1951

But the revelation of divine splendour is less than  momentary and again, in our presence, a handsome twenty something dude in T shirt and shorts is seated among us.  It also appears that for now we are all opting for collective denial, and together, despite where we have been in the past twenty-four hours, all we see is some random stranger named Ethan who has just sought our hospitality. "The question remains, " says Melissa, "Of where we are all going to sleep after tonight should the remains be discovered." "Oh my god", groans Carl, "Why didn't I think of that before.  Look, the house is almost ready, but there are no beds, not a stick of furniture.  We can't get everything in just a few hours.  We have to think." "I'm texting Carol right now", says Melissa, "She has a couple of extra bedrooms." "Wait a minute", say I, "what about Maureen?  They were taking possession of her house today and she has extra room." "I am texting her right now", says Carl.  "How about you, Chris?" "George and Jeffrey are still in the apartment as far as I know, and Jesús has returned to Colombia, so that frees up one room anyway, because Erik will be staying with us, but, there is also an extra room with a bed in the basement"

1951

"The truth about what?" says Sheila, as Matthew returns with two  coffees, one of which sets before her. "What!  No coffee for me?" says Michael in partial mock indignation. "My third arm got amputated because of gangrene.  Move your ass, kiddo, it's self serve around here",  says Matthew. "Yes Mom", says Michael, getting up slowly and reluctantly. "Ahem", snorts Sheila, trying not successfully to sound offended. "Oh just listen to the competition", sneers her son, glancing and winking her way. Sheila looks at Tron and says in a challenge, "How do you know all this?" "How can I not know", he replies as she stares dumbfounded at him, and I can tell that Sheila, and likely the others, are also seeing Tron in the glory of his glistening green and golden robes, because that is precisely what I happen to be seeing.

1950

"What were you three just talking about in the kitchen?" wonders Matthew, as he gets up to pour some coffee from the sideboard. "Stuff", says Carl, following him there. "And?" "Is there any part of none of your business you don't understand?" "We were talking about the police investigation and the search here tomorrow morning", says Melissa flatly. "There are human remains concealed under this house", says Tron. "I beg your pardon?" "Everyone here is exonerated. And you do not have to worry about our father. Naomi was telling the truth..."

1949

It is only natural that given Tron's incandescent good looks, and both Michael and Matthew being gay, that they would certainly notice him, but here they appear fixated and also captured in a thrall of holy awe.  They seem already to have guessed who he is, and even if they do both have a clear memory of meeting him, or that their visit to the Refuge was anything but a strange dream...yes, on some level they're going to know...they must know... but here, now, and to all of us, Tron is Ethan, a random young dude lost in the toolies on his mountain bike. "Very glad to meet you", says Matthew in a reverant whisper, but not approaching to shake his hand. "The pleasure is mine", says Tron, smiling beneficently.. Melissa brings out a dish, one of the crimson and gold art nouveau plates, with an extra large portion of chocolate orange cake smothered in an excess of melting ice cream.  "Ethan, I'm sorry to have forgotten to ask, but have you had dinner.  We still have tons of leftover vegetarian shepherd's pie...I hope you don't mind it's vegetarian, she adds demurely, "but it contains lots of lentils and a mixture of Jaarlesberg and Parmesan cheese..."  and, is she nervously fussing over him?  I have never known Melissa to do that, not with anybody.   "Thank you for asking, Melissa, that is very kind of you, but I did stop to eat something on the way over, and besides...we don't want the ice cream to melt..."

1948

"I imagine that Naomi knows about him?" wonders Carl. "She doesn't just know about him", says his sister.  "He happens to be her uncle." "You don't say!" "Naomi's mom is his de facto sister in law." "That really seems to complicate things", say I. "Don't it though", retorts Carl. "I imagine we should check up on the others", says Melissa. "Yeah, they might think we're talking about them", says Carl. "and vice versa.." Everyone seems very snug and cozy, and the conversation appears rather relaxed and listless.  Tron is at the head of the table, silently watching over the others.  Melissa says, "I just made a big pot full of coffee.  Any takers?" "Is there any more of that splendid cake left?" says Tron. I could bring you a dish right now.  Ice cream too?" "Thanks, that would be great." "Any others?" "We're all pretty full", says Sheila. "Oh speak for yourself, Mumsy", and the voice belongs to her son Michael who has just come in with Matthew from outside. "You guys know where the dishes are, and Ethan is having some more", says Melissa. "Ethan", echoes Matthew, and Melissa vaguely gestures towards our guest..

