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This is but one of twenty-four stories in my book of shorts stories,

 Can't You Hear The Whistle Blowing?

My Brother, My Haunting

by

Bill MacWithey

It had been a terrible day for Wayne. The landlady was coming to collect the rent and he didn’t have it. One more time, he had gone to ask his sister if she would loan him the money, she turned him down. Having married one of the wealthiest doctors in the state, Marisa had all the damned money in the world, while he struggled to keep his little print shop open. And, she had turned him down. As he drove from her lakeside home toward town, Wayne relived her bitter indictment of his manhood:

"For crying out loud, Wayne, why don’t you grow up and stand on your own two feet for a change. You nearly broke dad, opening that stupid nothing little shop of yours. Now, you expect me to pay your rent every damned time you don’t have the money. Man, I’ve had it with you, Wayne. I didn’t take you to raise. Go beg the money from that witch you gave everything to when she divorced you."

Wayne wondered where he could turn. It was worse than it had ever been. He lost one of his best accounts just two weeks ago, when the owner of the small manufacturing firm committed suicide. Someone said the IRS drove him to it. That’s another thing he had to worry about - those demons were threatening him with jail. Maybe that old boy was the smart one. Maybe he was right. Perhaps none of this was worth it. He’d busted his butt, working ‘til damned near midnight, seven days a week, because he couldn’t afford to hire any help. The payments on the equipment and the rent ate him alive.

Wayne smiled, as he saw the place where the guardrail had been missing for a month along the high cliff. Wouldn’t Marisa feel like crap, if I just whipped this damned wheel and joined my late customer and friend. He threw the stub of a joint out the window and laughed maniacally, as he jerked the wheel and thought about what a mess the sudden stop at the bottom would make of his Corvette. It was a straight down drop of nearly seven hundred feet. The car he would have killed for would be splintered into thousands of small pieces of fiberglass and metal at the bottom. But, then, in the last brief second, with the jagged rocks rushing up at him, Wayne wished he hadn’t done it … just before everything turned to midnight.

Then, the brightest, all-encompassing light he could ever have imagined blinded him, and he threw his arm over his eyes. Wayne sensed rather than saw another presence in the light. When he uncovered his eyes, a short, fat man of perhaps fifty drifted into view through the light. He had all the markings of the town drunk - two-week-old whiskers, bleary gray eyes set upon light yellow eyeballs covered with bulging red veins. It was easy to see he suffered jaundice from destroying his liver with booze. His pants were too big, and in fact, looked downright weird, as did his shirt. Wayne smiled that he looked like something out of an old western movie. Yeah, in fact, the guy looked like the town drunk from one of those old movies Wayne liked. His clothes were wrinkled enough to look like that material they made suits from at one time, that serge stuff, or whatever it was. His half-gray hair fell over his forehead in wild disarray. Yes, Sir, a town drunk, for sure. But, who the hell was it? And more, where was he? Last he remembered, he was hurtling toward the bottom of the cliff.

Wayne raised up from his prone position and found he was wobbly. Jeez, his head hurt. How the hell could he have possibly survived falling seven hundred feet in that fiberglass box? Man, it was hard to keep his footing. When he looked down, it seemed he stood in a vast bowl of white cotton, or gelatin. No wonder it was hard to keep his balance. Or, maybe he was just groggy from the crash. But who was this guy? Maybe he was only hallucinating and there was really no one there. He closed his eyes, rubbed them and shook his head. When Wayne opened his eyes again, the man still stood staring, hands on hips, a stupid grin on his face and drool easing slowly over his lower lip. He didn’t say anything, just stood now, with arms folded, staring at Wayne and with that stupid drunk’s grin on his stupid face.

Wait a minute. His hands were on his hips. I didn’t see them move. "Hey, who the hell are you?"

Now, the town drunk type slowly moved his head from side to side, and his stupid grin widened. "I didn’t really think you’d do it, Wayne."

"How the hell do you know my name? What do you mean? Do what?"

"Why, I know everybody’s name." He laughed the laugh of a stupid drunk and scratched at his crotch. "Commit suicide is what I didn’t think you’d do. Hell, you’re too smart for that. You, with your master’s in business and all. ‘Course, lots of the people I get have a lot of education. Sometimes that’s mosta their problem. Too damned much education. You get to know too much, well … hell, you worry about everything too much. Think the IRS bein’ on your butt was enough reason to commit suicide?"

