Fever Dream

It was early morning of the third day, and Alex’s fever still had not abated. Every bone and every joint in his body ached. He felt as though he had fallen down ten flights of stairs. His head throbbed madly. All of this was overlaid with persistent nausea. He’d made at least a dozen trips to the bathroom the night before.

Trudy took the digital thermometer from his mouth and read it in the nightstand light.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“You’ve got a temperature of 102.7.”

She pressed her cheek against his forehead. Despite his physical misery, her closeness aroused him.

“God, you’re so hot,” she said.

“So are you.”

“If you still have a temperature when I get home tonight, or if those red spots on your chest get any worse, we’re taking you to the hospital.”

“The doctor said I just need to keep taking the antibiotics.”

“I don’t care what the doctor said. We’ll get a second opinion.”

She delicately laid the thermometer on the nightstand amidst the clutter of medicines and over-the-counter cold remedies.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“You should have gone already.”

“I’ll get better. You’ll see.”

“You said that the first night.”

“Really. I mean it this time.” He forced a smile.

She took his hand. “Maybe I ought to stay home with you.”

“No, you don’t need to. I’ll be all right.”

“You sure?”

“Go to work.”

“You think I’m going to be able to work while you’re here with this fever?”

“I just need to rest.”

She glanced at the clock. “Well, if I’m going to go, I should go now.”

She rose from the bed. Alex gazed up at her. She looked smart and professional in her business outfit. He could not help but notice the womanly swell of her breasts beneath her white blouse. He recalled the countless times he had suckled them. His eyes fell to the roundness of her hips—she had the kind of body that made him want to explore every part of her every time they made love, as though she were a rich, uncharted land.

She grabbed her purse from the top of the bureau and returned to the bed. She kissed him on his forehead. Her lips felt cool against his skin. Her light brown hair brushed against his cheeks. He caught the scent of her perfume.

“Trudy, you have no idea how much I love you.”

She smiled winsomely. Then her smile suddenly faded, and she looked sad and reflective.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I had a strange dream last night.”

“You did? What was it?”

She looked into his eyes. “What would you do if something ever happened to me?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything. What would you do?”

He smiled. “I’d hit every bar in town and drown my sorrow in drink.”

“You would?”

“Yes. Every night.”

“You wouldn’t just forget about me?”

“No, Trudy. Never.”

Trudy still looked uneasy. Alex sat up in the bed.

“Come here. Sit by me for a moment.”

She sat on the edge of the bed. He stroked the small of her back for a moment. She plucked a tissue from the nightstand and wiped her eyes.

“What’s bothering you?”

“I don’t ever want to be separated from you.”

“Why would we be separated?”

“I don’t know.”

He took her hand and pressed the gold engagement ring he had given her the month before.

“Do you feel this? It’s real. It means we’re a pair. It means we’re going to get married soon.”

She looked down at the ring and put her hand on his. “I hope so.”

“I’d never leave you, Trudy. Don’t even think that.”

“What if I somehow got lost or taken away?”

“You mean, kidnapped?”

“I don’t know,” she said distantly.

“Well, I’d look for you.”

“What if you couldn’t find me?”

“I’d search to the ends of the earth until I did.”

She looked up at him. “You would?”

“Yes, of course. No one can replace you, Trudy. If you weren’t in my life right now, I’d be looking for you. And if I couldn’t find you, I’d dream you up.”

Her spirits seemed to lift somewhat on hearing this. She smiled again.

“I’m glad to know that.”

“It’s true.”

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “I have to go now. I don’t want to, but I have to. Do you want me to stay home and take care of you? I’ll call in sick. We can stay home and be sick together.”

“Honest, I like the idea of being with you, but you don’t have to. There’s not much you can do for me anyway. I just need to rest.”

“Okay.” She stood up and straightened her skirt. She turned to him before leaving the room. “I’ll give you a call around lunch today to see how you’re doing. Okay?”

He nodded. “I’ll wait for your call.”

She lingered at the door for a few seconds, gazing at him as though she had something more to say. Then she was gone.

After she left the house, he suddenly became aware of those pains in his body he’d momentarily forgotten. The curtains were tightly shut, and the room was dark. He tried to sleep but could not. He tossed and turned. The room seemed to grow colder.

Alex had never been very lucky in life. A fortune-teller he had visited years ago had even mentioned that he hadn’t been born under a favorable sign. But good fortune had indeed smiled on him when he found Trudy. She was his medicine for melancholy. She took away his pain and improved his outlook on life. Her wisdom and kindness made a new man out of him. In time, she became the beacon in his life. She gave him purpose; she lent him value. She was his pearl, beauty and perfection enshrined within the ugly oyster of his existence.

“God help, me. Give me mercy.”

He felt as though he were swimming in a pool of his own sweat. The room seemed to rotate. Four walls became five. The bed swallowed him as though it were made of quicksand. His memories collided into a haphazard collage, a mad jumble of images. He could no longer tell whether he was awake. He could no longer think straight. Then a dominant thought took hold in his overheated brain, overriding the others: this fever was going to kill him. Perhaps this is what Trudy dreamed of last night and why she was so disturbed and reluctant to leave him today. Suddenly, the possibility of death seemed close and imminent.

“Oh, my God—I’m gonna die,” he said. “This fever isn’t going to go away, and I’m gonna die from it.” He shivered vigorously in the sweat-drenched sheets. He dug his fingers into his pillow. Despite his agony, his thoughts kept returning to Trudy. “It’s you who gave me life. I started to live only after I met you. God bless the day you were born.” He fancied watching Trudy being delivered in an emergency room. “Yes, God bless the day you were born.” In his delirium, he repeated this over and over again. In a strange way, each utterance of this strange mantra gave him momentary comfort, a sanctuary from his physical discomfort. God bless the day you were born.