1947

"Naomi would have the answer for that", says Mel. "Then we should ask her.  Will she be here tomorrow?" "There is one little complication.  She ain't telling.  I was going to ask her then she totally shut up and backed off, like she knows more, maybe a lot more than she's gonna say." "Do you think someone from the Stolo Nation did it?"  I ask. "Oh I'm sure they know", says Melissa, "I'm sure they already know." "Do you reckon Sven Lindstrom might be the one." "Oh poor Mr Lindstrom", says Melissa, sighing, "Always the easiest target in the universe, and now there is no way we can reach him, and that holy adolescent sure ain't gonna let him out of his sight." "Nor us, but yes, he is, as it were, under special custody.  What about Cosme?" Whose name I once borrowed, "Where does he fit in?" "According to our half sister, Cosme, who is now eighty-one, has long enjoyed a friendship with the Stolo nation, including a lengthy common-law arrangement with a woman there by whom he has fathered three kids.  He has voluntarily given himself up to the authorities, and apparently there is a lot he knows that is not in the diary."

1946

"Okay." "Yesterday I was chatting with our half-sister Naomi, who came over for coffee between her nursing rounds. Can you guess what she told me?" "Only if you are so kind as to enlighten me ." "As I'm sure you are also worried, like me. that one day they would find his body back there, trace everything to us and then the shit would really hit the fan." "It's been a recurring nightmare, Mel." "If Naomi is telling the truth and I have no reason not to believe her, then from now on we can both stop worrying." "You mean?" "Just after you and I left, basically running for our little lives, Carl, people from the Stolo Nation came, dug up the body and moved it to an undisclosed location." "You mean..." "I mean that we are off the hook. For now anyway. But that also complicates things." "By the way, Mel, where did you get this coffee, it is just wonderful" "There's a new coffee roaster and café in Chilliwack. It is their house blend. Now if we could remain on topic." "So what else is new?" "There is some question, according to Naomi, who has some pretty good sources with the band, that the remains they are wanting to track are going to be here, in this house..or should I say, under the house." "Huh." "And that Spanish guy who left that journal here in Spanish? He is the principal suspect, they have found and detained him for questioning, and he has agreed to help in the search tomorrow." "And", say I, "There is also the question of how did people in the Stolo Nation know that your dad was buried here..."

1945

I did not see this coming, and bodily I am instinctively backing away from the table while still remaining in the chair.  "What do you mean?" "Did Carl tell you that years ago, when we found our dad lying dead with a bullet wound in his head out in the back, did he tell you that we buried him there, him and I?" "Yes, he did." Melissa takes a premeditated sip of coffee, then, turning her face to the door, shouts, "Carl.  Get in here at once." It isn't long before her brother appears at the table.  "You bellowed?" he merely says, a quirky little smile adorning his face as he seats himself at the end of the table.  She gets up and without asking first brings him a cup of coffee, to which she has added cream and a spoon. "Table service from none other", he comments, pulling toward him the mug and beginning to stir. "You're welcome" she says flatly, seating herself. "Thanks Mel.  To what purpose have I been summoned?" "I just heard from Christopher that you told him you and I buried dad...no, don't worry, you're not getting scolded, but there is something i was meaning to tell you, and I couldn't do it on the phone, so now you are here, but so far, only Christopher needs to know, so we can talk about it right now..."  She is speaking rapidly, with quiet urgency...

1940

There is a loud persistent knocking on the front door.  Carl gets up.  "That couldn't be the cops already", mutters Sheila. ,"They're coming in the morning". mumbles Melissa, getting up and stacking together all our dirty dessert dishes.  "Christopher is going to help me with the dishes.  Just as I am getting up to follow her into the kitchen, Carl comes in with Tron at his side, only he is not dressed in robes, but a bright green T shirt and golden beige coloured shorts and sneakers. "Hey everyone", says Carl, "This is Ethan.  We saw him riding  his bike on the road.  He is going to be an overnight guest." "Offer him some cake", says Melissa. "Thank you", says Tron, or Ethan, sitting down with Carl. Before following Melissa into the kitchen, I lean down and whisper to our guest, "Does anyone else know you as Tron?"" "They will find out soon enough", he says with a small knowing smile.  And to you and Kenny I am Ethan.  Now I believe you are needed elsewhere." I cross glances with Kenny, who reveals to me nothing  but changes his seat to put himself right next to Ethan.  They are just entering into a discreet conversation as I turn my back and head into the kitchen...