Wayne was getting mad. Who the hell did this fool think he was? Suicide, my butt. He looked at his hands and waved them around. Then he walked back and forth a few steps. It seemed the cotton candy had turned to something more solid, and he recognized grass and ground beneath his feet. "What the hell you mean, suicide? Would I be walkin’ around and everything, if I was dead?"

A loud crackling of thunder surrounded him, and the drunk’s voice boomed out, as if amplified at an outdoor rock concert. "NEVER, NEVER QUESTION ME OR TALK NASTY TO ME!"

If Wayne hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he saw fire coming from the drunk’s mouth, as he screamed so loud as to hurt his ears, causing him to quickly clap his hands over the same.

As quickly as the change had taken place in the drunk, he returned to his normal town drunk self. "Uh… sorry about that, Wayne. I’m not supposed to do that. I just lost a point."

"What do you mean?"

"I TOLD YOU ... oh, oh, there I go, doing it again. Dammit! Every time I have nearly enough points, someone comes along and pisses me off. Temper has always been my problem. Look, do me a huge favor, old pal. Please don’t make me lose my temper again. I’ll never get ta hell out of here." He laughed loudly and repeated to himself softly, "Get ta hell out of here. That’s a good one. Hope it didn’t cost me any points."

Wayne was not only confused, he was angry. What happened? What was going on? "Look, whoever the hell you are, what the hell’s going on? Where the hell am I? Man, you got any weed on you?"

The town drunk type folded his arms and stared at him a moment, sans the stupid grin. It seemed a drastic change occurred as Wayne stared. When he spoke, it was an entirely different voice than before. In fact, he had a quite British accent. "As far as who I am? The name is Freddy Bypass. That’s not what my given name was. Not my real name, you know. But, that’s what they call me now. Can’t say I particularly like it." He seemed, now, somehow refined, in spite of his appearance. "My proper name is … uh … somehow it’s hard to remember after all these years. Let’s see, Frederick Simon, uh, Thomas. Yes, yes, that’s it. Frederick Simon Thomas. Much too sophisticated a name for this job, of course. People started calling me Freddy Bypass some hundred fifty years ago. Has to do with my job, you know."

Wayne shook his head and wished the idiot would get on with telling him where he was.

It was as if Freddy, what the hell ever, read his mind.

"Yes, of course, I suppose I should get on with it. Hey, this job isn’t easy, you know." The town drunk type still looked like the town drunk, but his demeanor had totally changed. Now, he was all business-like. When he spoke again, it was with a decidedly Alabama or Georgia accent. "Ya see, my young friend, as ta where ya are, well, that part’s kinda hard to explain. Not sure if I really know, myself. It’s sorta between, you see." Now, he rested his chin on one hand, as if pondering on something. And, now, it was a French accent, and a thin pencil mustache had replaced the unshaven look. "I’ve been here, now, for some … mmm, my best guess would be perhaps a hundred to a hundred fifty years. It isn’t really…"

Wayne had settled against a tree that seemed to appear from nowhere, but now, he jumped forward and said, "Whoa up there, pardner! Whoa! Wait a damned minute. A hundred fifty years?" He laughed loudly and said, "Man, there ain’t nobody lives that damned long. You’re out of your skull, right? Some kinda lunatic, escaped from the asylum."

Rather than throw a temper tantrum, as he had before, Freddy smiled and said, "It’s always such a chore to explain all this to a newcomer. You’re right. There isn’t anyone ever lived that long. What makes you think I’m any more alive than you are?"

"Oh, boy, here we go again with that not being alive crap. C’mon, Freddy, what’s the real poop?"

Freddy, whatever the hell his name was, stood pondering again, his hands clasped behind his back. Some folks were just naturally harder to get along with than others. "Look, my foolish young friend, suppose I start by telling you about myself. That’ll help you understand."

When Wayne shook his head and held his hands out, palm up, as if to say, "I’m waiting" Freddy told him, "Okay, have a seat in the shade." Then, he walked to the tree and plopped down on the thick grass, himself.

"You see, Wayne, I came over to the Colonies from Herefordshire, England back in the early eighteen hundreds. Somewhere around eighteen twelve, I think. Supposed to fight in some war, you know. Well, you see, I was never a man to have anything against anyone. All that claptrap about who some spot on the globe belonged to and who should control it, well, it meant nothing to me. I couldn’t see getting killed for no good reason. Not for something I knew nothing of and cared nothing for. I suppose one could say I deserted, although I thought of it as making a prudent decision to save my butt." It seemed he was thinking back on something and was quiet for a moment, his accent having turned to Cockney.

