Luke’s Last Page

by Lark Lucente

Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

“She called me early last week to say that she was taking several weeks off. She said your grandfather had booked a cruise for her. That struck me as odd, because she hates ships. I don’t have the details and can’t reach her. You know, she hasn’t taken a trip in years.”

“She doesn’t know about his death, then. He was alone that night. During your contact with him, did he show any signs of depression?”

“You aren’t suggesting that he killed himself?”

“No, God no. The hospital said he made the 911 call. The EMTS were able to go right into the house, but had to force open the library door. That’s where they found him. Other than that locked door, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. Except Jensen’s was at the hospital when I arrived. I didn’t call them.”

She turned and stared out of the window. Finally she said, “I didn’t know him very long, yet he cared enough to help me.”

“I take it you didn’t ask Adam for a job because you thought my grandfather was still working with him. Anna, you did right to tell me. I may never know what he was up to, but I certainly need to try and find out. I might want to talk again if I may? Also, I have connections. Perhaps I can help you find another position.”

She made an attempt to smile, then pulled out a notepad from her purse and wrote down her number. She slid the paper across the table and rested her hand on his arm. “Please let me know if you find out anything. And talk to my aunt when she returns. She might know something without realizing it.”

He walked her to the curb, put her safely into a cab and watched it creep into the gridlock as he thought about the country’s comfort, the solitude, the isolation. What had his grandfather done locked away in his library, his retreat, his death chamber? It’s about to begin. Luke was going there to begin his own investigation. Work could wait.

A few hours later and miles away from the city, he stood on the front lawn of his grandfather’s house and watched the tendrils of the weeping willows hang motionless over the bank of the glassy pond. Other than the twittering of birds, an eerie stillness surrounded him.

He walked across the grass littered with leaves and maneuvered around clusters of spiny gumballs. The neglected conditions of the grounds surprised him. He made his way down the path out back and over to the caretaker’s cottage. No signs of life. Bob’s truck should have been there. Not expecting him to answer the door, he knocked anyway. After a minute he went back to the main house and slowly unlocked the entrance, expecting a greater stillness.

He stood in the wide hallway of the restored farmhouse and remembered the excitement of summer visits and late night storytelling, one of his grandfather’s loves. Pictures of their vacations still lined the walls. There in the middle, a photo of his father, grandfather and himself crowded laughingly in a rowboat leaped out at him.

He walked a few steps, then paused at the double library doors, its edges splintered by the forced entry. Suddenly the shrill whistle of a teakettle shattered the silence and quickened his heart. Lily must have cut her trip short. She doesn’t know about his death. The hallway runner muted his steps, and he didn’t want to startle her. He called out, “Lily. Lily, it’s Luke.”

At the back of the house, the sprawling kitchen warmed by the flames in the oversized hearth welcomed him. Flowered mugs and a plate piled with scones lay on the table covered with lace. Lily seemed to be expecting someone. The door of the deep pantry stood partly open. He pulled it back and came face to face with a smiling stranger, a stout man in his sixties dressed in black tweed slacks and a charcoal sweater. Looking like the perfect host, he held up a jar of jam.

“Ah, you must be Luke. Care to join me? Sooner or later, I knew you would come.” He walked over to the stove, turned off the gas and poured the water into a teapot sitting on the counter. He pulled out a chair and motioned for Luke to join him. Making no attempt to introduce himself, he sat down and proceeded to slice a scone with a knife and smother it with jam. “It’s been rather lonely here. Lily’s vacation, then William and Bob’s untimely exits.”

The entire scene baffled Luke. Instead of feeling threatened by this outsider, his relaxed nature infuriated him. He knew of no recent staff addition to the household. His familiarity with the house, his recognition of him and casual references to his grandfather’s death and employees made his stomach wrench. He lashed out at him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh I assure you my presence here is legitimate. I’m tying up loose ends, and your arrival will certainly speed matters along.” He broke off a piece of the scone and popped it into his mouth. “You really should try one, I baked them myself.”

Luke felt like slapping him. “I’m calling the police.” He darted over to the wall phone, but the man quickly blocked his way, caught him by the arm and steered him back to the table and chair.

“My name is Thomas Grenville. Six months ago your grandfather sought out my services. He hired me to assist him with his rare book purchases and to help him use his library to its fullest extent.” He paused to serve the tea.

Luke knew that his grandfather frequently consulted others on the authenticity of manuscripts and books, but he had never known him to go to this length for advice. “That doesn’t explain why you are here now. How did you get in?”

