Nolens, Volens
 

MICHAEL:

Should've gotten more pizza. Didn't think Langly would be here.

Turns out there's enough.

I finish my portion of the pizza, tell Kelly I gotta go out to the offices to work.

She asks me, can she help me.

Maybe she can. I'm sure I can find something for her to help me with, seeing as it looks like I'm the only one who's gonna be working on the July issue.

So we leave Langly and Miranda to clean up the mess-hell, it's only a pizza box and paper plates, they should be able to handle that.

Then again, it's Langly and Miranda, slobs extraordinaire...

Like I should talk. I'll never win any prizes for neatness.

So fucking what?
 

"So what do you want me to do?" Kelly asks me when I unlock all the locks and punch in the security codes.

"Good question...I'll let you know in a few."

She gives me this evil look. "Want me to write your psych paper?" She waggles an eyebrow.

Oh God...I shouldn't let her do this...but I'm so swamped...

"Would you?"

"Sure. But don't you want to know what I'm going to write it on?"

"You can tell me when you're done. I'll read it. And make it sound like me, okay?"

"You get the final say...but I'll research it, all right? Give me a topic."

"Christ...I don't know. Pick something. Anything."

"Okay." She sits down at Langly's computer. "How do I get on here?"

"Don't have to. You're always logged on. Just do a keyword search or whatever."

"Okay." Kelly's still not the world's greatest Internet user. Got to work on that girl.

Phone rings. Saturday night, late? Then again, we do have a pretty strange readership...

"Lone Gunmen." I turn the tape on.

"May I speak with Ringo Langly?"

Oh Christ. It's Langly...no way...couldn't be. He's in the house, with Miranda...no way would he be calling out here...

"Who the fuck is this?" I'm tired, and I'm tired of being polite.

"I need to speak with him, please."

Okay, what do I do here?

"Hold on."

I just want to check something out here. I put the dude on hold, if it's Langly, he'll probably hang up when I go in the house...
 

I run in through the kitchen door. "Langly, you fuckrag, you just call the office?"

He comes out of the living room, looks real annoyed. "Do I look like I'm on the phone, asshole?"

"I dunno. You tell me."

"Well, for your 411, I'm not. So fuck off, Junior."

"You got a phone call."

"Tell 'em to call back."

"It's the dude that sounds just like you."

"Junior, I've had a real bad day...you better not be pulling my chain."

"Listen, fuckrag, would I run in here just to fuck with your brains?"

"Yeah, you would."

"Not right now, I wouldn't."

"Okay, all right, already! I'm coming! Jesus fuck, Junior, this better fucking be important, 'cause I've HAD IT!"

I got no way to determine if it's important...for all I know, dude hung up already.

Great. He'll fucking have my balls if that happens.

"Which goddamn line is this joker on?" Langly demands, knocking over some stuff as he pushes in.

"Third one, one he always calls on." Which he does. It's weird. We have a rotary system, four lines, first one's busy, automatically flips over to the second, then if the second is busy...I mean, you can dial any of 'em direct, but nobody ever does...except this weirdo.

"Yeah?" Langly's like in a real bad mood now, and if this guy hung up...
 

LANGLY:

"George?" Voice on the other end of the phone.

"No, this isn't fucking George-" wait a minute. Only one person in the whole world ever called me George...that was Scott, who is way dead...

This is so fucking creepy, I'm gonna freak...the guy even sounds like Scott...

"Look, asshole, I'm not in the mood for this shit, so tell me what the fuck you want, or I hang up RIGHT NOW!"

"Ringo Patrick Langly, right?"

Oh shit. He does know this about me...who is this fucker, anyway?

"Look, if this is Goldie, you are so fucking dead-"

"It's not Goldie."

"Then who the fuck is this, anyway?"

"You talk to me all the time."

"Listen, asshole, I never talked to you in my life, forget about all the time, now what the HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"

"Tell me, George, does the name 'The Thinker' mean anything to you?"

Great. Now this guy hacks my e-mail...oh fuck.

"What about it?" Now I'm kind of nervous...I mean, I'm okay being the hacker, but if I'm the hacked...

"You're talking at him now."

"Right. Sure. How long we been on line together?"

"Eleven years."

Easy enough to find out. Time to give him a harder question.

"Okay...when was I born?"

"July 12, 1963."

Too easy...anybody could get that info.

"You went to the fertility clinic at Georgetown."

Okay, this was NOT something I made public.

This guy is absolutely creeping me out.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Your wife's pregnant."

I didn't announce that to the readership...and now I'm getting pissed off...

"As of last night, she's not. She lost it."

"Christ, I'm sorry. Bummer."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Why I don't just fucking hang up the phone, I don't know...

Caller ID indicates that it's an 809 area code...he's fucking routing through the Caribbean. Which means the asshole could be anywhere.

"So how's the weather in Aruba?" I decide to throw him off a little.

"I'm not in Aruba."

"So where are you, the fucking Bahamas?"

"Listen, we need to meet. Soon. Very soon."

"Why, you got a special of the day for me?"

"You could say that."

