Chapter Eleven
The drive to Sgt. Williams' home was completed in absolute silence, and, to tell the truth, I dozed more than once. Within a relatively short time we arrived before a rather handsom, bhough definitely middle class, apartment house not far from the police station. My two companions carried up all my belongings--- even the book. I don't think I could have lifted a tea bag if my life depended on it, and they were observant enough to see that.
As Wilson threw open the door, he chuckled. "He, listen, sorry it's so small, but for now it's home. Been trying to save up for a house, but can't seem to make it."
Williams was right; it was small, minute, as a matter of fact. However, it had a lived in look that I liked, and which neither my apartment nor the home in which I grew up ever possessed. The whole place consisted only of two cramped bedrooms, a miniscule bath, a kitchen, a dining nook, and, happily, a somewhat more spacious living room. I believe the warm, comfortable atmosphere was produced more by the use of warm colors than anything else.
"Can I get you some coffee or something?" Williams continued.
"No, thank you. But, you did promise me a bed, sergeant."
"Oh, sure. And call me, Barry, since we're going to be living together for awhile. The bedroom is right through there," he said, pointing to a small hallway that led off the living room.
The master bedroom, if it can be called "master" in any usage of the word, was at the end of this yard-long corridor, flanked by the bathroom on the right and an even smaller bedroom on the left.
"Probably for the daughter," I guessed.
I only bothered to remove my boots, socks, and shirt before I slid between the pleasingly cool sheets. I had been freezing all day, but within the past half-hour I had suddenly become quite warm, almost hot. It had crossed my mind that I might be running a slight fever, which I often did when my energy had been overly tapped. I heard Williams offering Carter some coffee, shich he eagerly accepted, saying he'd be thankful to have some good coffee before getting back to the office and completing all the necessary paperwork. I got the impression that it wasn't one of his favorite tasks and that it usually fell to Williams. As I drifted off, I heard the door close, after he had told Barry to keep an eye on me.
"Curious," I thought. My mind had gone silly. "Carter opened the door this
morning and shook me out of oblivion and now he's closing it, leaving me a
guardian, and I'm sinking back into the darkness."
When I awoke, the room was brilliant with sunlight. I felt much refreshed, though my arm had now gone quite stiff. I slowly and grogily traipsed into the living room. Williams was stretched out on the slightly worn couch, with his back towards me. He was reading a book. Wait! That was my book!
At that moment, sensing my presence, he turned, smiling, and said, "Oh, hi! Have a good nap? You look a lot better." Then he observed that I had seen the book. "I hope you don't mind. My detective's curiosity got the best of me."
"No, It's all right," I replied. "It's just that it's extremely old and not the lightest reading in the world." I was wondering if he had yet read the more unusual episodes of the history, when he ended my speculation by asking "Is all this true?" with some amazement and no meagre dose of skepticism.
"It's supposed to be. What time is it?" I asked, rubbing my eyes and changing the subject.
"Past ten. You've been asleep for over eighteen hours. I guess they must be right; sleep is the universal cure. Listen, you must be hungry." (I had noticed that wilson seemed to be addicted to the word, "listen," the way so many others are to "you know.") "Can I fix you something? I'm not much of a cook, but I suppose I'm adequate. I've kind of lost the habit, since Maggie and I got together."
"A sandwich will be fine. I don't think I could take much more. By the way, why aren't you out catching crooks?"
"Day off. Turkey all right?" he asked as he padded lazily off to the small kitchen. "Anything to drink?"
"Turkey's fine. Got any milk?" I scanned he room with more awareness than I had he afternoon before. Someone obviously liked to read; books were stuffed everywhere, as were toys, particularly large, stuffed animals.
"Sure." Wouldn't dare be without it with Beth around. How do you feel?"
"OK. Just a little weak and stiff." Noticing a large framed photo, resting on the television set, of a young, blond woman and a little girl of about two or three who bore a great resemblence to each other, I questioned, "Is this your Beth and Maggie?"
"Yep," came the proud reply from the kitchen.
"Looks like a family of Vikings," I commented, alluding to the the blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin of all members of the Williams family.
A hearty laugh returned. "They're visiting Grandma for a month. It's been like being in solitary around here.
As the sadwich and the milk were placed before me on the newspaper and magazine cluttered coffee table, I reflected, "It's wonderful, the relationship that seems to arise between grandparent and grand chile. My grandmother was the only one I was ever close to.
After a few moments of silence, while I ate, and no doubt Barry, sprawled in a chair opposite me, contemplated on his far away family, he resumed the conversation. "Are you really a descendent of Merlin?" He evidentlycouldn't be distracted from what he had read.
"In legend, yes. No way to prove it thought. You can read Latin?" I asked, rather surprised.
"Some. I'm Catholic. I tried the seminary for a year but met Maggie. Now I'm studying for the bar. Is the part about the witch burning true, too?"
"Yes, that's why I call it my witch book." Trying to change the subject, I commented, "I like your apartment; one can tell there's love here."
"That's a wierd compliment," Barry said, mystified.
"Not for me, nor anyone who has never been where there was much affection, except for my grandparents. Somehow they managed to have it. I guess that's why I loved them."
"I don't mean to pry, but what was wrong?"
"You and Carter no doubt checked up on me. I'm a Randolph. I'm related ot almost every president, to most of the royal houses of Europe, to signers of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, and so on. It's all in the back of the book."
"But what's that got to do with it?" questioned Williams, naive when it concerned families constatly associated with wealth and power.
"In my family, no matter what one does one is expected to excel--- in the military, in politics, in science, in anything. One goes off to the best schools at a very early age and from then on, it's a duty to put the family name at the top of the list. It's been that way for centuries. One has all of the advantages and none o the happiness hat belongs in a family.