1944

As she brings the coffee pot and fills our mugs at the table Melissa sits down across from me.  "We both prefer our brew black and bitter", say I. "Like life", she quips but without even a meek suggestion of a grin.  "We both have synesthesia.  Do you know what that means?" "That we're both a little bit unusual?" "Besides that", she snaps. "I'm not sure what you're getting at." "Synesthetes are both highly sensitive and highly aware, highly conscious, it's like we can never quite reach  our off switch.  Do you have trouble staying asleep, dream vividly? ""Yes, and yes." "Greta Thunberg, the environmental activist, is not neurotypical and she calls her asperger's a superpower.  See what I'm getting at?" "Yes", and now this needs no further explaining, and yes, now suddenly, it is like being an archeologist and finally discovering the key to Linear A script and unlocking all the secrets of Ancient Crete... I did not see this coming, and bodily I am instinctively backing away from the table while still remaining in the chair.  "What do you mean?" "Did Carl tell you that years ago, when we found our dad lying dead with a bullet wound in his head out in the back, did he tell you that we buried him there, him and I?" "Yes, he did." Melissa takes a premeditated sip of coffee, then, turning her face to the door, shouts, "Carl.  Get in here at once." It isn't long before her brother appears at the table.  "You bellowed?" he merely says, a quirky little smile adorning his face as he seats himself at the end of the table.  She gets up and without asking first brings him a cup of coffee, to which she has added cream and a spoon. "Table service from none other", he comments, pulling toward him the mug and beginning to stir. "You're welcome" she says flatly, seating herself. "Thanks Mel.  To what purpose have I been summoned?" "I just heard from Christopher that you told him you and I buried dad...no, don't worry, you're not getting scolded, but there is something i was meaning to tell you, and I couldn't do it on the phone, so now you are here, but so far, only Christopher needs to know, so we can talk about it right now..."  She is speaking rapidly, with quiet urgency... "Okay." "Yesterday I was chatting with our half-sister Naomi, who came over for coffee between her nursing rounds. Can you guess what she told me?" "Only if you are so kind as to enlighten me ." "As I'm sure you are also worried, like me. that one day they would find his body back there, trace everything to us and then the shit would really hit the fan." "It's been a recurring nightmare, Mel." "If Naomi is telling the truth and I have no reason not to believe her, then from now on we can both stop worrying." "You mean?" "Just after you and I left, basically running for our little lives, Carl, people from the Stolo Nation came, dug up the body and moved it to an undisclosed location." "You mean..." "I mean that we are off the hook. For now anyway. But that also complicates things." "By the way, Mel, where did you get this coffee, it is just wonderful" "There's a new coffee roaster and café in Chilliwack. It is their house blend. Now if we could remain on topic." "So what else is new?" "There is some question, according to Naomi, who has some pretty good sources with the band, that the remains they are wanting to track are going to be here, in this house..or should I say, under the house." "Huh." "And that Spanish guy who left that journal here in Spanish? He is the principal suspect, they have found and detained him for questioning, and he has agreed to help in the search tomorrow." "And", say I, "There is also the question of how did people in the Stolo Nation know that your dad was buried here..." "Naomi would have the answer for that", says Mel. "Then we should ask her.  Will she be here tomorrow?" "There is one little complication.  She ain't telling.  I was going to ask her then she totally shut up and backed off, like she knows more, maybe a lot more than she's gonna say." "Do you think someone from the Stolo Nation did it?"  I ask. "Oh I'm sure they know", says Melissa, "I'm sure they already know." "Do you reckon Sven Lindstrom might be the one." "Oh poor Mr Lindstrom", says Melissa, sighing, "Always the easiest target in the universe, and now there is no way we can reach him, and that holy adolescent sure ain't gonna let him out of his sight." "Nor us, but yes, he is, as it were, under special custody.  What about Cosme?" Whose name I once borrowed, "Where does he fit in?" "According to our half sister, Cosme, who is now eighty-one, has long enjoyed a friendship with the Stolo nation, including a lengthy common-law arrangement with a woman there by whom he has fathered three kids.  He has voluntarily given himself up to the authorities, and apparently there is a lot he knows that is not in the diary."

1943

"I am not surprised to hear that", I am wiping and scrubbing clean the ice cream scooping spoon. "He's quite a bit better now, but still loses focus and goes off on tangents sometimes." "Like when he got drunk in the diner." "Exactly so." I am not telling her anything about her brother's adventure at Wreck Beach.  Perhaps Carl can tell her, though I am sure that is one secret he is going to be keeping for quite a while from his darling little sister. "It looks like we're done", say I. As she is wiping down the counter and sink, Melissa says, "Sit awhile at the table here with me and I'll put on some coffee..."

