Upon A Pale Horse

FIVE In Memoriam

When Jeffrey arrived at his hotel, ten minutes from the funeral home in Georgetown where the memorial service would take place the following morning, his breath smelled tainted to him, a sticky film of impending hangover coating his mouth like rancid oil. The clerk didn’t seem to notice, processing his credit card with one eye on the ball game playing on an oversized flat screen monitor in the bar at the far end of the lobby. Jeffrey declined the offer of assistance with his bags, found his room on his own, and barely got his suit hung up before collapsing on the bed, the alcohol and plastic airplane food having taken their toll.

Two hours later he cracked an eye open and glared at the overhead lamp, and then rolled over and willed himself to his feet, his head pounding from the unaccustomed chemical bludgeoning he’d dealt it on the plane. He checked the time and saw that it was almost midnight, and reconciled himself to ordering room service at nosebleed prices.

After a seemingly endless wait his meal turned up, an omelet that would have been an embarrassment at any fast food restaurant, and he chewed the soggy tasteless mess with sedulous resignation, the fitting end to the worst day of his life. He set the alarm clock for eight before going into the cheerless bathroom and brushing his teeth, and then spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, each dream worse than the last.

The following morning he awoke before the buzzer went off. He took his time showering, hoping that the tepid stream would both revive him and wash his hopelessness away. Coffee in the lobby helped some, but when he caught sight of his reflection in one of the decorative mirrors by the front desk he almost didn’t recognize the haunted figure staring back at him. He looked like complete shit, the travel and bad night compounding the grief etched into his young face like war wounds.

He decided to walk to the funeral home, figuring the exercise would do him good. When he stepped out into the crisp spring morning air, the chill pinched at his skin, and he pulled his overcoat tighter around him. He had an hour to get to the service, which would be just about right if he hurried, he thought. More importantly than taking his mind off his grim destination, it would ensure that he didn’t have scads of extra time where he’d have to greet his brother’s entourage, none of whom he knew, other than Becky.

An occasional gust of wind blew harsh against him, chilling him to the bone, unaccustomed as he was to weather this cold. His breath steamed in front of his nose in curt pants as he pushed himself to move faster, stoking his internal furnace to stave off the creeping dread that flowered at every pause. He was one of the only idiots walking, most preferring to be insulated from the elements by their cars, cocooned in privileged comfort while morning shock jocks bayed mean laughter at their own jokes. As one block became ten, the sense of heightened surrealism he’d felt at the hotel increased. Was he really on his way to his brother’s funeral?

Memorial service, a voice in his head reminded. There wasn’t so much as a fingernail to bury — a certainty now, judging by the morning TV reports on the search results, or more accurately, non-results. Any vestiges of the unlucky passengers had been consumed by the Atlantic, swallowed up as though they’d never existed. An image of a shark shaking a torso in its clenched jaws flitted through his thoughts and he pushed it aside, preferring a vision of his brother, smiling, sitting by the fireplace in his apartment, cradling Becky from behind, a decent budget-Bordeaux only half-finished in his Costco goblet. A shock of his usually unruly hair hung roguishly across Keith’s brow, giving him an air of nonconformity he studiously cultivated — his differentiator in a gray city of cookie-cutter bureaucratic wonks. It had always amazed Jeffrey that Keith had taken a government job. With his skills and brain he could have done virtually anything, gone anywhere.

None of which ultimately mattered. Not now.

He rounded a corner and saw the red brick façade of the funeral home, an unctuous affair with colonial pretensions that was slightly wrong in the neighborhood — the brickwork too even, the wood accents on the windows and above the doors too clean, too precisely milled, too freshly painted, an artifice of antiquity created to lend an air of solemnity to an always-unpleasant farewell. Several tinted-windowed Lincoln sedans were parked nearby. Another pulled up as he approached and disgorged a couple about Keith’s age clad in expensive black, the woman’s face haughty and pale, the man’s puffy with the tell-tale effects of frequent debauchery.

