Installment 4

For weeks Jake refused to think about Walter. Though he owned Walter’s house, he refused to stay in it because it didn’t feel like his. Still, he went to the house every day and walked around each room, pushing thoughts of clues and confessions out of his mind.

Slowly, Walter crept back into Jake’s mind, and his daydreams sometimes turned to idle thoughts about finding Michael Glosham. One day while wandering Walter’s house, Jake noticed a battered address book wedged on the kitchen shelf between an almanac and the wall. He pulled it down, flipped to the g’s, and found the name that had become so familiar staring at him. Jake pulled a crumpled receipt out of his pocket and copied down the address: Waterford Retirement Home, 1765 Waterford Avenue North, Apartment 1407.

Jake had never actually been to a retirement home before. Nonetheless, his imagination had painted him an accurate picture of the setting. Inside it was climate controlled, making it seem more like a habitat than a home. The air was heavy, and Jake choked as he took his first breath. The furnishings were old-fashioned, but had been shined so much that they reflected the sunlight pouring through the wall of windows that reached up to the ceiling behind Jake. The view outside was distorted through the double-pane glass. People on the other side seemed to take on grotesque shapes. Residents strolled around, smiling blankly at the muted colors of the walls. Others chose to walk along the paths through the unnaturally green grass, which maintained its color through a weekly dose of chemicals.

Jake approached the desk of the main building, “Hi, I’m here to see Michael Glosham. Can you tell me where his apartment is?”

“Is he expecting you?” The woman at the desk looked up at him. Suddenly, Jake felt like an idiot. No, Michael Glosham was not expecting him. In fact, Michael Glosham didn’t know him, and he didn’t know Michael Glosham. He had been so caught up in the mini-mystery of the man that it had never occurred to him to even call.

“No, he’s not expecting me,” said Jake, prepared to have the woman ask him politely to leave and come back another time. He had just wasted an hour driving to the retirement home for nothing.

“Okay, I’ll call and see if he’s in his room. What’s your name?”

“It’s Jake. Uh, but tell him I am - - or was - - am a friend of Walter’s.” The woman at the desk called up to the room, repeating Jake’s name several times to the man on the other end. After about a minute, she hung up the phone.

“He was just resting in his room, so you can go up and see him. Take the elevators on your left up to the fourteenth floor. Make a right down the hallway, and he’s in 1407.”

“Thanks,” said Jake as he headed to his left. All of a sudden, his heart was pounding, and his palms were sweating. This isn’t a horror movie, he told himself, the elevator is not going to plummet down 14 stories, and there won’t be any ghosts or undead beings in the room. Michael Glosham is just a man. Stop thinking about conspiracy theories.

An elderly woman entered the elevator before him. She pushed the button for the fourth floor, then turned to Jake, “What floor?”

“Fourteenth.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and inwardly slapped himself for being so melodramatic.

“Oh, the top floor,” she smiled as she pushed the button, “You know, that’s not really the fourteenth floor- - it’s the thirteenth. Some people go up there for a visit and never come back!” Jake looked at her suddenly, his eyes wide. He was ready to claw at the doors of the elevator and scream for someone to let him out. “Lighten up, my dear, I am just joking! Retirees are capable of humor, you know.” The elevator chimed and the woman stepped out onto the fourth floor. Jake rode the rest of the way alone, trying to compose himself.