1942

Melissa breaks the prolonged silence that has enveloped us.  "Christopher", she says, pausing to take a lengthy, slightly slurpy sip of her coffee, "You never had a mental illness.  We are unusually wired, and that makes us also unusually conscious and aware.  We are a threat to the normies.  Time to break free." The coffee before me appears particularly black, though with a certain betrayal of red beneath the surface.  It is strong, not really bitter, but deeply flavourful and aromatic dark roast.  "Jesus said that not only was Lawrence being taken away from mental health work, but that I am no longer going to be there either." Instead of replying, Melissa says, "There is something else I have been wanting to ask you...Has my brother told you about our father's death...?"

1942

"Do you have synesthesia" she repeats. "What is that?" "You've never heard of synesthesia?"  She is repeating the word as though she really wants me to learn it. "What is it?" "First, before I answer", she says, picking up to dry one of the lovely crimson and gold plates, "I want you to tell me something...  Have you always identified that shade of green with the number seven, and gold with four?" "For as long as I can remember." "What is number three for you?" "It's an intense shade of crimson, like the red on those plates, and deeper than the red of your T shirt you happen to be wearing right now." "Number one?" "Dark blue, more ultramarine than indigo." "Two?" "A light vibrant turquoise." "Five?" "Magenta." "Bingo!"  She has just pulled out of the rinsing water a coffee cup that matches the dessert plates. "Bingo, because..." "Because that is how I see number five." "Do you have this condition too?" "For as long as I remember.  Numbers, letters, days of the week, music too.  Do you see colour in music?" "Sometimes yes.  Sometimes."  And yes, sometimes, especially when hearing Carol on the piano the colours fly everywhere for me.  "Does Carl know?" "Still haven't told him." "How come?" "Don't know", she shrugs.  "We can both tell him tonight." "Will he be okay wñith it?" "My brother isn't a normie either." "You mean..." "He has ADHD...."

1940

"Who is that guy?"  says Melissa to me as I start filling the sink, first hot water, liquid soap which drips out an astonishing shade of sapphire blue, and now I am adding the first of several dirty plates and utensils to the swelling foamy mix. "We saw him on the road just a couple of miles from here", like my father before me, I never quite got used to thinking in kilometres.  Curiously, I work well with kilograms and celsius. "He looks familiar." I am just opening my mouth and suddenly remembering that he has told Kenny and me to know him as Ethan, forbids any words from coming out.  Instead, "I am really starting to notice colour these days." "Colour is everywhere " she replies, picking up to dry the first plate I have washed. "Like the beautiful intense blue of this dishwashing liquid." "Isn't it beautiful?  And did you notice the colours that the dude on the bike is wearing?  That is the most glorious and intense emerald-malachite green I have ever seen.  And those golden shorts of his." "That shade of green", say I , "Always suggests the number seven"  The plate I am rinsing has a particularly lovely pattern of deep crimson and gold lines in  fluid art nouveaux intricacies.  "And gold is number four." "Do you have synesthesia", asks Melissa...

1939

"Miss ...Thing?" he inquires with a dear little smile hovering over his lips "How did you know," says Glen, clearly astonished.  "Have we ever met before?" "Years ago, honey...years ago....And you are still handsome." "Wait a minute.  Years ago...How many years ago...Wait...It must have been back in the...Nineties?  no, wait...the eighties...It was back in the eighties...Stephen...You knew Stephen Bloom...Didn't you? "I knew her mostly as Tanya.  And you would have known me as...Cassandra." "You were both drag queens...you were working girls..." "The oldest profession. Good-lookin'...the oldest fuckin' profession." "Yes, and now I remember...you guys..or...you gals...That was your nickname for me...Miss Thing." "Well, fancy meeting you here, Glenda." "Yeah, that would have been your other nickname for me." "You are looking very well." "As are you...Kennny?...As are you."

1938

The breakfast room where we are tucking into chocolate orange cake with ice cream is every bit as lovely as before.  Melissa has joined us, along with Glen and Sheila. "Yes, we were also there", says Sheila, "Just as you saw us and just as we saw you.  And yes, that was the same boy I kept on seeing in dreams and...I don't know...visitations?  But yes, ever since back in the late forties, not long after the war, I happened to see him on the front porch of the house we ended up living in, when he was standing there with the old widow De Souza, as though...I don't know...as though he was watching over her." "Jesus was always there for you", says Kenny. "Only, I didn't really know him as Jesus.  I couldn't put a name or identity to him, perhaps i thought of him as an angelic spirit.  It's hard to say.  But our visit just yesterday, though it really is still today, that simply erased from me all shadow of doubt about who he is. Kenny has been staring at Glen in a way that can only be called knowing...