"Anyway, I made my way to the Midwest, did my best to lose my British accent, rather unsuccessfully, I’m afraid, and lived in the wilds with the animals and what Indians were left around. Took myself an Indian chief’s ugly daughter for a wife. Sort of put me at the top of the heap in their little society. Things went along real well until the chief’s daughter caught me with some old warrior’s young, not bad looking squaw. Boy, I gotta tell you, when it came to making love, that squaw … I think her betrothed had lost it, if you know what I’m saying.

"Anyway, I had my choice of letting them tie me to a tree and use me for target practice with their spears, or I could jump off this damned cliff about five hundred feet high, into the river. If I survived the plunge, they would consider me some kind of God, privileged to have whomever I wanted among their women." He laughed loudly for a moment, before continuing.

"Well, any fool would choose diving into the river over getting speared all to hell. Those younger braves had a deadly accurate arm. But, of course, there was no way anyone could survive the jump. Those red-skinned devils knew that. But, like I say, I chose the dive and killed myself half way down to the river. Hit the rock wall at an ungodly speed. What’s that formula? So many feet acceleration per second, per second? And, that’s my story. That’s how I wound up here."

Boy, talk about a real crazy. The liquor had truly turned this guy’s brains to mush. "So, let’s say I believe all that crap. Where the hell is here?"

"Why, how in the world would I know? I’m here, just like you. I don’t have all the answers."

Wayne shook his head and wondered if he had gone insane, himself. "So, I don’t give a damned where we are. Just tell me how to get out of wherever it is. Can you do that?"

The proper accent had disappeared and Freddy was back to being the town drunk again. He waved his hands around wildly and spoke rapidly. "If I ain’t got no idea where the hell we are, how the hell can I tell you how the hell to get out of here?" He put his balled up fists on his hips and leaned close to Wayne. "Is that a reasonable question for a college graduate, like yourself? Well, is it? I been here a damned hundred fifty years, and you expect me to tell you how to find your way out?" As he continued, his speech was even more rapid and slurred. "You keep asking stupid questions, I’ll get mad and lose another point. Then, I’ll really be pissed! Shut up and let me cool down a bit. Too bad there ain’t no liquor allowed."

Freddy had gotten to his feet as he spoke, and now, walked around in circles. The area of grass and, now, a half dozen trees, ended in a white shroud in an approximate circle of perhaps fifty yards. When Freddy reached the white cloud, it seemed to swirl dramatically and push him back. Wayne hoped he would awaken from this nightmare soon. Real soon. Never, had he had such a stupid, ridiculous dream, and he didn’t like it!

Finally, Freddy walked back and stood over him. "Look, Wayne, I’m going to give you the honest poop, but you have to take a vow you’ll not argue or interrupt. Every time I lose a point, it takes me so dog gone long to make it back up. You ready to just listen and not interrupt?"

Wayne was ready for anything to figure out what was going on. Man, he’d give anything for just one toke on a joint. Some of that good stuff he’d bought last week.

Freddy Freeway, no, make that "Bypass," stood over him and said, "Just quit thinking about all those bad habits you had. There ain’t no weed allowed here, buddy boy. Yeah, I can read your thoughts like the Sunday funnies. That’s about all most of your thoughts are. Sunday funnies. You’ve never really distinguished yourself for much, have you, Wayne. Just looking for your next joint or the next girl you’d entice into bed. We both know that’s why you could never pay your rent. Too much money spent on frivolous pursuits. Anyway, that’s all beside the point. Don’t really matter, now that you pulled off that big leap from the highway."

After scratching his crotch with a vengeance for some half minute, Freddy finally said, "You see, here’s the pitch. They call me Freddy Bypass for a reason. It’s up to me to pass you on to hell or heaven, whichever you earn. Me? Well, every time I lose my temper, I lose a point. Every time I have to send someone to hell, I lose a point. Every time I get one of you fools who commit suicide to realize how you frittered away something important, like your life, well, I get a point. Takes twenty points for me to get out of here. If you hadn’t pissed me off a while ago, I’d have had the twenty I need after I get you straightened out. You knocked me down from nineteen to eighteen. Sure hope there’s another suicide around here real quick. This isn’t the best territory for them, you know. Only the suicides or mass murderers I can get into Heaven give me points. That’s what I have to do to atone for all my sins before I get passed."

