Chapter 8 - Gabriel. J. Walker

John awoke the following day to the sound of lawnmowing. His neighbor, Roger Culling’s liked two things and two things only: washing his car, and mowing his lawn. This morning it seemed to be latter despite the cloudy forecast John saw through his window. John crawled out of bed, the delirium of sleep still clinging to him like a fresh cold, and went into his bathroom to relieve himself. The memory of yesterday seemed like a distant and fragmented dream. But as the delirium faded, John heard the smooth voice of Gabriel echo in his mind.

‘Been smelling these all week John’

Gabriel knew his name? And what on earth did he mean when he said that. He had been so perplexed by his approach, so stubbornly suspicious he was trying to sell him something, that most of what Gabriel had said simply washed over him.

He waited until he had finished his smoke outside before brushing his teeth then went into the living room. He let the tv hum its presence in the background while he cooked—all the while Gabriel took residence in his mind like some squater in an abandoned building. Today, was the fifth day after his daughter death and the first day his mind was comprised of anything but her. After he had done cooking his bacon sandwich, forgetting this time to add his brown sauce—which he usually poured religiously; he went into his bedroom to search for the card Gabriel handed him, half-expecting it to no longer be there, or rather, never have been there to begin with. The trousers he wore that day when meeting Gabriel lay in a washing basket meaning John had to fish them out among the rest of his laundry helter-skelter.

Inside the creased slacks, he found a slightly creased card reading: Gabriel J Walker, Mystic. John went back into the living room and ate his breakfast in front of the tv. He considered or rather wanted: to throw the card away once and for all but couldn’t. It was as if Gabriel in some benign and illogical way, was the last thread he had to his daughter. This realisation made him feel sick and he quickly determined this was likely how these mystics and psychics got you hooked. By seeding these deceitful thoughts into you young, when the grief was still hot and fresh.

I mean, there he was not four days from mourning his daughter when a man, introduces himself and uses his daughter's name: Angie. The name only he had ever called her…

‘You’re grieving old man. Trying to find the answer you want, not the answer you need.’

Following that logic, he scrunched up the card and tossed it, aiming for the bin but hitting the wall instead. Didn’t matter, he would slam-dunk it home in due time. Tucking into his now cold sandwich, he watched the muted tv absently, his mind as thick and cloudy as the weather outside. Several minutes later, John scooped up the card and called the number on the back.

*

John had agreed to meet Gabriel that very day, and as if the sky itself was thankful, it wept tears of acidic rain. Fat droplets assaulted the window overlooking his neighbor’s house. John wondered what Roger Culling’s would be doing now that his car was receiving a free carwash and his lawn already mowed. After a millisecond of consideration, John concluded he didn’t really give a fuck and left his house.

They had agreed to meet at a cosy café in the shopping center near John’s house. The café in question was known simply as ‘Henrys'. The types of food there could be smelled riding in the air as you approached. A person with a keen nose could guess the thirteen courses simply by breathing in deep near the cafe. Eight of the thirteen courses were variants of the same burger and chips combo, the only difference being the level of cholesterol you wanted on top of the burger.

Before John entered the café at four-thirty that afternoon, he peered in through the plexiglass allowing himself one last chance to turn around and abandon this foolish notion that Gabriel was anything more than a con-artist. The bell above the café door rang as John passed beneath it.

“Just one?” said the waitress behind a chest-high counter. Her hair was held up in a mist of hairspray and her uniform was nothing more than a casual blouse. John missed the words as they flowed over his head as he stared at the women dumbfounded.

“Urh—”

“Do you need a big table?” the woman persisted, the lines on her face projecting impatience.

“Erm no,” John managed, still wondering what exactly he was doing here. “I’m meeting someone, he might already be here. A bla—” He trailed off remembering how ‘PC’ the world had become. How outlining a person's skin colour was just as reprimandable as being a full-blown Nazi.

Truly struggling now, John simply cast his eyes over the interior of the café and saw the man he was after. At the back, behind the arrangement of tables suited of larger groups was Gabriel Walker. He was sitting behind a single table facing the entrance of the café. Opposite Gabriel was a singular seat undoubtedly for him.

Gabriel bared his bright white teeth and gestured. John, momentarily relieved to be rescued from his current social encounter, waved back and smiled. The waitress, seemingly weighing up the obvious only gave him a menu board and returned to her station.

“Good evening Mr. Grimshaw,” Gabriel said raising and holding out a hand. John reluctantly saw the broken thread running down Gabriel’s jacket; the thread he broke manhandling him the other day. Gabriel gestured for John to sit and John complied.

They both ordered a cheeseburger with chips and coffee. Gabriel ordered a tall hot chocolate, which he laced with extra sugar when it arrived. No cash or cards were exchanged, a testament to the old-school cafés alike, where you paid at the end of the meal not before. A level of trust less frequently seen these days, but a pleasant gesture of communal trust between customer and service provider.

