Visitations

Corbin was freezing to death, but he was trying not to move. He could hear the two of them—a man & a woman—sitting at the table in the cabin visiting about things he didn’t understand. The man kept tapping various keys on the typewriter as though checking to see how it worked. This was irritating to Corbin as he knew he was getting ink all over the platen that would make a mess on the back of the next piece of paper he rolled in.

Still, he didn’t move. When you have two intruders sitting at your table who have managed to reach your cabin over miles of mountain roads rendered impassable by an epic blizzard, he figured it was best not to disturb them.

He had cracked his eyelids open just far enough to get a peek. There was nothing remarkable about them. Both were about average height, average build, & dressed for winter weather. Neither appeared menacing. For that matter, they didn’t look like much of anything, just the average kind of folks he passed every day without paying attention.

What he did notice was that they had let the fire burn down to where all he could see were ashes. No wonder he was so cold. And with a pile of wood right there! But of course, stoking the fire would mean they’d have to take their coats off &, for whatever reason, they didn’t seem inclined to do that. Just his luck, intruders who preferred wearing coats & gloves over the comfort of a warm cabin.

“Look, I think he’s awake!” The woman had caught him.

“I told, he’s dead. Or if not, he’s at least the next thing to it.”

That didn’t dissuade the woman who was already out of her chair & walking toward him, bent over to get a good look at his eyes. Corbin figured this would be a good time to wake up & get ready, either to explain or to defend himself. He opened his eyes…,

…& that’s when he discovered he couldn’t move anything else. What had they done? Had they poisoned him with some sort of paralytic?

“See, I told you he’s awake. His eyes are all the way open now.”

“That happens with cadavers. I think they call it ‘postmortem movement,’ or something like that. I talked with a guy once who used to work with a mortician. He said it happened all the time. Told me one time a guy came deliverin' flowers, walked through the door just as this corpse sat up where it’d been lyin’ on the table. Said the guy just dropped the vase of flowers on the floor, turned & ran away as though the devil was after him. Never came back. Never saw him again.”

“Good God, you’ll believe anything.”

“I’m serious. The guy was laughin’ so hard rememberin’ the story, it had to be true.”

“He was laughing at you, not remembering some story.”

“He was rememberin’. Don’t think I don’t know the difference. If you don’t believe me, go ahead & look it up.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Well, go on.”

“With what? Do you see any reference books around here?”

“Ooh, that’s right. We did check the cabin pretty thorough, didn’t we?”

The woman was now beside Corbin, kneeling down & staring directly into his eyes. “It’s okay, honey, we’re here with you. Will you speak to me, tell me what we can do to help?”

Corbin tried to open his mouth, tried to speak, but nothing happened. All he could move were his eyes—& they were now flashing all over the place trying to figure out what was going on.

“I think he’s scared! His eyes are moving around like crazy!”

“He’s not scared,” the man argued. “I told ya, he’s dead. Look, if he was still alive could I do this?”

If Corbin hadn’t been afraid before, he certainly was now. And there was no way she could miss what the look in his eyes meant.

“Stop it!” she cried. “You’re frightening him.”

To Corbin’s surprise, he hadn’t felt whatever the man had done, though he knew he’d done something. Maybe he was dead. But if he was dead, how come he could open his eyes? Postmortem movement? Okay, smart Alec, he thought to himself. If you’re dead, how come you can still see through those eyes? Gotcha there, didn’t I?

Then he thought again, Maybe you’re so dumb your spirit hasn’t figured out a way to leave yet.

He had a point there.

“You have to admit,” the man continued, “if he was awake & not dead, he sure would have reacted to that. I bet I could chop his whole leg off & he still wouldn’t move!”

“You wouldn’t!” she cried out with alarm.

“Of course not. I’m not into mutilatin’ corpses.” Then he grinned. “But I don’t mind playin’ with ‘em. How about you take a pho-tee-graph of me & my new pal?”

Corbin could just imagine how the man was posing with him for a picture.

“Or how about we play games like we used to when we were kids? Hey mister, why are you hittin’ yourself?”

Corbin heard a loud smack. He assumed the man was making Corbin give himself a spanking. The man repeated this routine several times to her desperate yet slightly amused protestations. This was humiliating. It was also getting boring. He felt his eyes glazing over.

“Or maybe we should try the other side? He looks like he hasn’t been with anyone for a while. He’d probably appreciate it.”

“Oh, stop it! You’re just awful!” Corbin could tell she still wanted to protect him, but this last one did make her laugh. It took her several seconds to regain her composure. Then she turned thoughtful & compassionate.

“If he’s dead, why is he still breathing?” she asked, studying him as though she was his nurse. That was good news to him. That meant he still had the use of his eyes, ears, lungs & diaphragm. He could probably add his heart & circulatory system to the list since there wouldn’t be much point to breathing if they weren’t.