Then he sensed that he wasn’t alone. He imagined that someone was standing beside the bed, although he’d heard no one entering the room.

“Trudy? Is it you?”

There was no reply. The feeling persisted. Then it occurred to him that Death himself had come to take him. Fear welled up in him. No, it couldn’t be! It doesn’t happen that way!

“Trudy!”

He turned to look at the figure beside the bed. The room seemed to rotate until it was a smeared blur. A feeling of inertia washed over him; he felt as though someone were lifting one side of the bed, and he was slipping off. Suddenly, he found himself lying stark naked on a cold, hard floor.

“What the heck—Where am I?”

He sat up and looked around. He was in a small, dimly lit room no bigger than a large bathroom. The light came through a crack at the bottom of the only door leading out. By this dim light, he could make out that three of the four walls in the room were lined with shelves. The air in the room was dry and smelled vaguely of bleach.

Terrified and disoriented, he quickly raised himself to his feet, using the shelves to brace himself. His heart raced. He took a moment to catch his breath. Dizzily, he felt his way over to the door. He felt a switch on the wall and flipped it. A light came on. He blinked his eyes at the abrupt change in light. He was in a storage room of some sort. The shelves surrounding him were stacked with neatly folded linen and light green garments. He looked around in disbelief, mentally replaying what had happened in the last few moments. For the life of him, he could not comprehend how he had gotten there.

He listened closely at the door. He could not make out any distinct sounds. Then he heard a woman’s voice coming through a loudspeaker. Someone was being paged. Cautiously, he opened the door and peeked outside. He saw the corridor of a hospital.

He silently closed the door and leaned against it. He wondered how he’d gotten there. Had he gone into a coma? Did they somehow misplace him after they took him to the hospital? He listened for clues at the door a while longer. Footfalls and muttered conversations came and went. Doors opened and closed. Briefly, he heard a baby crying. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, and a half hour passed—he couldn’t tell for sure. Nobody came for him. Perhaps no one would be coming at all, which meant he’d have to go out on his own. But though he was in a hospital, he certainly couldn’t go wandering the halls stark naked. He examined the neatly folded garments on the shelves and discovered that they were clean, pressed hospital scrubs. He quickly donned a set, complete with booties.

Before leaving the room, he listened at the door one more time. The corridor sounded empty. Cautiously, he stepped out and took in his surroundings. The fluorescent lights reflected harshly on the highly polished floor. In contrast to the dry air of the closet, the air in the corridor had a harsh antiseptic smell, a confluence of alcohol and chlorine. Empty gurneys stood lined up along one wall. An old-fashioned red fire extinguisher hung on the wall next to the storage room. Across from his room was a large window. Behind the window was a row of isolettes. Newborn infants slept soundly in a few of them. Each had a name tag: Dobbins, Shaw, Kline.

“So I’ve been dumped into a maternity ward. Somebody really screwed up.”

A set of double doors opened at the end of the hallway. Through it came an orderly with bushy sideburns pushing a young pregnant woman in a wheelchair. The orderly paused slightly when he saw Alex but said nothing. The woman in the wheelchair looked up at him. Alex thought she looked familiar, but he could not place where he’d seen her before.

“Excuse me,” Alex said to the orderly as they passed him.

The orderly stopped.

“I seem to have lost my way. Where am I?”

“You’re in the maternity ward.”

“Yes. Which hospital?”

“Kennedy Memorial.”

The name didn’t sound familiar to Alex. “Where?”

“Kennedy Memorial,” the orderly repeated with slight impatience.

“What part of the city are we in?”

“Downtown.”

“Downtown Chicago?”

“No, downtown Oceola.”

“Osceola? What am I doing in Oceola? I should be in Chicago!”

The orderly screwed in his eyes at Alex and looked him over. Alex realized he appeared to be drunk or to have wandered out of the psychiatric ward.

“Mister, I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,” the orderly said. “Why don’t you go through those doors over there and ask the nice lady at the desk for help. She’ll help you find your way to Chicago.”

“Uh, thanks.”

The orderly pushed the woman onward through a set of double doors and was gone. Alex was now alone in the corridor. He gazed at the newborns through the glass while he assessed his situation. He remembered unmistakably that he’d been lying in bed at home in Chicago. Had he slipped into a coma and had to be taken to a hospital? He had no recollection of the trip, so that must have been the case. But why did he end up here? Chicago is full of modern medical centers, yet for some reason they’d transported him all the way to a small town hospital—350 miles away. Maybe Trudy had a hand in this. Perhaps she thought he would receive the best care in her hometown. But if the care was so much better here, how did he end up naked on the floor of a closet in the maternity ward?

A page from a ceiling loudspeaker distracted him from his thoughts: Doctor Frudenfeldt to the maternity ward, Doctor Frudenfeldt.

Alex decided that he needed answers. He exited the corridor through the pink double doors from where the orderly and pregnant woman came and found himself in the smallish lobby of the hospital. The lobby had a distinctive 1970s look to it, with purple carpet and cheesy-looking plastic orange chairs. The room was mostly empty. A muscular young man, wearing faded jeans and a canary yellow football jersey with the number 74, was flipping through a magazine. As did the pregnant woman in the corridor, the man looked vaguely familiar. A little boy played with wooden letter blocks on the floor in front of the man.

Alex walked up to the desk where the triage nurse was sitting. She was engaged in giving someone medical advice over the phone, flipping through the pages of a thick medical reference book on her desk. She did not notice Alex walking up to her.

While Alex waited, he scanned the triage nurse’s desk. As was the rest of the lobby, everything had a seventies look to it. She was using an old-style rotary-type telephone. On her desk, instead of an IBM computer sat a clunky blue IBM Selectric typewriter. The ubiquitous yellow sticky notes one sees in offices were strikingly absent, and the wastepaper basked overflowed with used sheets of carbon paper.