“Why, with my key, of course. England is a bit of a distance and William was kind enough to offer me the guest cottage and run of the house. Currently I’m here to assist you in finishing up this little business with the books. You see, I — that is, my organization — had an agreement with William.”

“If he owes you money, see his executor. Otherwise, I think your work is done.” Luke pushed away the tea and scones and motioned for Grenville to leave.

“His account is paid in full. It’s not a matter of money. It’s you I’m after. You are just the person to help complete that unfinished business. Please sit down, Mr. Billings. I can provide some insight into the night of that unfortunate incident, and you can help me as well.”

The paramedics found him in the library. He was alone. The door was locked. He had a heart attack. Luke’s chest tightened. “What do you know about my grandfather’s death?”

“William assisted me with a project being developed by our venture, Interior Volumes. He came across us quite by accident while on a book buying spree in England. What I am about to tell you, you will not believe, of course. But I assure you, what you might dismiss as improbable is actually quite real, if only in the development stages.”

Luke watched Grenville sip his tea and talk as if catching up with an old friend. He doubted his credibility and found his slow delivery of speech irritating.

“We met at an estate sale in Cornwall. He’d found a stash of nineteenth-century first editions and was planning to buy the whole lot of them. One thing led to another and before you know it, he realized that I could lead him to other grand finds.”

“I don’t give a damn about his book purchases. What do you know about his death?”

“All in due time.” He dismissed his question with the wave of his hand and continued. “I came back to the States to help organize and catalogue his library as well as assist with the sales of some of his volumes that would be replaced with the first editions.

“After a few weeks, I realized that he was an ideal candidate for our experimental product. We have the ability to create in vivid detail holograms of books. Setting, characters, dialogue and plot, all brought realistically to life for anyone willing to risk the adventure.”

“I can’t believe that he threw money into something as farfetched as this.”

“Then you obviously underestimated your grandfather’s desire to escape into worlds known only to its readers. I don’t think you understand what I’m telling you. For the past six months your grandfather devoted one night a week to our experiment. He literally went inside his books, all majestically recreated within the confines of his luxurious library.”

“It’s about to begin... Thank you Miss James, my work is done.”

“He chose the books; we created the magic. I’m what you might call a high-tech genie. On some nights, he simply became an extra in a chapter; sometimes he was an invisible observer. But many times he assumed the role of the protagonist. Hamlet was a favorite of his. He knew the play so well, that he was always able to exit before... oh I don’t need to tell you the story.

“Everything was going beautifully for a while, but when it came time for him to test one of our own unpublished manuscripts, William resisted. You see, that was part of the bargain. I’m afraid he didn’t read the small print.” He reached for another scone and smiled.

“That’s ridiculous. He was a lawyer. He never would have signed anything against his better interest.”

“As I said, he wanted adventure and escape, and he put that above all else, even you. Although he did adore you, but of course you already know that. That may have been why he was so reluctant to enter the title we selected for him.”

Luke charged at Grenville and grabbed him by the collar. “What did you do to my grandfather?”

Grenville, though much shorter, appeared unruffled and forced Luke’s hands off of him. “Last Thursday, a powerful rainstorm blew through here while your grandfather was in the hologram testing our book. The phone lines failed, power flicked on and off for a bit, and hence some glitch surfaced in the program. At least that’s what we think. His resistance also may have contributed to the problems. As I told you all of this is still in the early stages of development. As far as I know, he’s caught somewhere within its pages.”

Luke glared at him in disbelief. Images and conversation fragments whirled together making him lightheaded. Jensen’s magically appearing, Adam not knowing, funeral changes, Anna, the locked door. He sat down, stunned. He exploded, “Get him back!”

“Don’t you want to know who you buried?” Grenville smirked. “Bob just happened along at the wrong time, but how convenient. No family, the right age. No one asking for an autopsy. Rest assured it was quick, the poison we used. How lucky, too, that the night staff didn’t know either of the two gentlemen. When I made phone calls, that idiot unit clerk and the funeral parlor rep actually thought that I was that Spaulding lawyer. I did worry at first that you might show up before the release of the body or that you might question the arrangements.”

“You didn’t have to kill Bob. No one would have believed such a story. You could have slipped away. Authorities would declare William Billings missing and no one would ever think to look for you, or the we you keep referring to.”

