William Gerke
Kent McCord rolled out from under the bed to discover that the house had changed overnight.
He stood, brushed the dust from his uniform, polished his badge with this sleeve, and inspected Lizzie’s room. The bed remained the same―sturdy, wooden, dark―but there were new scratches on the headboard and a pile of quilts instead of Lizzie’s familiar moon-and-stars blanket. An empty suitcase sat atop the bed and someone had covered the dresser with stacks of books and magazines. A wardrobe full of sweaters and long dresses had replaced Lizzie’s toy chest.
What had happened? Everything had been normal the night before. This was a mystery, but Kent was good at mysteries. He and Lizzie had solved many of them.
The hallway and living room had changed as well. The wood paneling was gone. The walls were painted white, and someone had crammed new furniture everywhere. Not new, Kent corrected himself, just new to him. The end tables, extrachair, ottoman, credenza, and the big baskets full of magazines and yarn all showed signs of wear. Only the two faded paintings above the couch remained the same.
Dusty picture frames covered every flat surface. Kent scanned them quickly. He was a police officer, trained to notice details. Many of the people shared family traits. He shifted some frames and found familiar pictures behind them. They were faded, but they were the same photos he had looked at before going to bed: the family vacation in Colorado, Lizzie’s kindergarten graduation, Mr. and Mrs. Olson’s wedding, Grammy and Gramps’ anniversary.
Kent decided that he had better talk with Baboo.
He forced himself to remain calm as he climbed the stairs. The door to the spare room stood open. The walls were still blue, but they had faded like the paintings, and all the furniture was gone. Stacks of boxes filled the small bedroom, but the little utility door built into the wall was unblocked. Boxes were scattered around it, contents spilled out, as if someone had been searching for something. Photos, magazines, and keepsakes sat in piles on the floor.
Kent knelt beside the door and knocked.
“Baboo?” he asked. “Are you there?”
The door creaked open. A pale hand emerged, twice the size of a human hand and covered in hair.
“Yeah. What is it?”
“Something’s happened to the house,” said Kent. “It’s changed.”
“The whole house?”
“My room, the living room, your room. I haven’t seen the rest.”
“Well, it was bound to happen,” said Baboo. “Things have changed before.”
“Yes, but not like this. Not everything at once.”
Sometimes a piece of furniture would appear or disappear. Once the whole dining room changed color because Lizzie’s mom painted it. But never like this.
“What do you want me to tell you, Kent? I don’t know what happened or why. You’re the cop. You figure it out.”
The hand retreated, pulling the door closed behind it.
“And don’t forget to put the kettle on,” said the muffled voice. “The others will be here soon.”
Kent grimaced. Baboo was being more surly than usual. He would have to solve this mystery on his own.
Back downstairs, the kitchen had changed as well. The cupboards were the same, but all the appliances were different; the refrigerator was white, and the stove had more lights and dials. The lace curtains over the sink were not the ones he remembered, but they were faded and yellow with age. A dark blue kettle sat on the stove instead of the old silver one. Kent filled it with water and lit the stove. He set the table. The china was the same, if a little more chipped and scratched. He found a package of cookies in the pantry and placed them on one of the old china plates.
The others would arrive shortly, but Kent thought he still had time to investigate. He would start looking for clues back in the bedroom.
He found his first one the moment he entered. A woman knelt beside the bed, reaching under it, searching for something.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he said.
She turned her head at the sound of his voice and stood up slowly. She had probably never been tall, but age had bent her back. Short hair lay in soft swoops upon her head, and watery, blue eyes blinked behind thin-rimmed glasses. She held a single silver earring.
“Kent?” she said. “Thank goodness you’re here. My other earring is under the bed, where I can’t reach. Could you be a dear and get it?”
Kent knelt and wriggled into his little home under the bed. Something glittered beside the stack of Young Explorer magazines that he read and re-read each night. He picked it up. When he stood up, the room was empty
The suitcase on the bed was full now. He set the earring on a pile of neatly-folded sweaters. Beside it, atop a stack of slacks, was a brochure.
“Sunset Villa,” he read. “Assisted living, elder care, and rehabilitation.”