He shook his head and continued to pace back and forth in front of Wayne. "New York. Now, there’s an excellent place for a bypasser to work. Suicides every day. I heard a guy can work his way out of bypassing in as little as a month up there. Or, Chicago. Lots of anguish in Chicago. LA, Detroit, in fact, any big city would work better than being stuck with a ten county area around here. Seems kinda unfair the boss didn’t give me San Antonio. My territory stops at the Bexar County line." He chuckled and got a huge smile on his face. "Almost got me an extra last month. The boss couldn’t figure out if that kid deliberately drowned himself in the lake or if it was an accident. I pled and pled with him to rule it a suicide, but, in the end, he had to give the kid the benefit of the doubt, and I had to pass the kid on, without getting a point for him. The little turd screwed me out of a point, I think, by lying. The boss believed him, when he said he dove off that high escarpment, thinking he could make it. Either way, I shoulda got the point for the kid being so stupid. Wouldn’t you agree with that, Wayne?"

"Whatever you say, Mister Bypass. This is your nightmare. I don’t know why the hell I got sucked into it, but go ahead."

"I can see you’re going to be difficult. You’ll figure it out sooner or later, though. You see, this place is in-between, like I said before. It’s been called everything from purgatory to an intermediate state. Whatever you call it, it means between one thing and another. How do we get out of here and go wherever it is we’re going to be forever? I’m talkin’ eternity here, young man. That’s a long, long, long time. This is the place you have the chance to make your choice. You get the chance to set things right in the real world. Screw up, well, I lose a point and you, well … let me put it like this, Wayne. You don’t want to screw up. Take that as a given. Pretty sensible arrangement, actually."

He shook visibly, as Wayne had seen many a drunk do when he couldn’t get a drink. Thank God, he had never gotten hooked on booze. Pot, well, he could take it or leave it alone.

Freddy pointed his finger at Wayne and raised his voice. "Like hell, you could. There wasn’t ever a joint rolled you didn’t love. Like I said, that’s why you couldn’t make the rent. You have to change your thinking on that, my boy. Anyway, like I was saying, we humans tend to screw up and destroy every gift we’re given. I ain’t saying I was an exception. That’s why I’ve been here so long. Never shoulda messed around with that squaw. Seems we’re all born with all these weaknesses. Maybe that’s the way the boss tests us. Yeah, that’s probably it.

"But to get back to your situation. You got a lot of changing you need to do to get out of here. You have to apologize to your sister, for one thing. You have to let her know you love her and you’re sorry for using her to support your habit. Then, you have to make her believe she had nothing to do with you committing suicide. You know what’s going on in the real world right now? Your sister’s making funeral arrangements and feeling guilty as hell for causing you to kill yourself. You messed up when you ran off the road, buddy. There was a car right behind you. The guy saw you deliberately whip the wheel, and he saw you laughing, as you did it. You shoulda checked to see there wasn’t a witness. Then, it would have been ruled a tragic accident. Of course, the boss would know better, and I’d still get credit for you. That is, if you’ll play the game and do what’s right."

Man, oh, man. Funeral arrangements? This guy is really off his rocker. Hell, I’d have to be…

"Yeah, you’d have to be dead. Exactly. Finally, you’re getting the picture. You are, I’m afraid, deader than last week’s coffee. Kaput, for sure, buddy."

Wayne couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Freddy Bypass whirled around several times, and each time had a different face and was dressed differently. When he finally stopped, he laughed loudly and said, "A little trick I learned to do to amuse myself. Mostly, I spend all my time alone until one of you idiots kill yourself and I try to straighten you out. Now that we got that settled and you understand you’re dead, Wayne, let’s get on with it. By the way, am I the town drunk again? Sometimes I screw up, and there ain’t no mirror around here." When Wayne nodded, he said, "Good. Now, then, you are definitely cold as snow, as dead as a fish residing on dry land. As dead as a rose picked last year. As dead as last month’s booger tossed out the window. Dead, dead, dead! But, you get one chance to not be dead for … wait a minute. I said that wrong. You get one chance to not appear to be dead for a short time. Everything that happened will be erased from everyone’s mind only for three days. Your sister won’t remember you committed suicide, all those funeral arrangements will be a thing unknown, your car will be in one piece, everything will be just like it was before you dove off the road."