“I’m happy you’ve come today Mr. Grimshaw,” Gabriel said.

“Please, just call me John.” He insisted, Mr. Grimshaw made him feel old and awkward.

Gabriel seemed to smile at that. As if some invisible bridge had been built between the two of them in an instant. The food came and Gabriel smiled pleasantly at the waitress. He looked at the food as if he hadn’t eaten such a bounty in weeks. If John were a betting man, he wouldn’t have betted against that possibility.

The two men talked a while, as commonly as if they were two people meeting each other for the tenth time. Gabriel cleaned much of his plate before John had even taken a bite from his burger. Then John asked the question that was on his lips from the start. The question lingered around them like a bad smell.

“You said you know Angie,” He asked, ignoring the sick-inducing part of ‘know’.

Gabriel stopped eating, knowing it was time for him to talk about the subject that last got him throttled. John saw his Adams apple do a visual backflip in his throat. Gabriel cleared it audibly then wiped his lips, not looking up.

“Perhaps, it would make things clearer if I told you a short story. About me and why I said the things I said the other day.”

Gabriel looked up sheepishly, his faded blue eyes looking close to leaking out more colour at a moment’s notice. For the first time, John felt sorry for him. It reminded him of the same baggage a recovering addict carries or perhaps a divorced man that lost his kids in a civil suit.

“There’s no easy way to say it, so I’ll just go ahead and say it outright. Lord knows I’ve been laughed at enough for it to harm me anymore. God blesses those that speak truly does he not.”

‘If he exists at all’ John thought but kept silent.

Gabriel sucked in air and John leaned forward, anticipating the oncoming declaration.

“I have a sight,” he said flatly, “I can sense dead people, sometimes see them. No—” He added seeing the expression form on John’s face. “Not like some cliché movie you might have seen, but really. I can see dead people. And after they fade, I can still sometimes sense them.”

John paused, watching the anxious wrinkles on Gabriel’s face remain taught and sincere. He looked at Gabriel intently, as if Gabriel had just told him easter bunnies were real and really did lay chocolate eggs. If a person in the twenty-first century says he can see dead people, he or she is usually shipped off to where the rooms are lined with cushions. Gabriel took a sip from his hot chocolate and let the declaration hang in the air for a while, letting it slowly seep in.

John reclined back, waiting for Gabriel to show the slightest sign of deception. But Gabriel only sat there like a beaten puppy. Staring at John with his faded blue eyes.

“Gabriel,” John said at last. “Look, I can respect it if you think you can see dead people. Hell, you might even believe you can see dead people. But you can’t. It’s not possible.”

John said this, feeling the sinews of anger wash away into pity. He had no doubt whatsoever Gabriel believed what he said, but he would not confirm or further indulge Gabriel’s delusions.

Gabriel’s face churned down into disappointment, undoubtedly hoping John would be the first to fully believe him. As his face melted like wax on a candlestick he said:

“I’m not crazy.”

John grimaced.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. But I’m too old and wise to start believing in mystics and psychics. I saw a lot of them on tv. My wife used to think they were nothing but phonies and she was a woman that believed Jesus turned water into wine. Myself, however, you’ll sooner convince me Santa Clause is real than any mystical claim ghosts exist.”

“Those people your wife saw on tv are indeed phonies,” Gabriel said matter of factually. “Those of us that truly have the sight keep ourselves secret in this ever-skeptical world. Those that publicly brandish themselves on tv are phonies through and through. But where do you think the source material came from John? Just like stereotypes, there is a grain of truth hidden among the sea of falsehood. I am that grain of truth. I’ll clarify again: I’m not a liar or a crazy person John.”

Gabriel was speaking higher now, with sharpened stubbiness. John cast an anxious look over his shoulder. The café stretched out behind him in a constant buzz of comforting chatter.

“Okay,” John said. “Explain to me how that’s possible then.”

“I’m not completely sure but I think it’s at least tied to genetics to some degree,” Gabriel answered. “My grandfather had the sight. It was my grandmother, however, that guided me through my childhood. She was aware of my grandfather’s sight, and when she discovered I had it too, she helped me. If it weren’t for her, I’d probably be dead, locked up, or jacked up on pills by a mental doctor.”

John felt a part of him become captivated by Gabriel. More intrigued by how deep this nonsensical rabbit hole would go. That same part of him that controlled whether he took the card from Gabriel yesterday was back, the part that stopped him from throwing the card in the bin, the part that called the number on the back; that part was now in full control and tapped in. It wanted to know more, needed to know more. Gabriel was no longer a man, but a potential. An avenue into someplace else, a place where his wife lived. Despite himself, he found himself listening intently, gazing into Gabriel’s eyes as if they were portals.

