The Meridians(44)

He rushed at the old man, then skidded to a halt as he realized that instead of a gray suit, this man was wearing simple jeans and a button down shirt. Nor did he have gray eyes, but instead had eyes that were as blue as any that Scott had ever seen.

He also looked familiar, and when Scott realized who the man was, Scott stopped moving completely, arresting his forward momentum so completely it felt as though he might have suffered internal injury with the sudden stop in motion.

"John Doe," he breathed.

It was. It was the very same man who had died - Scott had seen his dead body - in the garment district, died of a bullet wound to the head on the day that Scott's family had died.

Scott's world spun around him. How could this be? How could he be seeing a man whom he had seen die some eight years before?

"Well," said the man as Scott stopped moving, "that's a relief."

Scott gawked. Somehow as bad as it was having someone in his office who should be dead - who was dead - it was infinitely stranger having the man speak to him.

"Who are..." Scott stuttered, but the sentence drifted off into silence without him being able to finish it. His head was still reeling, and so rational thought or logical conversation seemed suddenly to be quite impossible.

The old man smiled, and his eyes seemed to twinkle with barely-contained amusement. In contrast to Mr. Gray, whose eyes were either dead or insane, this man's eyes were expressive to the point of being incredible. They sparkled with intelligence and a radiant charisma that Scott could feel as easily as he could feel heat coming off of an oven.

The man winked. "Sorry if I scared you, but I had to make sure you did some things."

"What...who are you?" Scott finally managed. "Who let you in here?"

"Well, as to who let me in here, I guess I did that for myself. And as for who I am...well, that's something of a secret right now, I'm afraid. But I'm not Mr. Gray."

Scott started. He had never told anyone that name, no one at the force, no one at the school, no one.

"How did you know -"

"How did I know the name?" The old man laughed again. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Not now, at any rate." Then he grew serious, leaning toward Scott with intensity. Scott had the urge to lean away, as though the man were not a kindly old man, but a force of nature like a typhoon or a hurricane. Something that one could observe, but was always best suited doing so from a safe distance. "Now listen," said the man. "You're going to do something in a few days. Something very important."

"Why should I do anything you tell me to?" asked Scott. He was feeling nervous, and knew he was translating the nervousness to anger in order to feel like he was having some modicum of control over the conversation, even if the feeling was a complete and utter illusion.

The older man stopped smiling. "Because you have to do what I tell you or you'll die. And not only you, but a host of other people are depending on you to do what I say. Myself included."

"Why don't you just do whatever it is?"

"Can't," answered the man. "It has to be you."

"And why should I believe you? Who are you?"

"We've gone over that already, Scott. I can't tell you who I am right now...you wouldn't believe me and it would just get in the way of you believing me when I tell you what needs doing." The old man sighed. "And as for why you should believe me...well, I think you owe me."

"For what?"

"You know what."

And Scott did. He remembered the instant that Mr. Gray pulled the trigger in the alley, remembered the heat on his face, remembered the world spinning...and then this old man was beside him. Dead with a bullet wound to the head.

Scott looked at the old man now. Hale and hearty, standing in front of him as though nothing untoward had ever happened to him. "How are you still alive?" he asked.

The old man looked comically wounded. "You don't have to sound so upset about it," he said. "I rather like me alive."

"I didn't, that is, I...." Scott's voice drifted off into nothing. This was the most insane conversation he had ever been a part of.

The old man smiled again. "See why I'm not giving you much in the way of answers? Even the questions might blow your mind right out your nose." Then he laughed again as Scott tried to process what had just been said.

He gave up after a moment. It was no good. Nothing was making sense. There was no way this man could be alive unless...

Scott looked up. "You're his twin!" he almost shouted.

The old man got quiet all of a sudden, as though Scott had just told him his favorite dog died. "Nope. Not a twin," he said quietly, then forced a sparkle back into his eye. "But this isn't about me, anyway. It's about you, and about what you're supposed to do."

Scott shrugged internally. He might as well hear what the crazy old man had to say, since he was clearly not going to get any answers by direct questions. "What is it you want me to do?" he asked.

The old man told him, and Scott couldn't help but guffaw.

"You're serious?"

The old man nodded, and once again the glimmer of jollity was gone from his eyes. Scott could see he was serious, indeed

"Why?" he asked.