"How do I know you're not fucking with me?"

"Hey, George, I ever fucked with you in all the time we been on line?"

"Yeah, you have."

"Only for fun. Only for fun."

"Yeah, well, look, I'm tired, I had a bad day, it's not getting better, and all I wanna do is go to bed, okay?"

"We need to meet. Tomorrow."

"Look, I don't even know where the hell you are."

"I'm...close by. Don't worry, I won't come to your house...I know where it is, but I won't come there."

Why do I get the feeling I'm being stalked?

"So where?" I just want to get him off the line. I mean, I'm sorry, I know he says he's The Thinker, but man, I just don't trust him...

"In your old neighborhood. You remember the bodega two buildings over from your old offices?"

"Yeah."

"Be there at 1. Come alone." He hangs up.

I'm totally freaked.
 

MICHAEL:

"So who the fuck was it, dude?" I ask him. He looks pretty weirded out...then again, I think we're all kind of weirded out lately.

"This is a good one, Junior...you ever talk to The Thinker?"

"Only a couple times. He helped me with a couple hacks...why?"

"Supposedly that was him."

"No way. What the fuck would he call here for?" This is like so bizarre.

"Haven't got a clue...but he wants a meeting. Tomorrow."

"No shit."

"With me. Alone."

"Totally weird."

"Yeah. Junior, I'm like so tired I can't even think...do me a favor, okay? Play back the tape from tonight, then compare it to the other tapes...see if it's the same guy, okay? I'm like so freaked."

"You want me to go with you?" I can't believe I'm offering...I mean, what the fuck am I gonna do if there's trouble?

He chews on that for a second. "Yeah, actually...I mean, make yourself scarce, but be around, okay?"

"What time?"

"One."

"Where?"

"DC." He shoots me this look like, Kelly's here, I don't wanna say that much.

"Okay."

"Cool. I'm going to bed, Junior. Night, Kelly. Don't let this loser make you do his homework for him."

When he's out the door, Kelly and me both crack up over that remark.

But I'm sort of nervous now...what the fuck is going on?
 

FROHIKE:

I finally persuade Luanne and Renegade to bide their time in more comfortable surroundings, assuring them that if anything should change, I'll notify them immediately.

Not that I was trying to give them the bum's rush...but I think right now, the less company, the better for Byers and Caroline.

A night LVN knocks softly at the entryway. "Is there a Mr. Frohike here?" Lilting accent-Puerto Rico, I believe.

"That would be me," I tell her. I also notice that she has a tremendous set of knockers on her.

I'm a breast man. Shoot me.

"Telephone call for you."

Oh Christ, don't let it be another crisis, of any sort...

To my immense relief, it's Jo. I hadn't left her a message of any sort, but Jo has a grapevine that would make most Interpol agents envious, at least in the medical and academic communities.

"Melvin. How is she?" I feel calmer listening to her level voice, complete with Baltimore accent.

"She's maintaining. They feel she'll recover...but it's likely to be long and slow. I don't know if you've heard about her father..."

"Yes, I did. Melvin, would you like for me to come up? I will if you think I could help...but if you'd prefer to handle this yourself, that's understandable."

Actually, Jo is the one person who probably would be helpful right now.

"I don't want to disturb your weekend."

"Melvin, this is the most boring convention I've ever been to...and I've been to plenty. Do you think I could perhaps help Juliet and her family?"

"I think so. Would you come?"

"I'll be there in an hour...I've already talked to my brother. If you'd like a place to take some time out at, you're more than welcome to stay with him...I'll be seeing him tomorrow."

I'm not sure, her brother is Baltimore PD...but I appreciate the kindness of the offer, and I tell her so.

"How is the father's condition?"

"Not good."

"I was afraid of that. Melvin, how are you doing?"

"Well...I'm not sure. I think I'm all right."

"I'll be there soon."

I am comforted by this fact.

Jo is a wonderful friend.

It's amazing how horrible situations can once again reassure you of the goodness of some people.
 

I return to a slightly more alert Byers...and I notice that Juliet is stirring.

"I think she's coming to," I say softly, praying that it's so.

Byers just clutches her hand, says her name quietly, over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer...

And she opens her eyes.

She can't open them well, what with all the bruising and swelling in her face, but I do see a shadow of brown iris clearly coming through.

It's obvious she is in a great deal of pain and is utterly exhausted, for she can only utter one word.

It comes out sounding a lot like, "John."

It's enough.

Somehow, through the tubing and bandaging and monitoring, he manages to embrace her...and I wouldn't attempt to loosen him with a crowbar right now.
 

LANGLY:

I'm so beat, and I can't sleep.

Ally's kind of restless, she's still warm, I wonder if I oughta call Scully.

Guess the best thing to do is see how warm she really is. Time to find the fever thermometer.

How come I can never find anything in this bathroom when I need it? We got so much stuff in here...I finally locate it somewhere between the tampons and the spare shampoo under the sink.

Christ. Now the room's really a mess.