Jeffrey waited until they entered the building and glanced at the time — he was five minutes late, which was close enough. Hopefully he could get in and out with a minimum of fuss, saying his last words and slipping away like a phantom before anyone could smother him with sorrow and pity. He’d come up with a fitting eulogy on the plane and committed it to memory. Short and sweet, and if he garbled any of it, it wasn’t like he would ever see any of the attendees again.

An attendant, suitably solemn, greeted him at the door and guided him to the assembly room, where twenty or so people sat on folding chairs staring at a photograph projected on a screen in front of red velvet curtains. It was a recent snapshot of his brother, by the looks of it on a boat, blue water and stainless steel railing in the background. Keith was grinning at the camera, a twinkle in his eye, merriment writ large on his features as the wind tousled his hair. Jeffrey felt his throat constrict and he struggled to swallow at the sight — there Keith was, another moment Jeffrey hadn’t shared with him, participant in a life that he knew little about.

He moved to the front, where most of the seats were empty. Becky caught sight of him and stood, then hugged him awkwardly, tears in her eyes as he reciprocated, his arms around a woman who was in truth largely a stranger. She snuffled against his jacket and then pulled away, searching his face for something he couldn’t give.

“You made it. I’m… I’m so glad. It would have meant a lot to him,” she said in a hushed whisper as she led him by the arm to the chair next to hers.

“Of course I did. Nothing could have kept me away.”

“I’m so sorry, Jeff. It’s… it just doesn’t feel real. Like it’s some kind of horrible dream.”

Jeffrey nodded. “I know the feeling, Becky. I still can’t believe it.”

They settled into a silent funk, each lost in their own thoughts as feet shuffled against the granite floor, restlessly waiting for the service to begin. A tall, gaunt man with gray receding hair approached the podium by the side of the raised platform immediately in front of the curtains and tapped the microphone, calling for attention from an already captive audience.

“Ahem. Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming. We are here today to celebrate and remember the life of…” — he surreptitiously checked a slip of paper with the names of that day’s services on it — “… Keith Anthony Rutherford. You here, his friends and family, were precious to him, and it’s clear that he was equally precious to you. Without any further ado, I would like to invite you to come forward and speak a few words honoring him.” He glanced down at the paper again and read the first name in the column on the right. “Rebecca Simms?”

Becky shivered next to Jeffrey and then exhaled as she stood, pulling her shoulders back as she stepped to the dais, now vacated by the man so that the participants could say their piece.

The orations were predictably depressing, countless anecdotes demonstrating Keith was a prince among men and that he would be forever missed. Jeffrey listened as if from a great distance, the words morphing into one long buzz as he studied the rolling slideshow that had been assembled, presumably by Becky, projected for all to view. Keith as a child. Keith and Jeffrey. Keith and his parents. Keith as an adolescent, as a teen, in college, behind the wheel of his first new car. The dull snick as each photo changed had the finality of a firing squad chambering rounds, and Jeffrey’s vision blurred as tears flooded his eyes.

“Jeff. Jeffrey?” Becky was nudging him after one of Keith’s co-workers had finished his heartfelt speech.

Jeffrey snapped back into the present and wiped his eyes on his jacket sleeve, then rose and went to the podium, the disorientation still threatening to drop him.

Five minutes later he returned to his seat, his eulogy a mental blank other than a vague recollection of saying he’d miss his brother forever. Two more people Jeffrey had never met spoke, and then the slideshow stopped on the first photograph again and the lights brightened by several shades as classical music was piped in from concealed speakers. Becky took his hand and they stood, waiting until everyone had been able to tell them how sorry they were for their loss, and then they found themselves in an empty room, the ordeal over. She turned to him and released him, looking like she’d aged five years in the last hour.

“That’s it, I guess,” she said uncertainly, a catch in her voice.

“Looks that way,” he agreed.

