The Hollow Ones(49)

“Did you listen?”

Odessa shook her head, surprised he was so unperturbed at her trespassing on his inner chamber. “No.”

“You should. When you’re ready.”

“When I’m…ready? For what?”

Solomon nodded, then coughed suddenly, turning away from her to reach for a Styrofoam cup of water with a short straw sticking out.

Mr. Lusk grinned at her in the moments Solomon was turned away from them. He motioned to his own elbow, then nodded to Solomon. Odessa, confused, looked at Solomon’s arm where intravenous fluids entered his circulatory system. Then she understood: Mr. Lusk was hinting that Solomon was sedated, which might explain his oblique questions and answers.

Solomon turned back before Odessa could look to Mr. Lusk for more information.

“The tapes started arriving at my house back in ’62,” said Solomon. “After every case, sometimes a week later, sometimes more, a bundle of seven-inch Mylar recording tapes would be delivered by US Mail. Blackwood transcribes each case, sometimes four or five reels per. Not sure why he does it. I think he likes the technology, for one…in his mind reel-to-reel is cutting edge. I asked him early on, about his reasons, but he Hobson’d me. Anyway. I had the bright idea of sending one to an audio lab once—independent, not the Bureau, I didn’t want that can of worms opened—just to see what they could tell me. Voice analysis, whatever. I was curious. The technician said the tape was recorded at a very high frequency and then transferred to a lower one. I don’t know what it means. But it was something he’d never encountered. Long story short, he couldn’t tell me jack about it. It was like filing the serial number off a gun…Maybe nowadays they can do things digitally, but…I guess I’m trying to save you some effort.”

“All those tapes,” said Odessa. “That’s a lot of cases. What kind of cases?”

“Listen first,” said Solomon. “Then we’ll talk.”

She shook her head, because what she was about to say sounded crazy. “Are they occult cases?”

“It’s okay,” said Solomon, summoning a smile. “I was like you, once upon a time.”

“Like me?”

“That’s why I saved all the damn tapes,” said Solomon. “It wasn’t like he asked me to. I wanted a record. I wanted some backup, in case things ever went sideways on me and I had to defend myself.”

Odessa was rubbing her temples again. Was there some sort of hypnosis going on, or contagious insanity? “Can we go back to ‘occult cases’? Because that’s just not something the FBI investigates.”

“True enough, Agent—it’s not our job. It’s not anyone’s job. It’s not a job at all. Except for him.” Solomon held up his hand, stopping her next question before she could ask it. “Speaking of whom. Now that you’ve encountered him.” Solomon turned his head fully toward her, not just his eyes. His demeanor changed, became more solemn. “It’s been more than a year since I’ve laid eyes upon Mr. Blackwood. I was hoping he might come by here, pay me a visit, you know? One last time.”

Odessa swallowed softly. One last time? Did this mean Solomon’s condition was terminal? She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

She said, “I don’t want to disappoint you…but we separated on kind of bad terms. I won’t be seeing him again.”

Solomon’s eyebrows rose a bit, tiredly. “You will,” he said. “And when you do…tell him.” He smoothed out the blanket again. “It’s kind of funny, I guess. To come to the end, to have lived a life of, you could say, proud independence, only to find…you got no one. That’s a thing I’m facing now.”

Odessa’s heart dropped. She reached out to him, touching his shoulder. “You’re not alone,” she said.

“It’s mainly my own fault,” he said, trying to smile. “Outliving everyone else…”

“No family…?” said Odessa.

“None. And no trusted friends. And the hospital here—or my health insurer, I’m not sure—needs me to update my health care proxy.” He looked at Mr. Lusk, who nodded his second opinion. “It’s a formality. You won’t have to make any difficult decisions, I marked down how I want everything to go.”

“Oh,” she said. “Me?”

“It’s a lot to ask, I know. We don’t know one another very well at all…”

She felt a panicky feeling rising in her chest and wasn’t sure why. She fought it.

“You can read the form,” he said. “You’re a lawyer. It’s all spelled out.”

Mr. Lusk produced a three-page contract. “Palliative care for dignity and quality of life, but no extending treatment beyond that. At no time will you be required to make a life-or-death call, as it were.”

Mr. Lusk had a fountain pen, too. Odessa felt herself nodding. “Of course,” she said.

She read through the form quickly. Standard medical legalese. She signed.

“And, if you would,” said Mr. Lusk, swapping out another set of pages, “power of attorney. Standard formality.”

This one she skimmed, then signed her name to it.

Mr. Lusk smiled and slipped the contracts back into his leather portfolio, which he tucked under his arm.