You know, they came out with that shower cleaner stuff, you just spray it on when you get out of the shower, it keeps it clean all the time...they could invent something that does it for the rest of the bathroom, they'd make a fucking fortune.

We gotta get a maid.

Course, I wake Ally up, I mean she wasn't sleeping all that great, but I still feel kind of bad about it...I ask her how she is, she says, not too great, she kind of hurts and she's not comfortable.

Wonder if I got any Vicodins left from when I gave Joanie the bone marrow...Christ...Joanie...

She's at 100.1-guess that's not too bad, Ally says wait till morning, she'll call somebody if she's still in bad shape, wants more pain stuff.

Now I get to try and find if I got any Vicodins left. I think I should, I only took 'em for a couple days...they make me too sleepy, so I couldn't take 'em at work, just at night.

You can tell Ally's been out of commission...this place is so fucking hopelessly disorganized, it's a wonder I could find ANYTHING in here.

We got Advils, Alka-Seltzer, Tylenols...just basic hangover stuff...Ally's contact lens stuff, all my contact lens stuff which I almost never use, I just keep it around. I notice the saline stuff expired six months ago. Probably should throw it out...shaving stuff, that's mine, I'm running real low...girlie stuff...where are the goddamn Vicodins? I know I got a couple left.

They're stuck in with a bunch of scented stuff Ally likes to use-I like it, she always smells like apples and pears and vanilla-and razor refills and a bottle of window cleaner.

Success. I got four of them left. That's pretty good for me. I only got twenty to start with, and I'm such a wimp about pain, I'm surprised I didn't take all of 'em.

Maybe I was too busy to notice. Damned if I can even remember.

I ask her if she wants a couple, she's like, yeah, gimme. I got to get her some water.

I shouldn't have let her leave. This isn't good.

But I could understand why, I mean, there's like we need to be with Byers and all, and also, the ultimate in cruelty, they stuck her on the damn maternity floor! It's like, she just loses her baby and they stick her on a floor with a bunch of people who just had babies-they say it's policy.

Fuck policy. That is just so fucking cruel. I tried to get her moved, but no go.

Least she's home, and I'm with her.

I gotta take good care of her. This time I have to.

She's kind of awake, she asks me how I'm doing.

How'm I supposed to be doing after a day like today?

I mean, my wife loses the baby we wanted so much...my best friend's fiancee is a mess, and her dad's even worse...and then I get this freaky phone call...

"I gotta go to DC for a little while tomorrow afternoon," I tell her.

"Okay. How come?"

"I got this phone call...you know The Thinker, I told you about him?"

"He sent really nice congratulations on the wedding...he's one of the nicer contacts you have."

"Yeah." And if it was him, now I'm gonna have a lot of apologizing to do...I think I was kind of a shit on the phone..."And one of our better ones. He's helped us out a lot."

"So what's with him calling you? He's never contacted you by anything other than e-mail before, has he?"

"Nope. Not in eleven years. I'm not even sure it's him...this is just too weird, Ally...but I'm gonna go meet him..."

"Not alone, you're not." Oh Christ. Leave it to Ally to get stubborn right now. "I'm going."

"Don't think so. Junior's gonna go and hang out, make himself invisible but be around in case it gets ugly or I'm being jerked around..."

"Langly. I'm going. I'll be fine in the morning."

"Ally, what if he's fucking with us...what if he's not who he says he is...what if he's, you know, dangerous?"

She flashes those blue eyes at me, they're like all bright 'cause she's feverish, and they're set in stone, two hard sapphires.

"That's why you're not going alone, Langly."

"Ally, this could make it real bad...he told me to come alone."

"Langly, let's get this straight. I've buried one husband. I will not bury another. So don't argue with me."

Her words make my blood ice over.

There's been way too many burials already.

Oh Christ, I don't wanna be the next one...

But taking Ally...man, that could compromise her, too, big time.

No. She can't go. I'll pop her a couple Vicodins couple hours before I have to leave...then she'll be asleep...

"Langly. Don't even think about trying to knock me out so I'll be here alone."

Oops. Caught red-handed, and I didn't say a fucking word.

Sometimes it's hard that you have someone that knows you so well.
 

MICHAEL:

"Michael, I don't think it's safe, what you're doing tomorrow."

Kelly's arguing with me about this.

"Kel, he probably won't even show...lots of times, people want to meet, or say they do, then they blow you off. Probably it's nothing."

"Maybe. Maybe not. What if they've got guns, Michael?"

Hmm. Didn't think about that one...

"Kel...I think the guy's alone. I just do. And I don't think he's dangerous...I mean, The Thinker, he's way cool, helps us out a lot."

"But what if it's not him?"

"Then we're screwed."

***********************************************************************

BYERS:

Oh my God. She's awake.

She's not very awake, but she's conscious...and she asked for me. First.

It's as if, while I was sleeping, I had the strangest dream...it was as if I could say goodbye to things past, and move into the future...

And in the future, I will not let go of her.

Ever.

I'm so tired...so tired...

Frohike sits next to me, silent, and places a hand on my shoulder.

I lean against him, and something weird happens.

I start crying.

END OF PART 37