“At first when I was a little kid,” Gabriel went on. “No older than four. I would sometimes point at the people over my mom’s shoulder. The people with the big ‘boo-boos’ on them I used to say. My mom thought I was just being a silly kid of course, like silly kids do. She would look over her shoulder into the open-air and snap back saying ‘There’s no boo-boo there’. I would laugh. I didn’t understand at that age. Then I realized the people I saw, no one else did. And sometimes the boo-boos were bad. Bad enough to scare me something firece as a kid. I once saw a man with half his face missing walking around my school, he peered in the classroom one time, aware that I could see him, and waved...I screamed so loud the teacher thought I’d gone mad. They chalked it up to behavioral issues—ask my mother if everything was okay at home.”

The waitress walked by and Gabriel shushed, his face as withdrawned. John sipped at his coffee and felt the caffeine slowly turn the invisible cogs in his brain. Gabriel looked up, smiled.

“My grandmother though. She knew. She told me in private after that classroom incident. Told me to never tell anyone, not even my own mother what I saw. She told me to come to her if I needed to, and to look away next time. You see, my grandfather had it as I mentioned. It took ten years of marriage before he finally opened up to her. Before he old her about his sight. He died before I was born from alcohol poisoning. A story for another time perhaps.” Gabriel looked up at the first white, now crème coloured clock on the wall beside them. The fingers read five-twenty-five, and the café would be closing soon.

“I’ll make this quick and try and leave out any unnecessary details John. It’s a lot to unpack and quite frankly I’d rather not unpack everything.”

John nodded and took another sip of his coffee now cooling to room temperature.

“I’ve seen dead people for as long as I remember. Probably since I was born, although I can’t much remember being a baby. I see them until they fade, then it gets a little more complicated.”

“Fade?” John asked.

“Yes. All dead people fade John. Where too I don’t know, so I'll save you question. I only know the extra jigswaw piece. I don’t think anyone knows, sight or no sight. Most people stick around for a few days, usually two or three days, you know--just to let their loved ones know they are still around. Then they dance and eventually fade.”

John fought to keep the mouthful of coffee in his mouth. He choked down a swallow, Gabriel watching him as immovable as a statue.

“Dance?” John asked, “What like the waltz?”

“Precisely. Although I’ve only seen the waltz once in my lifetime.” Gabriel smiled unashamedly.

John felt his head spin, unconvinced it had anything to do with the caffeine in his system. People didn't dance. When they died, they died. No resets, respawns, reverse cards, nothing. The thought of dead people dancing before they faded away gave John an image he’d sooner forget. There was something morbid yet at the same time comical about the idea.

“My grandmother seemed to think that if life was a dance, why shouldn’t death be one too,” Gabriel interjected, seeing the troubled look on John’s face.

“How do they dance?” John found himself asking, absently looking into the pool of brown liquid in his coffee mug. That part of him, was taking control of his vocals. He vividly imagined a graveyard full of ghosts doing the waltz.

“That usually depends on their temperament, I suppose. Most are slow, methodical, elegant even. Others are more…aggressive.” Gabriel said and that sorrowful look he sometimes wore revealed itself again, “They never dance alone either. Something watches th—”

“--Closing in ten minutes guys!” came the shout from over John’s shoulder. John jumped slightly at the waitress’s sudden announcment. John looked up and saw it was past half five.

“Please excuse me a moment,” Gabriel announced raising. John sat at the table alone, digesting the information Gabriel had shared, unaware by now of its bizarreness. Dreamily he noticed Gabriel attend the counter and pay for the food they had eaten. The payment was stretched out by the fact Gabriel was paying in coins and not notes. The people all around the café were rising now and putting back on their many coats and scarves. It would be Halloween soon and with it, the air outside would carry a harsher winter bite with every passing day.

When Gabriel was done paying, he gave the waitress one of his white smiles and returned. John felt a beat of shame at Gabriel buying his food, considering so far how he had treated this man. However, the very real probability that Gabriel was still a conman tempered his guilt slightly.

“Perhaps we could talk outside a moment as well John. I didn’t invite you just to give you my life stories.” Gabriel said happily as if that great baggage he was carrying was now slightly lighter.

“No, of course not. I uh—I could have paid for myself you know.” He said, feeling around his back pocket to confirm he remembered his wallet.

“No, I promised to pay for your time John and I meant it. You’re the first person that has listened to me in…well an age.”

John gave him an awkward ‘you’re welcome’ smile and the two left the café together. On the way-out Gabriel waved pleasantly to the staff before holding the door open from another patron. John watched Gabriel, truly observing him for the first time. The bowler hat Gabriel wore looked as old and worn as time itself. Much like his pinstripe suit, the stitching on the hat looked flailed in some places, giving John the impression it could have belonged to Gabriel’s grandfather, perhaps, great-great-grandfather. In fact, when exactly were bowler hats even invented?