“I’m going to miss him so much… I loved your brother, Jeffrey. I really did.”

Jeffrey wanted to be alone, but his sense of decency and obligation kicked in and he found himself inviting her to have a cup of coffee with him at a nearby café. He half hoped she would decline, but she didn’t, and instead merely nodded mutely, waiting for him to lead the way.

When they were seated, their order taken, Becky began talking in a low voice, sounding disjointed and unsure of herself. Time went by and they nursed their coffees as she filled Jeffrey in on their life together, their plans for the future, and then she arrived at the recent past.

“So he’d been acting strange?” Jeffrey said, echoing her words.

“Yes. It was like he was growing apart for no reason. He was working later and later, and didn’t want to see me at all for the last ten days or so. I didn’t even know he was going to Italy. I mean, he’d just gotten back from Europe… he had to travel for his job, but he’d tell me he was leaving town for a few days when he did. This time, nothing. I had to find out from the airline that he was on the plane to Rome.”

Jeffrey wondered how much he didn’t know about his brother. Could he have met someone else? He didn’t voice the possibility, but it occurred to his attorney’s mind that there were two sides to every story. “Did he ever act like that before?”

“Never. It was like he was a different person. At first I thought it had to do with the research he was doing, but then, when he just shut me out…”

“Research? What kind of research?” Jeffrey tried not to sound agitated, but the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

“I don’t know. Something about cows.”

“Cows? Was it for work?” Jeffrey sounded puzzled.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so. He went on and on about it, and then just closed down. It was like he became a different person…”

“Tell me how it happened. What was the project he was working on?”

Becky sighed, and then took a long sip on her coffee before signaling to the server for another one.

“It had to do with the animal mutilations that started appearing in the late sixties and continued through the eighties. Apparently thousands of cows and horses, but mainly cows, were found with their blood drained, their organs missing, and a host of other bizarre stuff. I don’t know how Keith got onto it, but you know how he was. Once he got his teeth into something, he was like a pit bull — relentless.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t work-related? I mean, I only have a sort of cursory idea what the hell he did for the State Department, but maybe it was some sort of side project?”

“No, because at first he would talk about it with me, which he never did with anything from his work. So this was all Keith.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That he’d found some inconsistencies in the data and the eyewitness accounts, and was suspicious, looking for patterns.”

“Suspicious of what?”

“He never said. Just that something was off.”

“Off.”

“That’s what he said.”

“And then he grew distant?”

“Yes. At first I thought it was just moodiness — some kind of midlife thing. Then I decided it was his obsessive streak again. You know how he could be. He’d disappear for days at a time, sometimes a week or more, involved in a project he couldn’t talk about due to security clearances. Part of me always suspected that was a convenient cover for his nature. He would stay up all night sometimes when he was on to something. He always insisted it was for work, but I don’t know…”

“Don’t feel bad. He was like that as a boy, too.”

“I know. I didn’t take it personally. But then he stopped calling, and the few times I came by to see how he was doing, it was like he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. After years together, suddenly it was the cold shoulder. I was afraid it was another woman or something, but that wasn’t Keith. He was a good guy. Quirky, but he wasn’t a cheater,” she pronounced with certainty.

Jeffrey hesitated, unsure of how to best respond. “No, I don’t think so either. But where does that leave us? Can you think of anything else he said?” he asked.

“Well, I didn’t tell anyone this, but he was freaking me out the last time I saw him.” She paused and her face changed to a look of annoyance. “Damn. I almost forgot. He gave me something to give to you.” She fished around in her purse. “Here. This is for you.” She handed him a paper stub.

“What… what’s this?”