He picked up a Reader’s Digest lying on the desk and flipped through it. The ads in it looked dated. This prompted him to check the date on the cover: April 1977. He looked at the cover of a dog-eared magazine lying nearby. It was an issue of Good Housekeeping from February 1977. He smiled. It was common for magazines in waiting rooms to be a little stale, but 30 years out-of-date was outrageous.

The nurse was still talking on the phone. He looked around the lobby. The familiar-looking man seemed to be staring at him. Apparently, even though this was a hospital, the man thought it was unusual for people to walk around the lobby in scrubs.

Alex’s attention returned to the desk. His head was pounding too much to read the Reader’s Digest, even for nostalgia’s sake. He put it down. Now he was feeling a chill. He thought his temperature might be rising again. He planned to ask the triage nurse for some aspirin once he got everything sorted out. He spotted another old fire extinguisher on the wall behind the desk. It was the old style, the kind one had to turn upside down to activate. He hadn’t seen one in years, but that type seemed to be common at this hospital. His gaze drifted to a calendar pinned to the wall. A thick black “X” marked day that passed. He did a double-take when he saw the day’s date: June 28, 1977—Trudy’s birthday!

Quickly, he slipped back into the maternity ward. He stood just inside the double doors. What is going on here? He wondered what freak of nature or supernatural power had brought him to this place. He looked at his hands. Am I really here? He rubbed them together and felt the sensation. He rapped on the wall. It, too, was real. He

He ran his hand across the stubble on his chin as he pondered the situation. It occurred to him that the woman in the hallway must have been Kathy, Trudy’s mother. At that moment, she was giving birth to the love of his life. Trudy had once told him that she’d been born at 12:10 in the afternoon. He looked at a clock on the wall. It was 10:44. Then he had an idea—he would watch her birth. It was certain to be an unforgettable experience.

He began searching the maternity ward for Kathy. He had not gone far when he spotted a drinking fountain in one of the corridors. He was incredibly thirsty, so he decided to take a drink. The cold water soothed his parched throat. As he sipped, he noticed his reflection in the polished chrome of the fountain. He did not like what he saw. He slipped into a nearby men’s room and looked in a mirror to get a better look. His own appearance startled him. He was unshaven, gaunt looking, and pale. His dark hair was disheveled. His cheekbones stood out—the fever had taken its toll on him. No wonder the guy in the lobby was staring at him. Alex realized that if he were to witness the birth of his love, he would need to disguise himself better. He returned to the storage closet and had a look around. There, he put on a face mask in order to hide his face. He completed his disguise with a cap.

Now he searched the maternity ward for Kathy. He nodded casually to the orderlies and nurses as he passed them. No one seemed to suspect anything. After some trial and error, he found the room he was looking for. No one paid any attention to him as he entered; they were clustered around Kathy, who was still in labor.

The chief doctor, a graying, balding man named Frudenfeldt, was giving orders to the attendant nurses. One of the nurses, an attractive blonde, he addressed as “Cream Puff.”

“Get me the forceps, Cream Puff.”

After some initial hesitation, Alex gradually insinuated himself into the group. Now he had a better look. It all looked like messy business. There was blood everywhere. Kathy’s face was taut with pain. Beads of sweat dripped down her face.

Alex watched the birthing process, astounded by it and delighted that he was watching his beloved come into the world. What man besides him, in the entire existence of civilization, had ever had the opportunity to witness such a spectacle? The birth process was long, and Alex grew weary. He studied the grim expression on Kathy’s face. Her face was shiny with sweat. She cried out. Trudy’s head passed through the canal. Kathy gave a hard push, and Trudy’s body emerged, followed by an enormous gush of fluid. The doctor held Trudy up by her ankles and gave her a brisk slap on her bottom. The room resounded with her first cries. The team gave out a little cheer. The umbilical cord was quickly cut and tied. Next, they put some drops in her tiny eyes, then they put her on a scale.

Witnessing all this exhilarated Alex. It was like heaven to him. But the experience had somehow drained him. He felt acutely weak and lightheaded. Perhaps the fever was returning. He leaned against a portable full of surgical instruments. The table fell with a mighty crash, scattering bloody surgical instruments far and wide across the floor of the maternity room. Everyone looked at Alex, who had recovered his balance and was now standing with his back against the wall.

“Who are you?” Frudenfeldt asked him.

Alex stared at him, petrified.

“Who is this guy?” the doctor asked his team when Alex didn’t answer.

“I don’t know,” one of them replied. “I thought he was the father,” another said.

Alex looked to Kathy on the bed. She was recovering her wits and had begun to realize that something was amiss in the room. More than anything, he felt sorry for spoiling her moment of joy.

“The show’s over, mister,” the doctor said to Alex, snapping off his bloody latex gloves. He turned to the blonde nurse. “Get Jerry Lewis out of here, Cream Puff.”

The nurse grabbed Alex by the arm and led him from the room. To him, she seemed surprisingly strong, or perhaps it was his weakened state.

“What were you doing in there?” she asked him as she led him down the hall.

“I was just curious.”

“Well, this is a professional medical establishment. You should go somewhere else to get your cheap thrills.”

She hurriedly led him out the back door of the hospital with threats to call the police if he returned.

Just outside the back door of the hospital was an asphalt driveway. Alex followed it out to the main street. Once there, he stood and marveled at what he saw. Completely, from the cars, style of dress, it was 1977 again. Saturday Night Fever was showing at the theater. He walked down the street, wearing his hospital scrubs. People turned and stared at him as he passed.

