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In the high desert, which rises far east beyond Pico Mundo, winter can be chilly, while our low-desert nights rehed and whispered in the balmy wind, and moths soared to street lamps

The surrounding houses were as quiet as their ere dark No dogs barked No owls hooted

No pedestrians were out, no traffic on the streets The town looked as if the Rapture had occurred, as if only I had been left behind to endure the reign of Hell on Earth

By the time I reached the corner, Dr Jessup rejoined ested that he had come to my apartment from his hohborhood than mine Now he led me in that direction

He could fly, but he plodded I ran, drawing ahead of him

Although I dreaded what I would find no less than he et to it quickly As far as I knew, a life ht still be in jeopardy

Halfway there, I realized that I could have taken the Chevy Forno car of my own, I borrowed from friends as needed The previous autumn, I had inherited a 1980 Chevrolet Camaro Berlinetta Coupe

Often I still act as though I have no wheels Owning a few thousand pounds of vehicle oppresses me when I think about it too et I have it

Under the cratered face of the blind moon, I ran

On Jacaranda Way, the Jessup residence is a white-brick Georgian with elegant ornahtful As that it rese cake, and by a house that is baroque in all the wrong ways

None of these architectural styles seehtened by cliainvillea Our toas founded in 1900 by newcoht with them cold-climate architecture and attitude

Terri Stah, my friend and employer, owner of the Pico Mundo Grille, tells me that this displaced architecture is better than the dreary acres of stucco and graveled roofs in many California desert towns

I assuht I have seldom crossed the city line of Pico Mundo and have never been beyond the boundaries of Maravilla County

My life is too full to allow either a jaunt or a journey I don’t even watch the Travel Channel

The joys of life can be found anywhere Far places only offer exotic ways to suffer

Besides, the world beyond Pico Mundo is haunted by strangers, and I find it difficult enough to cope with the dead who, in life, were known to me

Upstairs and down, soft laht shone at some s of the Jessup residence Most panes were dark

By the time I reached the foot of the front-porch steps, Dr Wilbur Jessup waited there

The wind stirred his hair and ruffled his pajah why he should be subject to the wind, I do not know The ht found him, too, and shadow

The grieving radiologist needed coth to lead me into his house, where he himself no doubt lay dead, and perhaps another

I embraced him Only a spirit, he was invisible to everyone but me, yet he felt warm and solid

Perhaps I see the dead affected by the weather of this world, and see theht and shadow, and find the, not because this is the way they are but because this is the way I want them to be Perhaps by this device, I mean to deny the power of death

My supernatural gift ht reside not in my mind but instead in my heart The heart is an artist that paints over what profoundly disturbs it, leaving on the canvas a less dark, less sharp version of the truth

Dr Jessup had no substance, but he leaned heavily upon ht He shook with the sobs that he could not voice

The dead don’t talk Perhaps they know things about death that the living are not permitted to learn from them

In this e Words would not soothe him

Nothing but justice could relieve his anguish Perhaps not even justice

When he’d been alive, he had known arded by soly—as a hero, as an eccentric by nearly everyone

Odd is not a nicknaal handle

The story of , I suppose, but I’ve told it before What it boils down to is that -time

I believe that in life Dr Jessup had foundI think he had liked me

Only in death did he knowdead

I see them and wish I did not I cherish life too much to turn the dead away, however, for they deservesuffered this world

When Dr Jessup stepped back froed His wounds were now manifest

He had been hit in the face with a blunt object, th of pipe or a hammer Repeatedly His skull was broken, his features distorted

Torn, cracked, splintered, his hands suggested that he had desperately tried to defend himself—or that he had co with him was his son, Danny

My pity was quickly exceeded by a kind of righteous rage, which is a dangerous e caution

In this condition, which I do not seek, which frightens h I have been possessed, I can’t turn away froe

My friends, those feho know my secrets, think my compulsion has a divine inspiration Maybe it’s just temporary insanity

Step to step, ascending, then crossing the porch, I considered phoning Chief Wyatt Porter I worried, however, that Danny ht perish while I placed the call and waited for the authorities

The front door stood ajar

I glanced back and saw that Dr Jessup preferred to haunt the yard instead of the house He lingered in the grass

His wounds had vanished He appeared as he had appeared before Death had found him—and he looked scared

Until they move on from this world, even the dead can know fear You would think they have nothing to lose, but soht lie Beyond, but about those whom they have left behind

I pushed the door inward It moved as smoothly, as silently as the -loaded trap

TWO

FROSTED FLAME-SHAPED BULBS IN SILVER-PLATED sconces revealed white paneled doors, all closed, along a hallway, and stairs rising into darkness

Honed instead of polished, the marble floor of the foyer was cloud-white, looked cloud-soft The ruby, teal, and sapphire Persian rug seeer with a taste for adventure

I crossed the threshold, and the cloud floor supportedidled underfoot

In such a situation, closed doors usually draw me Over the years, I have a few ti a search, I open a white paneled door and a sharp, cold, and as thick as an iron fence stave

Always, I wake before I die, gagging as if still impaled After that, I am usually up for the day, no matter how early the hour

My dreams aren’t reliably prophetic I have never, for instance, ridden bareback on an elephant, naked, while having sexual relations with Jennifer Aniston

Seven years have passed since I had that ht fantasy as a boy of fourteen After so er have any expectation that the Aniston dream will prove predictive

I’m pretty sure the scenario with the white paneled door will come to pass I can’t say whether I will be merely wounded, disabled for life, or killed

You ht think that when presented hite paneled doors, I would avoid them And so I would…if I had not learned that fate cannot be sidestepped or outrun The price I paid for that lesson has left my heart an al at the bottom

I prefer to kick open each door and confront aits rather than to turn away—and thereafter be required to re knob, for the quiet rasp of hinges behind my back