“That’s what I mean by he was acting all weird. The last thing he did before he left my place that last time, about a week and a half ago, right after getting back from Europe, was give me that. It was one of the things that made me really uncomfortable. It was like he knew he was going to die.” Becky seemed to run out of steam. “Which is crazy. I’m sorry I told you. It sounds completely nuts. Unless you believe in psychic ability or whatever, which I don’t. But now I’m not so sure…”

Jeffrey studied the slip of paper. At the top, in green ink, was the name of a pawn shop in Washington, D.C. It was date-stamped two weeks earlier. But the rest was unintelligible to Jeffrey, mainly because it was in Chinese, the characters meaning nothing to him.

“I’ve never seen a pawn ticket before, but that’s what it looks like.”

“That’s my guess. Anyway, he made a big deal out of making sure you got it, so it was pretty important to him. Which reminds me — I have a box of his stuff at my place that you might want. Odds and ends. And there’s his condo that needs to be cleaned out. I have a key to the place, but Jeff… I can’t do it. I just don’t have it in me. I hate to lay it on you, but there’s nobody else.”

“No problem, Becky. I completely understand. I don’t really want to do it, either, but I’m his brother, and he would have done it for me.”

“There might be some insurance from his work, or maybe a will… although he never discussed it. You’d know more about that than I would, being a lawyer and all.”

Becky was doing the best she could, he could see, but she was barely holding it together. Keith’s death had hit her hard. She meant well, but she wasn’t equipped to deal with the details. Neither was he. But ducking it wasn’t an option. Becky was the girlfriend, not the wife. Which left him.

Her coffee refill arrived and she sipped at it as he retreated into his thoughts, mentally making a list as he considered what would be involved in arranging his brother’s affairs. He leaned back in his chair and eyed the sky.

“I’ll have to get a death certificate and then go through his stuff to see where he banked, what broker he used, who holds his mortgage,” Jeffrey said, thinking out loud.

“I can help, Jeffrey. Only… not right now. I need some time. This has changed my whole life, and I don’t know what I’m going to do…”

“Of course. You’ve done way more than enough organizing this service, Becky. This has put you through the wringer. Don’t worry about anything — I’ll deal with whatever needs to be done.”

“I wish I could tell you more about those last weeks, Jeff. But there just isn’t much to tell. Except… well, how close were you two? Really? He didn’t talk about you a lot, and I only met you that one time…”

“We used to be pretty close. It’s just that when we both grew up, things got complicated. Between school and work, and him moving across the country, we sort of got wrapped up in our own lives. I guess that’s my way of saying that we didn’t see each other nearly as much as we should have. But it happens,” Jeffrey said in a low voice, and then gazed off at the trees across the street, some of them hundreds of years old, he could tell by their height and girth.

They both sat silently for a few minutes, and then she spoke again, calmer now.

“I have a couple of photo albums too. He left them at my place one night and never bothered to pick them up. About six months ago. I’d been bugging him about his childhood for a while, and one night he showed up with a bottle of wine and the photos. I suppose you’re right. He was a little odd…”

“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to need some time to deal with his estate. I can’t see any way of doing it without flying back out here at least one more time. Hold on to everything until I return, and we can sort things out then. This is going to take a while, so there’s no rush.”

She nodded and finished her coffee, then looked around as if lost. “I can’t believe this is happening…”

“I know, Becky, I know.”

He walked her to her car and declined the offer of a ride, preferring to walk back to the hotel. He needed to move, to cover ground, to have some silence after the grim discussion with Becky. There was a lot to mull over. And the logistics of dealing with his brother’s affairs weren’t going to be simple, he could already see that. He hadn’t thought about it until then, but there would be a lot of things to handle, and nobody but him to do it.

Jeffrey watched her little Ford disappear around the corner, and then he set out the way he’d come, back to the hotel, more questions in his mind than answers.

A dark gray sedan pulled away from the curb a block down the street and followed Becky’s car, its windows tinted dark, mud obscuring part of the license plate. Jeffrey didn’t notice, nor did he register the nondescript man who took up a position a hundred yards behind him, just another working stiff carrying a briefcase and a newspaper, on his way to a tedious day of monotony.