“This is wild,” he said. “If only you could see this, Trudy. If only you could see this.” He could not wait to get back to the future to tell her about it. She would never believe it. He passed through a park. It was a warm, sunny day, and children were swimming in a municipal pool there. The sun was hot, and he took refuge in the shade of an apple tree. As he stood there, a ripe green apple fell from the tree and landed on the grass at his feet. He picked it up and took a bite out of it; it was sweet and slightly tart. He closed his eyes and savored its flavor and wondered again what benevolent power had blessed him with a visit to this place.

As he walked down the street, eating the apple, it occurred to him that there was a two-year-old version of him living in a neighborhood in Los Angeles. He wondered what it would be like to meet a younger version of himself. Could he impart some hard-won wisdom to his younger self? Would his younger self heed the advice and have a better life for it? Would it change anything at all? The possibilities were mind-boggling.

He passed by a watch repair shop. A clock on the sign indicated that it was almost 3:00 already. He had no idea how much longer he would stay in 1977. He imagined himself getting a job here and watching her grow up. Somehow, however, he felt he wouldn’t be there long. In fact, not long at all. He wondered where Trudy was at that moment. He decided to return to the hospital to get one more glimpse of her.

He passed through the front lobby of the hospital and made his way back to the maternity ward, face mask on, avoiding anyone who looked as though he or she might question him. He thought that Trudy might be with her mom. Then he found her lying in an isolette behind the large glass window. She slept blissfully on a white, quilted pad. His heart melted at the sight of her. He rapped on the window. You are so beautiful.

He wanted to see her up close, but the door leading into the room was locked. He went back to the window and waited. A young nurse was in the room, putting some linens on a rolling cart. He watched her. She left through the locked door. Just before the door closed, he slipped into the room.

He walked over to Trudy’s crib and leaned over her to get a better look. She slept serenely. He removed the face mask. The scent of her clean, new skin filled his head like a strong perfume. It made him woozy. He gazed at her for a long time, marveling that he had witnessed her coming into the world. He looked lovingly at the tiny lips he would someday kiss and the tiny hands he would someday hold. Those tiny buds on her chest would blossom into breasts. Years from now, they would sign up for the same college math class. She would sit in front of him every class, and he would secretly admire her. Then one day, she would unexpectedly turn around to him and ask the one innocent question that would begin their acquaintance: Pssst! Did you get the answer to the extra-credit problem in the homework?

God, she was a beautiful child. He glanced about the room and outside the window. He was alone. Without deliberation, he leaned over and kissed her on her tiny cheek with the most tender, sweet kiss. It was the innocent kiss of love. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He felt strangely faint.

The sensation of Trudy’s warm, vital, neonate skin lingered on his lips into the moment he awoke in his bed. He opened his eyes and stared groggily at the ceiling, feeling strangely disoriented as to the present place and time. He realized he had been sleeping deeply. He stretched his legs and toes. The fever had broken. He lay for a while, resting. From the dimness of the light behind the shades, he estimated that it was already dusk. The fever had robbed him of another day, but at least he was better now.

According to the clock on the nightstand, it was half past six. But then he realized that something was wrong. The room was arranged differently—or was his memory failing him? And there was something more. At first, it wasn’t apparent to him, but then he realized—Trudy’s things were gone. He stumbled out of bed, went into the bathroom, and did a quick scan. Her makeup kit, perfumes, even her favorite bath sponge—all were gone. He checked the drawers in the bedroom, pulling them out one by one and rifling through the contents, frantically flinging their contents across the room. The drawers contained only his things. Not one shred of her clothing remained.

He went to the living room. As in the bedroom, the furniture had been rearranged, and someone had substituted in a few pieces he didn’t recognize. He checked the house. Nothing that belonged to her or was associated with her remained. Nothing at all. Even the souvenir refrigerator magnets they’d bought on their romantic trip to Toronto last summer were gone.

He checked their filing cabinet. Some documents were missing. Her name and all references to her had vanished from all of those documents that remained. Everything was only in his name. Even their joint checkbook contained only his handwritten entries. He checked the answering machine for messages. Only messages for him were there.

By then, it was almost seven. She should have been home at 5:30. He was becoming angry. He located their phone book. Only his friends appeared in the book. Her friends and those people they’d become acquainted with since they’d met did not appear at all. Then he remembered from the top of his head the phone number for Trudy’s best friend, Andrea. He picked up the cordless phone and dialed her number. He paced the living room like a caged tiger, with the phone pressed tightly against his head. The number rang. Andrea picked it up.

“Hi, Andie. It’s Alex. I’m looking for Trudy. Is she there?”

“Trudy who?”

“Trudybeth Robinson.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Sorry. I must have gotten the wrong number.”

He hung up and dialed the number again. The same voice answered.

“Andrea?”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“This is her.”

“I’m looking for Trudy.”

“Didn’t you just call a minute ago?”

“Aren’t you Andrea Cobbs, who works at Semaphore?”

“That’s me.”

“You don’t know Trudy Robinson?”

“No. I don’t.”

“How could you say that? You’re her best friend. You’ve known each other for years.”

“I already told you, I don’t know anyone by that name. Who are you?”

“I’m Alex. Her boyfriend.”

“And where do I know you from?”

“That’s a stupid question. You’ve been here lots of times.”

“Been where?”

“To our place.”

“Uh, I think you’re confusing me with another Andrea. I don’t think I know you.” She hung up.

Alex tried the phone numbers of a few of their friends—any number he could remember. Everyone he called either didn’t know Trudy or didn’t know either him or Trudy.

By nine that evening, he was reduced to sitting on his living room couch, in the darkness, in a state of near catatonia. Trudy still hadn’t come home, and she hadn’t called. He thought back on the crazy dream he’d had. Because of his present state of anxiety, the dream seemed like a faded memory of something that happened long, long ago. It was impossible that the dream had had any significance. A dream was only a dream after all, and this was reality.