The brochure spoke about housing for elderly couples and individuals, care for people with dementia, Alzheimer’s and other age-related conditions. It used phrases like “resident-centered care” and “nurturing environment” and “dignified, meaningful activities.” The pictures showed clean, spacious rooms and happy staff in brightly-colored uniforms wheeling cheerful old people around.
Old people.
Folding the brochure and tucking it into his back pocket, Kent ran to the living room.
He went through the pictures. He grabbed the one of Lizzie’s kindergarten graduation. He found one of a family standing next to a picnic table and one of a high school graduation. In a few minutes, he had assembled a line of photos. He traced the faces with a finger. They were all the same person, sliced out of time―his Lizzie, grown up and grown old.
The doorbell rang.
Kent touched the last picture gently. It was the woman from the bedroom. Her hair was a little darker, her skin a little smoother, and she wasn’t wearing glasses. The man in the picture with her looked gaunt, with hollows under his eyes and sallow skin, but his smile was full of joy as he looked at Lizzie.
The doorbell rang again.
When Kent answered the door, Baku-Baku waited on the front step, holding a plate of tuna and cucumber sandwiches with his fins.
“What’s up, Kent?” he asked. His breath stank of the sea. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s been a strange morning,” said Kent.
The shark hopped into the house on his tail and followed Kent into the dining room. He put the plate of sandwiches on the table.
“The place has changed,” said Baku-Baku.
Before Kent could say anything, the doorbell rang again and the teapot whistled. Baku-Baku offered to take care of the tea while Kent answered the door.
Mortimer and Annie were both there. Annie was taller than Kent, willowy and thin. She had to be to live in the walls of her house. Mortimer seemed miniscule by comparison. His long pointed ears, curled shoes, and green tights marked him clearly as an elf. He lived in a tree but always came indoors for tea. Not all the elves in the neighborhood were that friendly.
Kent took their coats and hung them in the closet.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
“Thank you for having us,” said Mortimer.
Annie kissed Kent on the cheek and looked around. “What happened?” she asked.
Baku-Baku called out that tea was ready. The trio joined him around the kitchen table. Kent hosted, filling each teacup, offering cream and lumps of sugar. When he heard a familiar scuttling on the stairs, he filled Baboo’s cup. A moment later, Baboo pulled himself up the chair leg with long fingers, leaping from there to the table. The hand couldn’t drink tea or eat, but that never stopped him from joining them.
“To Lizzie,” said Kent. The others echoed him, clinking their cups in the traditional first toast to their absent hostess.
“Kent was just going to tell us about the changes to the house,” Baku-Baku told Baboo.
“I think it happened because Lizzie is back,” said Kent. “That’s when things would change before.”
“Don’t be foolish,” said Baboo. “Lizzie’s been gone for seventy years. Why would she suddenly come back?”
“I don’t know. But I saw a woman in the bedroom who seemed to know me.” He gestured towards the row of photos in the living room. “I think it’s Lizzie.”
“It’s probably just a new friend wandered in from outside. That happens sometimes. She’ll poke around for a few days and vanish, like that cat.”
“Teakettle visited a couple of times when Lizzie was young,” said Ken. “But nothing changed when he showed up. This is different.”
“I’ll say,” said Baku-Baku. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a house change this much since Mortimer’s- er, I mean, Annie’s house.”
The others nodded; Mortimer looked pained. Unlike Baboo and Kent, who had arrived around the same time, Annie had appeared in the walls of Mortimer’s house years after his friend, Debbie, had vanished. She knew nothing of Debbie but spoke, instead, of a girl named Katie. The house had changed, and Mortimer had struggled to adapt, spending more and more time in his tree. Eventually, Katie had gone as well, leaving Annie behind in the walls.
“If it’s Lizzie, she must have come back for a reason,” said Annie. “Maybe she’ll come back again.”
“Don’t be stupid, Annie,” said Baboo.
“Baboo!” said Kent, sharply. “That was uncalled for. Annie’s a guest.”
“But you’re both being stupid. She’s an old woman. She can’t be Lizzie!”
Annie gasped. Mortimer paled. Baku-Baku chewed his sandwich.
“I didn’t say she was old,” said Kent quietly.
“You said she was a woman,” said Baboo. “That means she’s old.”