“I don’t know,” the man answered, suddenly matching her curiosity as he moved back to where Corbin could see him. “But he’s not breathin’ much. Maybe it’s all the same postmortem stuff.”

He left to fetch two chairs from the table. She asked, “Who are you, Mister, & whatever happened to you?”

“Here,” he said, setting a chair next to her. “We might as well sit over here as at the table. I know you. You aren’t gonna leave his side until this whole thing is finished one way or another.”

“Thanks,” she said, moving the chair right in front of Corbin. She took his hand & rubbed it between hers. “His hands are ice-cold. I wish I could warm him up somehow.”

“As I said, he’s already dead. Corpses tend to be as cold as their environs.”

“He’s not dead. I can still feel his pulse in his hand.” There you have it. Heart & circulatory system added…

“That’s not his pulse. It’s yours. You tend to feel it in your fingertips, remember? That’s why you could never take a heart rate the old-fashioned way. You always had to use that, what’s it called…, oximeter? It gave you the blood-oxygen levels as well as the pulse.”

…with a question mark.

He placed a hand on her shoulder to be comforting. “Look,” he said, “if you think he’s still alive don’t you think we should cover him up with a blanket? I mean, he doesn’t even have a coat, not in the whole place! Just this jacket & the clothes he’s wearin’.”

“You’re right.” They both stood up, reached over & pulled the heavy blanket from the other side of the bed to cover him. She returned to rubbing his hands.

No wonder he was cold. But what had happened to his coat & all his winter gear?

“So, who do you think he is?” she asked.

“I have no idea. We couldn’t find any wallet or identifying papers, remember?”

Were they thieves? They’d checked the entire cabin & looked for his wallet. Did they simply mean to rob him? And had something gone wrong?

“I know,” she said with exasperation. “I know we don’t know who is. I was just wondering who you thought he is.”

Did she really think that made her question any clearer? My name is Corbin, Lady! Nice to meet you! Now can you tell me what’s going on?

“Oh, you mean what he was.”

“Is…,” she corrected him.

“What he is. Okay, I’ll go first.” He pondered for a moment, scratching his chin.

Please make it good, Mister. Make me something interesting.

“This man,” he began slowly, “is an international jewel thief who recently decided to mend his ways & become a hitman for the mob. He’s hiding out in this cabin where no one can possibly find him (due to the snow & all), until the cops quit lookin’ for him.”

Not bad. I’m beginning to like this guy.

“He’s not an international jewel thief, silly,” she replied. “Don’t you think we’d have found some of his loot around here?”

“He’s got it stashed, somewhere else.” Obviously!

“And he’s no killer either,” she said, looking as though she was taking their game seriously. “He doesn’t have the hands for it.”

“The hands for it? What kind of hands do you need to pull a trigger?” Seriously! Right?

“No, these hands have never held a gun, not even a bb gun.” How did she know that? “And these eyes don’t belong to any killer. These are the eyes of a romantic…, whose heart has been broken. Shattered once, absolutely devastated. Then a thousand little breaks until he had nothing left. Then there was one more devastation…. He’s not dead. But I think he did come here to die.”

Corbin was now listening to her & watching intently. He couldn’t move. All she had were his eyes to go on & yet she seemed to be reading him like an open book.

“What shall we call him,” the man asked. “I always like Ivan.”

“He’s not an Ivan.”

“How about Evan? Or Evan I.?” He was still trying to get the Ivan in there.

“We can’t call him Evan I., silly. That’s who we are!”

“How about Evan S.?” he asked.

“I like it. Evan S. it is.”

“What does the S. stand for?”

“Who knows? Who cares? But it sounds right,” she replied.

They sat there for a long while waiting with him. Corbin kept wondering if he would ever feel warm again. And if they were ever going to get that fire going.

Finally, the man stood up & said, “We’d better be goin’ now if we’re gonna make our next destination.”

“I know,” she answered. “Just give me a few moments. Wait for me by the door, would you?”

He nodded, pulled his gloves & hat back on & walked over to the door. She stood up & leaned over as though to give him a kiss on his cheek.

Instead, she spoke into his ear. “I know who you are Corbin. I used to see you coming out of the office building with all the pear trees around it. You never wanted to be one of us, but now you are & always will be, my sweet Evan S.”

She pulled a pear from her pocket & took a deep bite in front of him. Juice ran down the side of her cheek. She wiped it with her finger & licked it with her tongue, watching him all the time. Then she turned, joined her companion by the door, & walked out into the snow.

He remembered how good those pears had been. Damn! Now he was hungry, too. Guess he could add his stomach to the list.