He decided to call her parents before it got too late. The phone rang four times before Trudy’s mother answered.

“Hello?”

Although his heart was racing and he could hardly breathe, he tried to sound as normal as possible. “Hi, Kathy.”

“Uh—hi.”

He instantly detected a strange tone in her voice.

“Oh—thank you. Who is this?”

“It’s Alex.”

“Alex?”

“Yeah, your future son-in-law.” He could not help smiling as he said this. “I’m wondering—do you know where Trudy is? I can’t seem to find her.”

“Trudy? Trudy who?”

“Your daughter. Trudy. Do you know where she might be?” There came a pause on the line.

“I think you have the wrong number.”

The line went dead.

“Hello?”

“What the hell?” He redialed the number. Kathy answered again.

“Kathy, this is Alex. Where’s Trudy?”

“Trudy who?”

“Your daughter. Trudy Robinson.”

“Who are you?” She sounded acutely emotional.

“It’s Alex. Don’t you recognize my voice?”

The line went quiet for a moment. Then he heard a muffled conversation. He heard a snippet: He’s calling for Trudybeth.

Trudy’s father came on the line. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jake. It’s Alex. We must have a bad line or something. I’m calling about Trudy. I can’t find her.”

“What do you mean you can’t find her?”

“Well, this might sound strange, but she just disappeared. All her things are gone, and nobody seems to know where she is.”

“You calling about my daughter, Trudy?”

“Trudybeth Colleen Robinson. Right?”

“What’s her birthday?”

“June 28, 1977.”

“Okay.”

“You live at 23 Tamber Lane. There’s a park with a baseball diamond right across the street. You worked at the metal foundry before it closed. Kathy teaches high school math. Trudy’s got a brother, Sam, who’s two years older than her. He’s a doctor. Right?”

“Who are you again?”

“Alex Powell. You know that.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Through your daughter, Trudy. She’s my fiancée. Of course, I know.”

“So you want to marry her, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You want to marry my daughter, Trudy.”

“Yes.”

“Trudy Colleen Robinson.”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Alex heard some expletives, and then the line went dead again.

“What the—is the world going nuts?”

He hurriedly dialed again. Jake answered this time. He heard Kathy weeping in the background.

“Jake, what’s happened? Where’s Trudy?”

“Listen to me carefully. You’re playing a sick game, and I don’t like it one bit. You hear me? You upset my wife, and I won’t tolerate that. Now stop calling here.”

“Jake, just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on: you call one more time, and I’m going to call the police. Is that clear?”

“Jake!”

There came a click, and the line was again silent.

He walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. He stared at himself in the mirror. His black hair was as disheveled as a rat’s nest, he had four days of stubble on his face, and his face looked sunken and sallow as a result of the fever. In general, he was a disheveled mess. But most striking to him was the acute sadness in his own eyes. Trudy, where are you?

Alex scarcely slept that night. He kept his ears pricked for the sound of her car pulling into the driveway.

At the first morning light, he dragged himself out of bed and went back to the mirror in the bathroom. He took a shower, shaved, and ate breakfast. Afterward, he called Trudy’s workplace. Not surprisingly, they’d never heard of her. He realized he had a serious problem and needed some serious answers. He got into the car and started driving.

The white lines on the flat, featureless highway to Osceola slipped past in an endless procession. For the lack of roadside distractions, he found himself drawn to the lonely steel high-tension electrical towers that ran alongside the highway. He drove without stopping, without listening to the radio. The only sounds that surrounded him were the roar of the tires on the road and the engine racing as he whizzed past countless slower-moving cars and semi trucks. His thoughts drifted between reflections of his times with Trudy and fear of her whereabouts. Most often, he recollected the numerous times he cuddled her while she slept. He recalled the softness of her skin against his, the warmth of her body. There, in his arms, was everything he’d ever wanted and needed in life. Now it seemed so far away.

He pulled up to Trudy’s parents’ house at dusk. He was relieved to see the blue glow of a television in the living room. That meant somebody was home. He rapped on the screen door. Kathy answered.

“Kathy!” he said out of breath, as though he had just run all the way from Chicago.

“Who are you?”

“Kathy, I’m looking for Trudy.”

“Did you call a few nights ago?”

“Yeah. And I drove all night and all day to get here.”

He tried the screen door and found it locked.

“Kathy, let me in. I think something serious has happened to Trudy. I’m worried.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Who are you?”

“It’s Alex.” At the sight of her tears, he felt the wetness growing in his own eyes.

Her husband stepped into the doorway. “Who’s there?”

“Jake! I’m so glad to see you. Something’s happened.” He rattled the screen door. “Let me in. We’ve got to talk.”

“I’m not letting you in. Who are you?”

“Don’t you recognize your future son-in-law?”

“My daughter’s already married. Happily.”

Jake released the door. “Have you people gone crazy?”

“This is private property. Leave now, or I’m going to call the police.”

“Kathy, don’t you recognize me either?”

“Go away.”

“This can’t be.” He clutched the screen door again. “Please. I just want to talk to you. I’ve come a long way to be here today.”

“Kathy, get me the phone. I’m calling the police.”

Kathy disappeared into the darkness of the house. Mechanically, Alex let go of the screen, turned, and skulked down the porch stairs. At the base of the stairs, he looked back. The door was already closed, even though he hadn’t heard it shut.

With nowhere to go, he ambled to the park across the street and took a seat on one of the grandstand bleachers at a baseball diamond. It was cold, and the gray dusk sky was turning dark. He clutched his coat tightly around himself. He only faintly noticed the warm yellow lights coming on, one by one, in the houses surrounding the small park. A few snowflakes fell from the sky. He watched them land on the sleeve of his coat. Occasionally, he would turn back to Trudy’s parent’s house. Once he thought he saw someone peeking through the white lace curtains in the large front living room window.

