting me sit in his chair, making sure I didn’t fall and hurt myself or the baby, and for offering to let me examine the apartment.
I could now smell the traces of pipe tobacco, and felt a strong sense of déjà vu, for some reason.
With a nod, I handed him back the square of fabric he had given me for a handkerchief, which I noticed was rather neatly embroidered on one corner with the letters EE.
He took it and laid it down on the arm of the chair with a quiet, “Should you need it again. And my research, yes. Fascinating stuff, at least to an old man like me. I am working up a new, testable approach to the multiverse. A way to make it align with real science and not just science fiction.”
“Like Stephen Hawking’s final work? Constraining the multiverse into a particular size, so there aren’t a googol of them, and it passes out of all attempts to mathematically understand it?
” I asked, unsure how that had popped out of my mouth.
What the hell did I know about Hawking? I mean, sure, I had a copy of and remember reading A Brief History of Time, but that was it.
Well, for whatever reason, the old man smiled at me and patted my arm a few times.
“Not exactly, but you’re almost there. I agree with him that the untestability of the multiverse is what makes it such a challenge to approach in a truly scientific manner.
But I have been working at the forefront of this kind of research ever since I was at Oxford as a teenager to bring its existence into the realm of accepted reality and not relegated to things like superhero films. Between you and me, I believe that we will eventually discover ways we can actually traverse it, which might be the key to saving humanity from the mess we have made of this world.
Terribly complex stuff, one might say. A lot of number-crunching. ”
“We’ve talked about this before,” I said, in almost a whisper, snuffing my nose rather than soiling his pretty handkerchief further. “My...well, Clark, he mentioned studying astrophysics. And he had an eccentric professor who taught him Klingon at the end of classes.”
“He did, truly? Was he well-published in the field? Anyone I might know?” the man asked, and I realized he meant the professor, not Clark. Eh, well, I didn’t know jack about the professor, and I was here to get answers about one person, so this conversation was taking a turn.
“Yes, Clark did study it, but I don’t know anything about his teachers. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Mr...?”
“Oh no, not tonight, it’s far too late for me to deal with your presumptive excitement. We can discuss names in the morning, when you stop by with a coffee for me, okay?”
“I might not be here in the morning,” I muttered, mostly to myself, and awkwardly got to my feet.
“I have to find Clark. I shouldn’t be sitting here chitchatting.
I should be on my way to the RCMP station.
” The old man nodded, and as my heart began to beat faster again, I dared, “Sir, if you knew where Clark was, you’d tell me, right?
I’m not some unhinged stalker. He and I were...
were...” I grasped for words, trying to find one that defined whatever Clark and I were to each other.
It was like the ground wobbled under my feet as I finally settled on “friends.”
“I know,” he said kindly, but I could tell he wanted me gone.
Maybe he really did have essential research to do.
“And if I ever meet your Clark, I will make sure to call you. And text and email. I have all the info on my fridge and in my iPhone. Don’t worry, Ms. McLeod.
You know, perhaps you need some time away from things.
Just to think, and put yourself back together a bit.
There’s no shame in having a wee mental health crisis now and then, is there? ”
“Isn’t there?” I laughed bitterly and picked the handkerchief back up to wipe my eyes again.
“No, my dear, there isn’t. And just blow, for the love of God. I hate hearing people sniffle. You’ll return that hanky to me washed and ironed, just like every other time.”
I used the handkerchief well, then put it in my coat pocket, my hand shaking like it was cold.
That was when I grew bold again, and asked, “Why would I have ‘presumptive excitement’ over your name?” The cold chill worked its way over my shoulders and down my back when I asked the question, as if I was going to find out something I couldn’t precisely deal with.
The elderly man smiled at me looking almost bemused, moved one age-spotted and wrinkled hand to cover mine, and said simply, “Edward Evans. I’m Edward Evans, and you’re Oliver McLeod, if I may be so presumptuous as to say your true name out loud.
It’s good to see you again, Olly. I think, however, this is the last time.
That we meet for the first time, again. To be honest, Olly, I’m not feeling so well.
You can rest here while I go submit my final draft of my paper to my research partner, and then... well, we’ll have to see.”
Time seemed to stop at that moment. I gripped his thin-skinned hand and put it over my heart. I expected to know him to his bones, have all his secrets open to me like with Clark that long-ago Tuesday.
Instead, I felt only emptiness, like I was afloat on a heavily salted sea devoid of life. That was the breaking point. I excused myself and fled.
I had every intention of going to the RCMP station next, but I was told over the phone that I was reporting someone that only I could give a physical description of, who no one I spoke with had ever met, who didn’t live in the same building as me, let alone the same province, and when they made effort to track down Clark Evans in Montréal, it led to a PO Box that hadn’t been used in over a year.
Essentially, they said I was chasing a ghost. Oh, they would investigate, but it sounded like they had as much interest in finding Clark as they did in finding Bigfoot.
That night, while sobbing into my pillow and wondering what in the hell was going on, I thought of Gemma Diaz, of Thomas, of Edward Evans next door and how bits of his life fit in with the Clark Evans that lived in my mind.
How could there be a young, sexy, Klingon-speaking, café-loving, Thai food addict who happened to also study astrophysics that I had practically fallen in love with, when right fucking next door was an old man whose name and habits I’d obviously copied when inventing someone who no one else could see?
I was lost and desperate, so I did the one thing I promised Thomas I would do if things ever slipped out of my control.
I took my cell off the nightstand and looked up the number for the Mental Health Mobile Crisis Team here in the city, and copy-pasted it into my contacts.
But before I could call them, there was one place I had to go, one place I hadn’t been to in the waking world for years: East River Beach, to confront more ghosts of my past or be guided to a new future, I didn’t know.
I just knew I needed to see it, for real, at least one last time.