"No matter what event of any significance in America, and often in England, a Randolph or their relations was there. Do you know what it is like to be made to feel that you have to compete against something like that? It killed my father--- he couldn't take it, and if he hadn't died, it would have broken up his marriage. It's like being an Adams of Massachusetts; one must live up to the idea of 'noblesse oblige'.
"I guess the reason Grandmother could handle it and still be happy was because she came from the same sort of family on her father's side--- a family that had intermarried so much with the Randolphs that they were practically Randolphs themselves. But, then I suppose that's where my difficulties were compounded, 'cause from Grandmother's mother's side came 'Myrddin's Gift', which no Randolph could ever understand. At least, thought, Grandmother knew and understood not to expect too much from me, and I think, she accepted it. But, how does the onld line go? All families are alike, each unhappy in its own way? Why am I telling you this?"
"No, no, I'm interested. I thought things like that had died out a long time ago," said Barry sincerely, but slightly incredulously.
"They don't die out when they've almost become a part of your heredity--- inbred into your genes."
"Is your grandmother dead?"
"Yes, and so is everyone else. I'm the last member of this branch of the clan, except for my sister Erika. The sole, surviving male heir you might say, and good riddance."
"But you keep the book. Why, if you dispise it all so much? You must care."
"Because I must. I must," I said weakly, knowing no matter what my feelings were toward my family, they were nevertheless my creators in a line that had continued down to me for over a millenium of history, tradition, and blood. "But let's change the subject, shall we? You said you wanted to buy a house, but couldn't afford it. Supposing I loan you the money, then you can pay me back whenever? A legitimate lone? With paperwork and a modest interest," I added when I felt his pride begin to bristle.
The expression on Sgt. Williams' face was almost too comical to describe. Mainly it consisted of a widening of the eyes combined with a raising of the eyebrows, the mouth plopping wide open, and the reddening of already ruddy skin, followed by several seconds of stammering. At last he returned to coherency. "You're not serious, are you?" he whispered.
"Yes, perfectly," I replied directly, with as straight a face as I could muster.
"But why?"
"It's simple. First, I like you; you haven't double dealt me. Second, I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes. As I said, I'm sole surviving heir. When onehas as much money as I have, one soon finds that money is like rabbits--- it proliferates uncontrolably. The way it is, I can live rather extravagantly for a year only off of one quarter of the interest. Third, put the two together. I just like to help my friends."
"No. I couldn't." It was amazing how abrupt his sentences were becoming.
"Yes, you could. I'd simply be acting in the same capacity as a bank."
"But what would the department say?"
"Nothing. Once this mess is all over. Besides, you'll soon be a lawyer. Think it over a while. Call your wife. But don't tell Carter yet. He might think I'm trying to bribe you."
"He trusts you now," Barry commented absentmindedly.
"Why? 'Cause I got shot at?" I asked sarcastically.
"No, because you told us something that only someone at the crime scene would have known, and you were in Santa Barbara at the time."
"Maybe I wasn't in Santa Barbara," I said.
"You were," Williams replied. "You were under surveillance."
"Maybe I talked to the killer. Maybe we are in this together," I suggested, probing, playing devil's advocate.
"You received no phone calls, and you made no phone calls, until you called us."
"So, what did I tell you?"
"You showed us the exact locations where Amber and her assailant entered the brush and where it all ended. Carter's reasoning is that even if you had been in contact with the man, and we know you weren't, he couldn't possibly have described to you the exact places. He could have only told you the general areas. Now, ordinarily that alone wouldn't have influenced Frank, but added together with everything else he now knows about you, he's inclined to believe you and take you at face value."
"Well, I'll have to thank him for such a great concession."
"It wasn't easy for him to accept your story. He always considered anything associated with the occult as nonsense of superstition, or a con. He's one of those people who is skeptical about everything and anything; I suppose it's what makes him such a good cop. I think it goes back to his childhood and maybe his rejection of his own heritage. His people believe in such things. Therefore, he'll be extreme in the opposite way."
"But psychic phenomena has nothing to do with the occult. They're finally studying it scientifically, thank God. Maybe someday people like me won't be considered fakes or freaks. Maybe we won't have to hide our talent. Perhaps, we'll be able to use it to help people, without being raked over the coals when we are wrong. I should be thankful though, at least, we're not burned any more."
"Sounds to me like a little of your 'noblesse oblige' is showing," interjected my host and guardian, or should I say keeper?
I chuckled, "See what I mean? It's hereditary."
We continued to talk for another couple of hours about the case, about Barry's family and his hopes, about my "gift" and what psychic experiences are like. I liked Sgt. Barry Williams; he was what a Southerner might call a "good ol' boy," very willing to listen and to try to understand. He'd make a good defense attorney. He was the first person in the last few years that i had been able to really talk to. I was glad that I had made him that offer.
Finally, towards mid-afternoon, I told him, "Look, you don't have to hang around here on account of me."
"I don't mind. I usually hang around here on my day off."
I had a suspicion that this wasn't his regular day off, but that was an adequate explanaion for being around to keep an eye on me, as Carter had ordered. The lieutenant phoned once at about three, and I gathered from the conversation that it was to ask what kind of shape I was in.
We passed the rest of our time by watching a couple of old movies and playing a game of chess, which lasted until midnight. Williams was quite a good chess player, but in the end I conquered his king. However, once or twice I am afraid I took unfair advantage of him--- I could foresee what he was contemplating. He confided, quite candidly, that I should never be able to beat his mentor, Lieut. Frank S. Carter. He was probably right, unless, of course, I took unfair advantage again.
When I retired, I felt that another flight into nothingness, such as i had been
blessed with the night before, would restore to me my full strength, which even at
the best of times was minimal.
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