After some time had passed, a police car pulled up and parked at the curb, directly in the line of sight between him and Trudy’s parent’s place. No one got out at first, but Alex felt himself being watched. Soon, he heard the door open and slam. Moments later, he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps on the half-frozen gravel.

“Howdy,” the police officer said.

Alex turned to him. He was a youngish man with fair skin, a square jaw, and crew cut sideburns. He wore a thick black jacket with a fur collar. Alex thought he recognized the man, but he could not say from where. As the officer stood, he rested his hand on the handle of his black nightstick hanging from a loop in his belt.

“Hi. Am I in trouble for something?”

“Don’t know yet. Did you do something naughty?”

Alex fully felt that he had, but he didn’t say anything. He shook his head.

“Is that your blue Honda over there, the one with the Illinois plates?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I see your license?”

Alex pulled out his wallet, extracted the license, and handed it to the officer. The officer studied it, comparing his likeness to the picture on the card. “Alex Powell.”

“That’s me.”

“Is this your present address?”

“Yes.”

“Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

The officer returned to the patrol car. He noticed people peeking from windows to see what was going on outside. Apparently, nothing much happened in this town, and any time a police car showed up unexpectedly, it was cause for notice.

Alex watched him call in the driver’s license number, appearing as a silhouette in the growing darkness. It suddenly occurred to Alex that he had once met the police officer at the wedding reception of one of Trudy’s high school friends. He recalled that the officer’s name was Jimmy. He was a German Shepherd aficionado and had ambitions to breed and train German Shepherds for K-9 units. Alex tried to recall more details about Jimmy.

The officer returned to Alex and handed him back his license. “Here you go, Mr. Powell.”

“Thank you.”

“What business do you have in Osceola, Mr. Powell?”

“I’m just here to visit my future parents-in-law.”

“Where do they live?”

Alex pointed. “In that house over there.”

“You know them?”

“Jake and Kathy Robinson. Right?”

“Well, they don’t seem to know you. In fact, they called in a harassment complaint against you.”

Alex gazed sullenly at the house. “Oh, so now they’re calling the police on me, are they? Nice way to treat a future son-in-law. Really nice.”

The officer narrowed his eyes slightly. “If they’re your future in-laws, who is your fiancée?”

“Trudy.”

“Trudy who?”

“Their daughter. She’s my fiancée.”

“Sir, I know that family personally. I believe you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken,” Alex said.

“Sir, I know for a fact that their daughter is already married, and you are not her husband.”

“That’s impossible.”

The officer tightened his grip on his nightstick. “Sir, I’d like to ask you to leave,” he said.

“So it’s illegal to sit in the park now?”

“No, it’s not. But I just told you we received a complaint.”

“What did I do? I just want to find my fiancée. Where’s Trudy?”

“I don’t know where your Trudy is—and neither do they.”

“So, what should I do? Please tell me what I should do.”

“Well, how long has she been missing?”

“Since last night.”

“Only since last night? That’s not very long.”

“All her things are gone.”

“Maybe she moved out on you. Did you two have an argument?”

“No.”

“Did you call around for her?”

“Everybody says they don’t know her. Her friends say they don’t even know me.”

“Maybe she’s hiding from you.”

“There’s no reason for her to do that. Besides, things were fine between us. They always have been. I don’t think you understand; she just disappeared. There’s no sign of her anywhere. It’s like she’s just vanished from the face of the earth.” Alex shook his head. “I don’t get a good feeling about this. I think something really bad has happened to her.”

“Well, if she’s missing longer than a week, or if you suspect foul play, you ought to file a missing person report with your local authorities. You might find it’s more productive than knocking on strangers’ doors.”

Alex looked away.

“Mr. Powell, as far as I can tell, you’re not wanted for anything, and you have a right to be in this town just like anyone. But I’m ordering you to go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere where those people can’t see you.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But you’re right in front of their window. You’re making them nervous. Can’t you go somewhere else besides this cold park? There’s plenty of coffee shops around. You can sit there, and it’d be a lot warmer.”

“I suppose.”

“Good. Now I’ll be coming back later. I don’t want to see you here. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Have a good evening.”

The officer gave him a slight nod and walked away. On a lark, Alex called out to the officer.

“Jimmy!”

The officer suddenly stopped and turned. “How do you know my first name?”

“I guessed.”

The officer frowned. Before he could say anything further, Alex spoke again.

“I just want to know how the German Shepherd breeding is going. Did you ever get it off the ground?”

Jimmy stared at him with a bemused expression for what seemed a long time before he replied. “I’m working on it,” he said with obvious uneasiness.

Alex could almost hear the wheels turning in Jimmy’s mind.

“Well, I just want to wish you luck with it.”

“Uh—thanks,” Jimmy said.

Instead of getting back into his car, the officer walked over to Judy’s parents’ house across the street and knocked on their door. Mr. Robinson answered. They talked at the doorway. Alex remained sitting in the bleachers, clutching himself in his jacket, feeling their eyes on his back. After a few minutes, the officer got back into the patrol car. He did not leave right away but instead waited there for what seemed like an interminable time. Finally, he drove off.

The park had grown even darker by this time. The snow began to fall, coating every horizontal surface with peppery white flecks. A halogen lamp switched on. It illuminated the empty baseball diamond with a harsh white glow. Alex felt the cold creeping into his jacket. He began to shiver. Part of him worried about the fever returning, but his depressed state overrode that, and he no longer cared what happened to him.

Soon, he could no longer hold himself up. He lay down on the bench.

“Trudy, my love,” he moaned. “What happened to you?”

He recalled her telling him she’d had a disturbing dream the night before. He wondered what she’d dreamed. He wished to God that she had told him what had happened in the dream. Perhaps it could provide him with answers.