“The boxes were all a mess in the spare room,” said Kent. “They’d been pulled away from your door. She was up there, and you saw her. That’s when the house changed. And you didn’t say anything!”
“Sure, I saw some old lady,” said Baboo. “But that doesn’t mean it’s her. Lizzie left us years ago, and she’s not coming back. That’s how it goes. Everyone here knows it.” He pointed at Baku-Baku. “You don’t see him waiting around for Connor to come back. Or Mortimer pining after Debbie. It’s been seventy years. Get over it!” Baboo dropped off the table and scuttled out of the dining room. A moment later, they heard the clump of his utility door slamming.
The tea party sat in silence. Mortimer sipped his tea. Annie looked at her hands. Baku-Baku sniffed.
“I do wish Connor would come back,” said the shark softly. “I miss him.”
Annie squeezed his fin.
“Baku-Baku’s right,” said Mortimer. “I miss Debbie, too. If you think Lizzie is back, you need to find her.”
“She was packing a suitcase,” he said, showing them the brochure. “And this was on the bed. If I’m right, and it really is Lizzie―but older―I think she may be going here.”
“You should go there right away,” said Mortimer. “You don’t want to miss her. And if she appears here, Baboo will be around to see her.”
“You’re right,” said Kent. “I’m sorry I’ll have to cut tea time short.”
“It’s okay,” said Annie. “It was our suggestion. We’ll help you clear up.”
Mortimer carried cups and plates to the sink. Kent washed, and Annie dried and put away the dishes. Baku-Baku put several of his sandwiches in an old tin he found in a cupboard. He presented them to Kent as they left.
“For your trip,” said the shark. “You don’t know how long you’ll be gone, and you might get hungry.”
“Thank you, Baku-Baku.”
“Tea is at my place tomorrow,” said Mortimer. “Come back if you can and tell us what you learned.”
“I will,” said Kent.
He shook Mortimer’s hand and hugged Annie. “Can you come by later and check on Baboo?” he asked. “I’m worried about leaving him alone. Especially after our fight.”
Annie smiled. “Of course.”
Kent watched them walk to their homes. They all lived in neighboring houses and didn’t have far to go. He was the only one with a car.
He gathered his things―the sandwiches, the brochure, his hat, the car keys―and made sure all the doors and windows were locked. There were monsters in the neighborhood that would get in and make mischief if he wasn’t careful. Things would be back to normal the next day, but it upset Baboo. He left a note telling where he had gone and reminding Baboo that tea was at Mortimer’s. Then he walked to his car.
Kent kept his police cruiser parked at the entrance to the cul-de-sac to deter any criminals. That had been Lizzie’s idea. The glove compartment held maps of the town, the state, most of the United States, Africa, Timbuktu, Oz, and Wonderland. He set the brochure and the map of town on the passenger seat before buckling in and starting the car.
Kent drove carefully, consulting the map often. The streets were the same, but old buildings had been torn down and new ones put up. At the edge of town, where there had been fields and woods, he found huge buildings with bright signs and vast parking lots.
Beyond them, he saw the sign for Sunset Villa. Buildings of varying heights clustered around a central courtyard like a child’s blocks stacked in uneven piles. Parking lots were labeled “Staff”, “Resident”, and “Visitor.” The visitor lot was nearly empty. Kent parked in the back.
The lobby was bright and clean. A flowery border ran along the wall, and paintings of mountains, valleys, forests, and farms hung above it―windows into a world that existed far away. Behind the broad reception desk nestled offices full of papers. They might contain useful information, but Kent decided to do some exploring first, hoping to run into Lizzie.
Kent wandered the halls for hours. The complex, he discovered, was divided into sections connected by walkways, lounges, and dining rooms. One section contained small apartments with kitchenettes and separate bedrooms. Another housed individual bedrooms. Another had shared rooms. The shared rooms, with their dividing curtains, reminded Kent of the nursing home where they had visited Grammy Olson. That was after Gramps had died, and she hadn’t been able to take care of herself.
Pictures hung beside the rooms, names printed beneath them: Roger Wells, Angela Sawyer, Carter Burke. Some smiled and some frowned. Others looked confused and sad. All of them were old.