Good Lord, now he remembered everything! This was real! He remembered whipping the wheel and plunging off the road! No, no, wait a minute, I’m still having a nightmare. I’ll wake up. I have to wake up!

Once more, the town drunk type whirled around and around. And, again, each revolution brought a new identity, until finally he stopped and said, "Can’t you get it through that thick skull of yours? This isn’t a dream, boy. It’s not a nightmare. This is your reality. It’s real!"

Wayne had gotten to his feet once more, as the thing in his nightmare changed faces over and over. "Okay, if this is real, how can you change your appearance like that? Hah! Gotcha, now, haven’t I?"

Another new voice spoke. It was a smooth, syrupy, sophisticated Hollywood type. Like some of those old actors in the musicals from the thirties and forties. The face and smile matched the voice. As the new face spoke, Wayne found himself trying to place it. He had seen it before.

"My dear boy, every face you see is one of the people I have passed on to one place or the other. They all committed suicide, or were killers, big time. Did you see my Hitler? Gads, what a bad one he was. Too much to make up for in the time allotted. Afraid I lost a point on that one. Straight to hell, he went. No sense at all giving him a chance to redeem himself. That would have taken all of eternity, and I’d have been stuck here waiting. Better to have lost the point. Thank God, I’m no longer assigned to that sector. Lots of unredeemables, you know. Now, New York City, that’d be okay. Son of Sam? Jeffrey Dommer? Shoot, no problem. I think I could have made some points off those boys. Once they understood they were dead and were going to hell, they’d have begged for a chance to redeem themselves, bring all those folks they murdered back to life. But after Hitler, I got assigned to this South Texas sector. And, like I said, the boss even cut me off from San Antonio. I think he was a little angry that I didn’t at least try to save Hitler. Old Billy the Kid, William Bonney, got San Antonio. There’s a bad one, that Billy. Only has three points, so far. Seems his temper’s even worse than mine. Has a hard time talking anyone into redeeming themselves. Pulls out a gun and tries to shoot people who are already dead when they make him mad. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Changing to a swaggering gunfighter type, he asked, "Well, what’s it gonna be, pilgrim? You want a chance to make things right, or you wanta head on down and make me lose a point?"

"If this is real, of course I want to go the other way. Just get me to hell outa this damned nightmare. I promise, I’ll turn over a new leaf."

"Oh, you have to do much more than that, my pot-smoking friend. New leaf, your butt. You gotta grow a whole new tree. And, you gotta do it in three days. That’s all you’ve got, pilgrim. Tres dias, as our Hispanic customers would say. Tres dias, my young friend. I’ll be watching you every minute. And, don’t forget! No pot, no booze, no sex, no nothing. Just make things right with your sister. While you’re at it, tell that worthless husband of hers, I’m waiting for him, and he’s on an express elevator down if he doesn’t quit fooling around on your sister. She’s a good woman, and that idiot is playing with his nurse."

***

Holy smokes! Man, what a nightmare. I need a smoke bad. Wayne sat on the edge of his bed, holding his head in both hands. Man, what a headache. Felt like he’d been run over by a locomotive. Must have gotten some bad stuff from Willie. He grabbed the phone and punched in Willie’s number. "We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is not a working number." As the voice continued, telling him to hang up and double check to be sure he had the right number, he screamed into the phone, "You stupid broad! That is too a working number. I just called it yesterday, dammit!" To hell with the phone. He’d just jump in the ever faithful Vette and run on over to Willie’s. The Vette sitting in its usual spot reassured him.

Willie’s house was gone! He looked at the houses on either side of where Willie’s house should be. They were the right houses on the abutting lots, all right. But, instead of Willie’s house on the lot in between, there was a small park. He climbed from the car, stood on the sidewalk and stared at the swings and merry-go-round. Then, he walked a few steps to catch up with a doddering old man, who had just passed by, and tapped him on the shoulder. The body was that of a bent over, gray haired, toothless old man using a cane, but the voice was unmistakable. It was the crazy drunk from his dream.

"There ain’t no Willie no more, my boy. Willie doesn’t exist and never did. This is a different world than what you knew before you chucked your soul over the edge of that cliff, dude. You’re wasting valuable time, Wayne. Yours and mine. Get your butt home, take a shower, shave, brush your teeth, put on some decent clothes and go see your sister. Do it now! I don’t intend to baby-sit you all the way through rectifying your lousy past life. You jack around looking for a hit, you’re gonna run outa time. You cost me a point, well … you’d better not. There’s more than one way to spend eternity in hell, you know."