The snow fell all around him in a whisper. The flakes were bigger now. Either from the numbing cold, the hypnotic effect of the falling flakes, or his strung-out emotional state, a disorganized jumble of memories of Trudy flashed through his mind. He had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard the crunch of snow and gravel of approaching footsteps. The footsteps stopped right next to him. He made no move and didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

“It’s cold. You’re gonna freeze out here,” came a concerned male voice.

Alex opened his eyes. Jake was looking down at him. He tried to speak, but no words came. Jake seemed to understand. Gently, he helped Alex to his feet and silently helped him back to the house.

Compared to the bitter cold outdoors, the house seemed swelteringly hot to Alex. A bowl of hot chicken noodle soup waited for him on the kitchen table. Jake removed Alex’s coat and sat him down at the table. Kathy watched Alex warily from the doorway to the den. It was obvious to Alex whose idea it had been to bring him to the house.

No one said anything until the soup was finished and Alex had regained some of his strength.

“So are you really from Illinois?”

“Yes,” Alex replied. “Somehow I thought you should know that.”

“How should I know that?”

“We’ve met several times.”

“Where?”

“Well, here. In this very room. We’ve watched baseball together in the den in there.” He pointed.

“We did?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Lots of times.”

Jake and Kathy glanced at each other. “Not to my memory,” Jake replied.

Alex now had a better look at Jake and Kathy. To him, they looked the same overall, yet they were different in some indistinct way. Indeed, the same could be said about the house.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Would you like some more soup?” Kathy asked.

“No, thank you.”

She picked up the bowl. After she rinsed it in the sink, she returned to her place by the doorway. She looked as though she had aged somewhat since he’d last visited a few months before.

Jake sat down at the table, picked up his pipe from the counter, and removed a rubber band from the package of tobacco.

“Captain Black tobacco. Your favorite,” Alex said.

Jake paused for a moment to consider this. “Yes, you’re right.” He began stuffing the pipe. “So how do you know about Trudy?”

“She was my fiancée.”

“And how did you meet?”

“We met in college. Illinois State.”

“What can you say about her?”

He smiled. “What a daughter you two have. Clever, lively, and beautiful. I just love her with all my heart.”

“Alex, I don’t know what to think of this. You’re presenting us with a very odd story. In fact, it’s not even plausible.”

“But you do have a daughter named Trudy.”

“Yes. But you see, Alex, she’s no longer with us.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She died. Or, perhaps I should say, she scarcely lived.”

“I saw her only two days ago.”

Jake lit his pipe. Sweet, fragrant smoke from the pipe filled the air. “I very well doubt that, Alex. This Trudy to whom you refer died 27 years ago.”

“Twenty-seven years ago? She would have only been a baby!”

“She was a baby.”

Alex turned to Kathy. “Is this true?”

Kathy nodded slowly. Her eyes were wet. Alex looked back at Jake. He felt tightness in his chest. He could scarcely breathe.

“How did she die?”

“Tell him, Kathy.”

“She was born a healthy baby. Eight pounds, seven ounces. She was very mild tempered. She rarely cried. Then she caught a strange fever.”

An icy chill ran through Alex. “A fever? What kind of fever?”

“Oh, it was a strange one. She got these little red spots on her chest. They looked like measles or chicken pox, but they were just on her chest. The doctors didn’t know what to do. They’d never seen anything like it. They put her in quarantine so it didn’t spread.”

A tear ran down Alex’s cheek. “Oh, my God.”

Kathy continued. “Our little Trudybeth fought that fever for 11 days. But in the end, her little body couldn’t take it anymore, and she died.”

“I—I did it.”

“You did what?” Jake said, relighting his pipe.

“I gave Trudy that fever.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “You?”

“You don’t believe me?” Alex lifted his shirt to show them the remnants of the red spots left over by the fever. Most of them were gone. “You see? Is this what she had?”

“Okay. So you might have had the same thing she had. But you couldn’t possibly have given it to her.”

“But I did!”

“How?”

“I can’t explain. I just know that yesterday, while I was sick with a fever, I somehow woke up in the hospital where Trudy was going to be born.”

“You mean you dreamed of it.”

“No, it was more than a dream. It was powerful. It was real. Anyway, I kissed her in while I still had the fever. I must have given it to her.” Alex covered his face. “God! What have I done?”

“Hey, take it easy,” Jake said. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for having a bad dream.”

“How can I live with myself? God, how can I live with myself after what I’ve done?”

“You might be interested in knowing that Trudybeth has a younger sister.”

Alex raised his head. “She does?”

“Sure. Get him a picture, Kath.”

Kathy fetched a bronze-framed picture from the den. She handed it to Alex. It was a wedding picture, a bride in white and a groom in black, standing in front of the altar after the wedding. His heart raced as he studied her face. There was definitely a resemblance between the girl and Trudy, but it definitely wasn’t her.

“This is a picture of Valerie. It was taken last summer. She’s a schoolteacher. Teaches handicapped kids. We’re very proud of her.”

Alex gazed at the picture. Valerie resembled Trudy around the eyes, but the face and hair color were different. This woman was a stranger to him. He put the picture down.

“How could you possibly have given Trudy the flu?” Jake asked.

Alex explained what had happened. As he spoke, Jake and Kathy traded glances. They didn’t say anything until he had finished.

Jake rapped his pipe against the ashtray to clean out the ashes. “So by kissing her, you gave her the fever that you had. And that’s why she died.”

“Yes. But it was an accident. I never thought I’d give her anything. Hell, I even thought I was dreaming. You know what kind of strange dreams you have when you have a high fever.”

“Not dreams like that.”

“I’m just telling you what happened.”