1937

The mansion is much as I remember it, but seems a bit small, not derelict really, but kind of shabby and tawdry, like a very earnest and laughably amateurish attempt to capture on colonized soil the essence of British landed nobility.  Perhaps the accustomed grandeur of the place on first blush eclipsd all the flaws  Or maybe after visiting Jesus in the Refuge, even Buckingham Palace would seem somehow lacking or wanting.  Melissa is seated on the verandah, stirring something in a big yellow ceramic mixing bowl on her lap. "Took you long enough to get here", she said, not looking up. "We stopped at Tommy's for something to eat", replies her brother, not quite defensively. "Lots of food here", she replies in her flat voice. "Hey, we got here, eh?"  says Carl, gesturing to Kenny and to Erik."Kenny, Erik, please meet my sister Melissa."  She barely glances their way, barely grunts something inarticulate. "Erik is my brother-in-law, and Kenny is an old family friend, actually more like my brother", say I, stammering a bit because suddenly Carl's sister is a most intimidating and excruciatingly silent force. "We already met", she mutters, which obviates any need to ask her if she remembers our time at the Refuge.  "Well, don't stand out there waiting for it to get dark, come in for dessert.  There's lots of chocolate cake left." "What are you making right now", says Carl, gesturing at the mixing bowl in her lap. "Pancake batter for breakfast tomorrow.  How long are you staying?" "We'll be going back after the cops are gone tomorrow", says Carl... As I step up onto the veranda, I instinctively look back, and there is Tron at a small distance watching us on his great white horse Ráfaga.

1936

Before I can say anything in greeting, he says, "You are going to be needing an escort.  You are being surveilled."  He is tall, towering and so resplendent in his robe of emerald green and gold.  Even though I am not sure if he can fit, "Tron, please ride in the car with us."  He smiles then gestures ahead, and there is a white horse standing, watching us by the road.  It is decked in a saddle of red and yellow and blue embroidery.  Tron approaches his steed and the horse is every bit as huge as he is lithe and graceful.   Like a police horse on steroids.  Gingerly, Tron mounts the horse and rides off ahead, just ahead of us. As we are following horse and rider Carl says, "Um...why did you stop and who were you just speaking to?" "Tron...from the refuge...Didn't you just see him?  He's riding ahead, our escort, he is on his white horse." "It's just some random dude on his mountain bike." "Erik, did you see someone just now?" "A guy on a bike." Kenny says, "It is Tron and that is his horse, Ráfaga.  It seems only Chris and I could see him, and that could be the will of our lord..." "You saw him too", say I.  "What is he wearing." "His green and gold robes." "What colour is his horse?" "White.  Big and beautiful." "Describe the saddle.." "It's beautiful. It looks like Guatemalan embroidery: red, yellow and blue.  In fact the name of the horse, Ráfaga, is a Spanish word for strong and sudden gust of wind." And now I can feel my heart leap into my throat with the wild and wonderful discovery that finally, in no one else but my old and dear friend, Kenny, now resurrected from the dead, I have someone who shares with me those visions that have caused me so many problems in the past...

1931

Carl's  magic gold card does it again, and not even is Kenny permitted to pay his share.  The intense evening sunlight paints a subtle gold cast over the surrounding forest.  Everyone has resumed their usual seats, Kenny on the right and Erik on the left behind me and Carl.  Suddenly this slips out of my mouth, "Kenny, you know more, a lot more than you were letting on at the diner." "I don't know whether or not I should dignify that with a reply." "You just did", quips Carl. "Out with it", i command. "I didn't want them to know." "Tommy and Carey?" say I.  "Okay.  Fair enough." "How much do you remember?" says Carl. "A lot more than I am about to say." "So you were faking the amnesia." "Not entirely." "Not entirely." "Carl, listen, I actually was in a brain fog till we arrived at the diner." "And what pulled you out of it?" "The conversation.  Look, usually after I've been there the amnesia is total, and also for Amaris, and we have to spend hours together before we can coax each other into remembering, and that is also just when we are ready to return.  But there's something else at play. It completely messes with our sense of time.  You guys are already aware of this phenomenon.