One bore Lizzie’s name. The picture was of the woman from her bedroom.
It was one of the single rooms. The curtains were pulled back, and sunlight warmed the room. She had a good view of the visitors’ lot, and Kent could see his car. The rest of the room felt sterile: a neatly-made single bed, a low dresser with six drawers, a chair by the window, an empty bulletin board. A door led to a tiny but functional bathroom.
Kent decided he would wait. Lizzie had been packing in the morning. She might not have moved in yet.
He took off his coat and settled in the chair. When the cool, blue glow of the parking lot lights replaced the warmth of the sun, he crawled under the bed. It felt unfamiliar and cold. He made a pillow of his coat, and eventually, he slept.
The next day, Kent waited some more. He grew bored. He didn’t want to miss Lizzie when she arrived, but he also wanted to know more. He decided to check the offices for clues.
From behind the reception desk, he heard the whistling of a kettle. He followed the noise deeper into the twisty little maze of hallways to a room marked “Kitchen.”
The kitchen was a small room with a pair of tables, a refrigerator, a line of bright yellow cabinets, and a two-burner stove. A boy stood on a plastic chair beside the stove. He looked five or six years old. Wavy, sandy hair hung over his ears, and he wore blue jeans, sneakers, and a paisley shirt. When he saw Kent, his freckled face split in a big smile.
“Hello!” he said. “I’m David.”
He pronounced the two syllables distinctly: “Day-vid.”
“Hello, David,” said Kent. “My name is Kent McCord.”
“Like in the TV show?” asked David.
“Yes. Like in the TV show.”
Lizzie’s father had watched One Adam-12. Sometimes Lizzie got to stay up late and watch it with him. She would tell Kent about his fictional namesake’s adventures.
David offered tea, and Kent volunteered to pour. The boy fished another tea bag out of a drawer and got a second mug from the cupboard.
“It’ll be nice to have someone here again,” said David. “The last company I had was a talking dog named Ulf. Before that, there was a cowboy who called himself Cowboy and a robot named Charlie. Cowboy was all right, but Charlie would just sit and beep and didn’t drink tea or like to play games.”
“What were they doing here?”
“Visiting their friends. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’ve got a friend and he’s here now.”
“She’s here,” said Kent. “At least, I’ve seen her picture.”
“Well, if you’ve seen her picture and you’re here, then she’s here. It’s just like back in your house, right? She’s there, but she’s not always around. If you stay here, though, you’ll see her eventually.”
Kent set the mugs on the table. David dragged his chair over and climbed into it. They participated in the oldest ritual―milk or sugar, one lump or two.
“You seem to know an awful lot,” said Kent.
“I’ve been around. I’m almost eighty, and I’ve been here for five years. You start to figure things out.”
“Like what?”
“Like how your friend looks older and we don’t. You see—” He stopped and cocked his head. “Sorry, Kent. I’ve gotta go.”
David rushed out the door, his sneakers slapping on the linoleum floors. Ken followed, adult legs keeping up with the boy.
“Is everything okay?” asked Kent.
“It’s fine. Arthur’s back, so I’ve gotta get to him.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know. Like he’s a humming in the back of my head, you know?”
“I’ve never felt that.”
“You will. It’s different at home. They’re just there, and you’re there. This place is bigger, so when they appear you’ve gotta go to them. But you’ll feel it. Cowboy did.”
David picked up speed as they went, nearly running through the halls. Kent stretched his legs to keep up. They passed through a common space and down a wide hallway that Kent recognized as the same hallway Lizzie’s room was on. Residents shuffled down the hall or sat in wheelchairs against the wall. Blue-scrubbed staff navigated around them or helped them to their destinations. Two people argued on the television in a nearby common room.
David darted inside one of the rooms, avoiding the resident standing in the doorway, but Kent found that he couldn’t follow the boy. The resident in the doorway was Lizzie.
Kent couldn’t believe that he hadn’t recognized her right away. The blue eyes, the soft cheeks, the slightly rounded nose, all belonged to little Lizzie.
“Hello, Kent,” she said.
“Hello, Lizzie.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I was starting to think I was all alone.”
She was reaching out to give him a hug, when a man in a white doctor’s coat bumped them, knocking them apart. The doctor glared at Lizzie.