Jake began re-stuffing his pipe. “Fever or not, she’s been gone for a long time now. And if you want to know the truth, I think your whole story is a bunch of shit.”

“Do you think I’m making all this up?”

“Do you expect us to believe you?”

“Then how do you explain how I know everything I know about you?”

“You could have found out all that if you asked around. Now I’d like to know why you’re doing it.”

“I’m telling you the truth, damn it!” He looked at Kathy. “Do you believe me?”

“Well, I have to admit it’s convincing, but—no,” she said.

“Don’t you remember me while you were giving birth?”

“How could I? Everyone was wearing masks. If you did, you didn’t stand out.”

Jake looked at him levelly. “So, you’re sticking to your story?”

“What story? It’s the truth.”

“Well, Alex, if you’re not going to come clean with me, I think it’s time that you leave.”

“Fine.” Alex rose to his feet. When he did, whether as a residual effect of the fever or from the lack of sleep and food, he felt momentarily dizzy. He clutched the table to keep himself from falling and accidentally knocked Jake’s ashtray to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said.

Jake grabbed him. “So now you’re going to make a mess of my house? Come on. Out you go.”

Then a memory came to Alex. “Wait a minute. Give me just a minute.”

Jake paused.

“That was you in the lobby, wasn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were sitting in the hospital lobby reading a newspaper while Trudy was being born, weren’t you? And you were listening to the baseball game on a little transistor radio. It was the Dodgers versus the Yankees playing. Right?”

“Yeah, so they played each other in ‘77.” Jake said rancorously. “Anybody can look that up.”

“And do you remember what you were wearing? I do. It was a yellow football jersey. It had the number 74 on it. Right?”

“Maybe I wore that,” he said, his voice quavering slightly.

“And do you remember that unshaven guy in scrubs standing at the triage desk? That was me. And was that your son playing with the blocks?”

Jake’s jaw suddenly went slack. Alex felt him loosen his grip.

Alex looked at Kathy squarely.

“The name of the doctor who delivered Trudy. His name was Frudenfeldt. Wasn’t it?”

“You checked the hospital records,” she retorted.

“All right. There was a guy in hospital scrubs standing in the hallway while the orderly was wheeling you in to have Trudy. Remember he said he was supposed to be in Chicago?”

“No, I don’t remember anybody in the hallway.”

“Okay, do you remember the incident in the obstetrics room just after Trudy was born?”

“There was no incident.”

“Think hard. Didn’t a clumsy orderly knock over a tray of instruments?”

Kathy paused. “Maybe it happened. That was a long time ago.” She wiped her nose.

“But it happened, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kathy, think.”

“Okay. Yes. I remember hearing a loud noise in the room right after she was born.”

“That was the tray I knocked over.”

“I didn’t see it happen. I just heard a noise.”

“You also heard what Frudenfeldt said to his favorite nurse.”

“What did he say?” she asked.

“He said, ‘Get Jerry Lewis out of here, Cream Puff.’ Didn’t he say that?”

Kathy stared at Alex, her expression unchanged.

Jake looked at his wife. “Did the doctor say that?”

She said nothing.

“Did he say that?!” Jake shouted to her.

A tear rolled down Kathy’s cheek. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

“Then Frudenfeldt probably told him,” Jake muttered.

Kathy glared at him. “You know as well as I do that Frudenfeldt passed away twelve years ago. And this boy didn’t come here twelve years ago to ask him about that!”

She turned back to Alex, her eyes filled with pain and hatred. “You—you killed my baby! You killed our little Trudy!”

“I know!” Alex shouted. “I know I killed her!”

Kathy ran from the room in sobs.

The morning sky was gray and cloudy. The snow that had fallen during the evening had already melted in spots, exposing patches of mud and dead summer grass. An icy wind blew from the north. Alex followed Jake across the cemetery.

“There she is,” Jake said, pointing.

There, in the midst of the crowded children’s cemetery, was a nondescript, foot-high, gray weathered stone with a traditional rounded top. Engraved in the stone were the words:

Trudybeth Colleen Robinson

1977

Aged 11 days

Beloved Daughter

Below the stone was the engraving of a lamb. Propped against the base of the stone was a cluster of sunbleached plastic flowers.

Holding the bouquet of white carnations he’d brought with him, Alex fell to his knees in the fresh snow in front of the stone. “This is her.”

“Yep.” Jake pulled his pipe out of his jacket and began preparing it for a smoke.

“This stone is so—small. I kind of expected something bigger.”

“She was just a baby.”

“Just a baby?” Alex shook his head. “You have no idea what a wonderful woman this baby became. She was like an angel.”

“You’re in love with a girl who died 27 years ago.” He lit his pipe.

Alex moved aside the plastic flowers and propped the living flowers in the soft mud at the foot of the stone. He gazed at the engraving, then he traced her name with his finger.

“Do you and Kathy come here often?”

“We used to come a lot. Not so much anymore.”

Alex looked up at him. “Why not?”

Jake shrugged. “We lost her a long time ago. And, well, life goes on.” He drew smoke from his pipe. “We still love her. We always will.”

Alex turned back to the tiny stone. The sun had appeared momentarily from behind the clouds, and the tombstone now cast a small shadow. He realized that no matter what he said or did, the sun was still going to shine from the same angle in the sky, and for all his love and good intentions, this little tombstone was never going to disappear. Moreover, he had no one to blame but himself. He had done all through his own volition, through his own weakness. He felt such self-loathing that he wanted to rip his own throat out.

“I ought to just kill myself,” Alex said bitterly.

“Why?”

“I killed her.”

“So?”

“Eye for an eye. Right?”

Jake took a puff from his pipe. “If that were right, there’d be a lot of blind people around. Wouldn’t there, now?”

“Yes. And now I see.”

And with that thought in mind, Alex bowed his head and cried.