Grenville laughed. “Bob was such a talker and pressured William to stop the experiments. His ranting upset Lily, too. Rest assured she really is off on an extended cruise. I became quite smitten with her. But Bob, he got a hold of some of our computer programs and would have exposed us to others wishing to capitalize on our ideas.”

“Why the funeral charade? All to cover up my grandfather’s disappearance?”

“It solved potential problems. No dragging Bob’s body off in the dead of night. No trek through the woods. By the time Lily gets back and asks questions, we’ll be out of the picture. Oh, and you do realize that I really have no knowledge of how to get your dear grandfather back to reality. Perhaps you’ll run into him. Data reveals that he seemed reluctant to finish the last chapter and paused. Perhaps the foul weather didn’t play as big a role as expected.”

“Run into him?”

“You’re going to complete what your grandfather failed to do. You’re going to finish that book. There’s nothing wrong with the entrance mode; the exiting is another matter. In any event, I’ll still be able to record data as you test the program. It’s essential to record your participation, and emotional reactions. If and when you return, I’ll be long gone and untraceable. As I said, high-tech genie stuff.

“I hate to cut short the tea party, but we must retire to the library.” Grenville reached underneath the tablecloth and over to the seat of the chair next to him and pulled out a revolver. “After you.”

Thinking only of getting his grandfather back, Luke cooperated. Without trying to analyze the absurdity of events, he walked willingly down the hall. A blur of family photos merged as he passed. From out of the corner of his eye, he spied the phone on the cedar chest, but did nothing. They paused outside of the library doors.

“It’s quite a simple procedure. You make the choice. Be an invisible observer or be the protagonist. Everything is set. Within seconds the process begins. Experience the prose. You will think that it’s real. When you desire to leave, you must use the key to exit. You’ll find keyholes everywhere.”

“What key?” Luke felt the gun barrel nudge his back.

“That’s the troublesome part. William put it in his pocket, or at least that’s where he usually kept it.” He opened the library doors. “You will begin where we lost contact with William; he had only one chapter left.

“Oh, I almost forgot. You’ll be plunging into a most interesting brief biography. It’s yours. But don’t fret. You won’t remember it if you return. I wouldn’t want you to try and go change history. Think of the havoc you might cause.”

Mine? He no longer felt the gun at his back. He turned to look at Grenville, but instead found himself standing by the back wall of Adam’s office. A soft blue haze of winter dusk seeped through the room. He watched amazed as Adam, his grandfather and he stood together by the window. His grandfather draped his arms over both their shoulders. They were laughing. Laughter that follows relief. Laughter that comes with friendship and family ties.

He heard his grandfather say, “Adam, do you really think I’d have a funeral without you?” They’d made it back alive somehow. A calmness set in. This was, after all, his life. Their voices blended into the background as he spied a gold skeleton key lying on top of the newspaper on the desk. He went and picked it up. The smooth coolness soothed him. His ticket back. He held on to it tightly as he glanced at the paper carrying tomorrow’s date.

They walked out of the office, and he followed the three of them to the elevator. He got caught up with the drama, relishing the simple pleasure of seeing his grandfather alive at the end of a day that would begin anew tomorrow.

The doors opened. They continued talking, making plans to stop for drinks. He walked to the back of the elevator and looked on as his other self joined him on the opposite side. At the last minute a lawyer from another office called to Adam and William, detaining them in the hallway.

The doors slid closed. A perfect time to exit. Luke searched the elevator until he saw the keyhole midway on the wall beside him. Just as he was about to place it into the lock, the elevator lurched downward and stopped abruptly. The fluorescent lights hissed, then flickered. He didn’t fret; he had the key.

The floor shook; the car groaned, metal grating against metal. Panic slammed into his chest. You’ll be plunging into a most interesting brief biography. It’s yours. You will think that it is real. It is real. It’s going to happen. The elevator plummeted downward on its deadly descent. A duet of screams overpowered the space.

He felt nothing upon impact. On the other side of the elevator his holographic body lay mashed in metal. Smoke swirled around both of them. The surreal vision sickened him. Knowing how it would end. Knowing when he would die. Knowing but not knowing. You won’t remember it if you return. Photographs circled his mind, looping memories together. He wanted to be in the rowboat. He wanted to feel his father and grandfather next to him shaking with laughter.

He wanted to go backward. He couldn’t. This is the last page. The key, still in his grasp, dug into his flesh. Through the smoldering haze he saw the keyhole, still intact. He inserted the key into it. He felt his hand turning the key that would unlock the last twenty-four hours of his life.