“Someone get her out of here,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Clear this hallway.”
The doctor joined a pair of blue-scrubbed orderlies around a bed. The man in the bed twisted and writhed, his back arching. Lizzie pressed up against the door-frame, watching. Her eyes were wide.
“Something’s wrong with him,” she said, indicating the man in the bed.
“I think he might be sick.”
“The doctor will help him then. Although he’s very angry for a doctor.”
Kent agreed. The man had not seemed pleasant. A woman approached them, filling the hallway in her blue scrubs. Her frown did not match the laugh lines around her eyes. She took Lizzie by the arm and tugged her away from the door.
“Lizzie, hon, what are you doing?”
“I heard people shouting. Kent and I wanted to see what’s was going on.”
The woman looked around, frowned again, and then smiled. Her face opened up with that smile.
“Oh, Kent. Your daughter said you were talking about him on the drive over. Why don’t you just wait inside your room, and Kent will find out what’s going on.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Lizzie. “Come down in a couple of minutes. I’ll have tea for you, and we can talk.”
“I’ll do that,” said the big nurse, gently guiding Lizzie toward her chair. “I like a nice cup of tea.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Lizzie looked back over her shoulder at Kent. “I wasn’t talking to her.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
The nurse pulled Lizzie away, fussing over her. Inside the room, David was shouting. His voice quavered with fear and rage. With Lizzie gone, the doctor and orderlies faded away. Kent could only see David, standing at the foot of the bed, waving his arms and shouting.
“Stop it! Get away from him! It hurts. It’s not helping, and all it does is hurt.” David looked at Kent. Tears washed his cheeks. “They’re hurting him. And there’s nothing I can do.”
Kent looked down at his hands. He couldn’t see the people that David saw. They were part of Arthur’s world, not Lizzie’s. He had learned how that worked from Mortimer and Annie.
“I’m sorry,” he said and did the only thing he could.
Kent took the boy in his arms and held him close. David buried his face in Kent’s uniform and sobbed, murmuring angry, fearful words. Kent rubbed his back and fought back sympathetic tears. After a moment, David stiffened. He looked up at Kent. Tear tracks streaked his cheeks, but he had stopped crying.
“Oh, that’s how it works,” he said softly. He smiled. “Thanks for being here with me at the end. I’m glad that I wasn’t alone, but I have to go now.”
Tears filled Kent’s eyes, blurring his vision. He felt the boy go limp and slack in his arms, and when he blinked away the tears, David was gone.
Kent looked around, wiping his eyes. The room was identical to Lizzie’s except that a small television sat on top of the dresser and the bulletin board was covered in pictures. Someone had closed the curtains, leaving everything shrouded and dim. A single line of golden light from the narrow space between them drew a sharp line across the bed. The sheets had been pulled all the way up, covering a lumpish form.
Kent pulled them back. An old man lay beneath. His pajama top was closed, but no one had taken the time to button it. Pale flesh and gray hair were visible in the gaps. He wasn’t breathing.
Arthur was dead.
Kent covered the body with the sheet.
This was another mystery, like when the house had changed. He needed to put together all the pieces of the puzzle, and it would make sense. When Arthur was alive, he was invisible. Now that he was dead, Kent could see him, and David had vanished. Normally, Kent could only see other people when Lizzie was around. When she was gone, he remained behind, and the world stayed the same. The only people in it were people like him or Mortimer or David―people with friends like Lizzie. People who didn’t disappear.
Kent frowned. He had never had to think about how the world worked before. When he was younger, he had just laughed and played with Lizzie, enjoying her company and passing time with Baboo when she wasn’t there. During the long time without her, he’d lived a simple life with Baboo in the unchanging house. Lizzie’s reappearance had complicated everything.
David had seemed to understand how things worked. Kent wished the boy was still around to tell him, but he would have to figure this out on his own.