The man turned and slowly clacked his cane and rickety old body down the sidewalk.

Surely to hell, I’ve gone nuts. Wayne climbed back in the car and sat staring at the retreating old man. And, unlike always before, he found himself obeying the speed limit and not running lights and stop signs. It was as if he was on autopilot, as he pulled into the drive, went inside and took his clothes off. He had to admit, the shower felt supremely good. Couldn’t remember when he had enjoyed a shower so much.

He had little in the way of clean clothes in his closet, but he supposed the jeans and the Tee shirt without a nasty saying imprinted on it would make the stupid drunk happy. Oh, no. Now, he was beginning to believe it was real. Man, get ahold of yourself! Hell, man, call Marisa. She can help. No, no. I gotta quit depending on her to smooth everything over for me. He dialed her number, anyway.

"Christian residence."

"Uh, yeah, Sis. How ya doin’?"

"What is it this time, Wayne?"

"Uh, Marisa, could I buy you breakfast? I know it’s a little late, but have you eaten?"

"No, I haven’t. It’s only six AM, Wayne. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. Honest, Sis, I just wanta talk. Seems the only talking we’ve done is yellin’ for a long time. I just wanta talk and apologize for bein’ such a jerk. I promise, I don’t want anything."

"I don’t know, Wayne. You’ve conned me so many times with your ‘being sorry’ routine, I don’t know if I can trust you."

"Look, I’ll bring dad’s old shotgun along. The minute you think I’m conning you, say so. I’ll stand up against the wall of the restaurant, and you can shoot me. Can I pick you up in about an hour?"

"I’m going to take one more chance on you, Wayne. Yes, I’ll have breakfast with you, but you better really mean it about changing."

"Good. Be there in a bit."

That had been easier than he imagined it would. Maybe there was hope for him, after all. It did worry him that he was beginning to believe all this - about the town drunk type, who worked as a bypasser for some "boss," who gave and took away points for performance. And this bypasser could send you to heaven or hell? He had always heard only God could do that. Surely this town drunk type couldn’t be God in disguise? Naw, God would never stoop to anything like that.

He pondered the situation all the way to his sister’s house, trying to figure out if any of it was real, or if all of it was real. There was the empty lot, where he knew damned well Willie lived but a few days earlier. Who could change something like that, except God and one of his miracles? Could this Indian squaw cheater really be an agent of the Almighty? Wayne tried to remember the stuff he’d learned at Bible School about the meek inheriting something or another. Was there anything in there about God using messengers that looked like a town drunk? He sure couldn’t remember it. Best he could recall, God used people such as fishermen and farmers to spread his message. Something like that.

When Marisa met him at the door of the mansion-like home her husband built for her after they married, Wayne wondered, Could Jeff really be messing around on her? He’d always seemed so devoted.

Marisa said, "You look like hell, Wayne. Have to admit, though, you look better than the last time I saw you. I’m ready if you are."

"Uh, yeah. Is Jeff home?"

"Yes, he is. Why?"

"Sis, would you mind if I talked to him a couple minutes alone?"

"Aw, Wayne, you’re not going to ask him for money, are you?"

He smiled lovingly at her and wished he could tell her why he wanted to talk to that piece of crap. Man, he’d always liked Jeff. "No, nothing like that. Just want to apologize to him, man to man."

"I’ll be in the car."

When he found Jeff at the breakfast table with a coffee mug in hand, he stopped and stared at him a moment before saying, "Jeff, I got just one thing to say to you. You ever mess around on my sister again, I’ll kill your ass. You got it?"

Jeff’s answer was to nod his head up and down, a blank, unbelieving look on his face, as Wayne walked out, hoping he’d been convincingly bad.

In a far corner of the restaurant, which sat high on a hill overlooking the lake, they ordered coffee and breakfast without speaking about the reason for his visit. With breakfast eaten and the dishes out of the way, Wayne said, "Sis, I really don’t know where to start. I guess ‘I’m sorry’ would be a beginner. I’ve really had my life messed up all along. And, that print shop. Just a useless dream I couldn’t handle. Always liked the business, but I guess I’ve been too side-tracked to really take care of it."

"You mean like the pot?" It wasn’t asked in a mean way, but by way of pointing out she was aware of what his problems were.