Kent remembered when Lizzie’s Grammy died. She had been very old and lived in a home like Sunset Villa. When they visited, she hadn’t remembered Lizzie. When Mrs. Olson told them that Grammy had gone to Heaven, Lizzie had been around quite a bit. One time, they climbed a tree to get closer to Grammy. Lizzie’s mother hadn’t been happy about that, and they’d spent the next few days stuck indoors playing with Baboo. Sometimes they would pretend that Grammy was having tea with them, but she hadn’t really been there. She was gone forever, Mrs. Olson had explained, and Lizzie wouldn’t see her again until she died and went to Heaven too.
But Arthur was there, and David was gone. He wouldn’t get to see Arthur anymore. Had Mrs. Olson lied? When Lizzie died, would Kent vanish as well and never see her or Baboo again? Or when David vanished, had he gone to Heaven? Was he there with Lizzie’s Grammy? Was some part of Arthur there, too, leaving behind only his body, just another object like a piece of furniture or a toy?
Kent leaned his head against the cool plaster of the wall, trembling. His mind was running in circles. He needed to see Lizzie. She always knew the answers to his questions. She would be able to help him. He stumbled down the hall.
Lizzie’s room had changed. There were flowers on the dresser now, and a few pictures on the bulletin board. A framed painting of a flower hung on the wall. A rocking chair sat by the window, and one of the heavy quilts from Lizzie’s bedroom covered the bed. Lizzie sat on the bed in a patch of sunlight, knitting. A bag of yarn sat beside her, its contents spilling onto the quilt. She smiled.
“Hello, Kent. How is the man down the hall?”
Kent sat down next to her. “He’s gone. I think the doctors were trying to help him, but they couldn’t.”
“I didn’t really know him.”
“I didn’t either, but I knew his friend, David.”
“Maybe David can play with us now?”
“I don’t think so.”
There was a knock on the door-frame. The big nurse entered with a steaming paper cup.
“I brought your tea, hon, with milk and sugar.”
“Just one cup?” asked Lizzie. “What about Kent?”
The nurse looked confused for a moment, then nodded.
“I forgot about Kent,” she said. “I’ll bring you an extra cup next time.”
She set the tea on the bedside table and patted Lizzie’s shoulder. Kent watched the nurse leave in silence, while Lizzie sipped her tea.
He wasn’t sure if he appreciated the kindness or was angered by the condescension. She had acted as if she was humoring Lizzie, as if something was wrong with her. The staff here seemed to want to help the residents, but they also didn’t seem to know them at all. Not like Kent and David knew their friends.
“Would you like some of my tea?” asked Lizzie.
“No thank you. I’ll have some next time.”
“Maybe mom and dad will visit.”
Kent remembered the pictures back at the house. He looked at Lizzie, old and bent but still beautiful. He suddenly understood the nurse’s actions. There was something wrong with Lizzie. She was at Sunset Villa because she could no longer take care of herself. She would not be able to solve Kent’s problems, to answer his questions about the world. Age and time had brought her back to him, just as it had brought Arthur back to David. And just as surely, they would take her away. Forever.
A low sob bubbled up inside him. He tried to cover it up, but Lizzie knew him too well. She rubbed his back gently, as her mother had rubbed hers when she was scared or sick.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. Better than he had been for seventy years. “You’re right. Maybe your mom and dad will join us next time. Maybe I could go and get Baboo.”
Lizzie bounced a bit on the bed and giggled.
“Yes, Baboo. You should bring him here. He could live in the dresser.”
Kent was about to agree, when Lizzie turned away, her eyes going to the door. Kent followed her gaze, but he saw nothing. When he looked back, she was gone. He couldn’t feel her hand on his back. Her tea sat cooling on the table, her knitting piled beside him.
He sighed. That was how it had been in the old days. One moment she was there, the next she was gone. That was how it would be again.
Kent stood and straightened his uniform. He would go home right away. It might still be early enough to catch the others at Mortimer’s tree house. He wasn’t sure what he would tell them, but he had to convince Baboo to come back with him to Sunset Villa. Lizzie always liked having Baboo around. His grumpiness made her laugh, which made Baboo laugh in spite of himself.
Whether they had five years left or only a few weeks, Kent would spend them hearing the laughter of his oldest friends.
***
William Gerke lives, works, and writes in Boston with his patient wife and their amazing son. His short fiction has been published in Space & Time Magazine, Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, and Crossed Genres. You can learn more about him and keep up with news at williamgerke.com.