Wayne hung his head down and was surprised he felt shame in front of his sister for admitting such a thing. "Yeah. That and chasing after every short skirt I saw. Been a half dozen I could have had a good life with, if I’d only been a little more serious about their feelings."

"How much money do you need to get things back on track, Wayne?"

Now, his head popped up and he said, "That what you think this is about?"

"No. I believe you really did come to apologize. I’m offering to help you this time without you asking. I still believe in you, Wayne. And, I love you a lot. You’re not only my only brother, you’re my only family, outside Jeff."

Now, it was her turn to look down at the table top. "I know what you wanted to talk to Jeff about. It’s not been a big secret to me that he’s had a couple of affairs. We’d already worked that out, and you can bet he’ll never do it again. I asked him if he remembered a guy named Bobbitt. That got his attention. He’s a good man, Wayne. Just got carried away for a while with his own masculinity. It’ll be okay from now on. I don’t know how you found out, but thanks for looking out for me. To get back to your problems, how much do you need?"

He reached across the table and took her hand in his. She had such dainty hands. It was going to be hard to leave her, now. But that town drunk type told him he had only three days. After today, he’d only have two, and he still had people he owed an apology.

"I can’t take anything from you, Sis. Anything from here out has to be on my own."

"But, what’ll you do?"

He continued to smile and said, "It really doesn’t matter. I don’t have…" He caught himself before saying he only had two more days.

"Wayne, you wouldn’t do anything foolish, would you."

"I love you a lot, kid." He still called her kid, sometimes, because she was three years younger than himself.

"Nope. I’ve already done enough stupid things to last a lifetime." He threw his head back and laughed. "Actually, for an eternity."

She wrapped both her dainty hands around his and said, "I love you, too, brother."

***

Marisa and her famous doctor husband sat enjoying a leisurely breakfast in their home on Canyon Lake. Doctor Jefferson Arnet Christian was known around the world for his pioneering research in a new personality altering treatment called Hypno-Programming.

"You really think this Hypno-programming works, Jeff?"

"It has so far. I wrote a program to use on your brother that he won’t soon forget. Hell, I had him commit suicide by driving off a cliff, and created the damnedest character to scare hell out of him you could ever imagine. Yeah, I think I put the fear of God in him. I even programmed in an apology and reconciliation with you. He’ll probably be calling. The program ended with him driving back home after having breakfast with you. I need to brief you on what the two of you said, so he’ll never get suspicious that it was all just hypnosis. I even programmed in the idea that I was fooling around on you, so he could give me hell and feel like he was doing something for you for a change."

"You better never fool around on me. She snuggled up to him, unaware her brother had indeed gone insane during Jeff’s Hypno-programming and died by killing himself three days earlier.

It seemed to Jeff the Hypno-program was working much better on his wife. Heaven forbid she ever find out he was responsible for Wayne driving off that cliff. Marisa would believe she was having a conversation with and visiting with her dead brother from time to time the rest of her life.

***

As she drove to the cemetery to visit her brother’s grave, Marisa thought about what she’d tell Wayne. She had visited his grave every day since that day three years ago, when her stupid husband had hypnotized Wayne into killing himself. Well, she knew a thing or two about hypnosis herself. That jackass she married would believe forever she was under his spell, when, in fact, she’d screwed his mind and life up beyond repair. And, this, after transferring bank accounts and all their property into her name on a judge’s order, after he found Jeff to be mentally incompetent.

As she pulled through the gate at the cemetery, Marisa got a look of horror on her face and wondered just who had hypnotized whom! Could it be Jeff had hypnotized her into thinking she had hypnotized him?

Two groundskeepers watched the woman get out of the car and walk to an unused cemetery lot, then stare at the ground, talking to herself.

"You know what, Jose? That’s the strangest thing I ever saw. Scares hell outa me, man. I mean, it’s really weird."

"What’s weird?"

"That rich lady over there. She comes here every day and stands there talkin’ to the ground. Like she sees a ghost or somethin’, man. Hell, ain’t nobody buried there. Some young guy, hippie type, you know, he came by a while back, flipped a hunnert at me and asked me to keep an eye on her while she was here. Said she had mental problems from her husband commitin’ suicide a while back. Drove off a cliff out at Canyon Lake. He acted pretty weird, himself. Walked away talkin’ ta some guy named Freddy, who wasn’t really there."