Chimney Smoke Lane

© Anna-Karin 2003

Disclaimer: The movie 'The Hitcher' and the characters of John Ryder and Jim Halsey belong to Cannon & Hbo Pictures and Silver Screen Partners. I'm not maikng any money from this, and no copyright infringement was intended. The title was taken from a line in the Tom Waits song November, track #3 on The Black Rider. No copyright infringement intended there either.

Prologue

The tiny old graveyard, just at the edge of the small old town in a very dry area of California, was a semi-abandoned place. The graves were old, and nobody had cared much for them for the past ten, twenty years. Of course there were fresh flowers on a couple of them, and someone had put new paint on a white wooden cross. But most of the graves had only weeds to adorn them.

Five men were standing around a freshly dug grave in a corner of the graveyard. Four of them were lowering a coffin into the hole, while the fifth was watching. They were burying a madman, a dangerous killer who had killed at least fifteen people. His name had been John Ryder.

Jim Halsey watched as the coffin hit the bottom of the hole with a soft thud. He'd never thought that a coffin could be that heavy to carry, even if they'd been four to share the burden. Now the verger was rolling up the ropes that had been used to lower the coffin into the hole, and his assistant was holding a spade, ready to fill the grave with dirt.

The priest beagn to speak, but Jim wasn't listening. He was thinking about what he had seen at the morgue. John Ryder's naked dead body lying on a bier, with stiches where the pathologist had cut him open. They hadn't thought of covering him with something, and Jim had gone to fetch a blanket to pull over his body. It was in that moment he had realized that he wasn't angry anymore, that somehow the rage had dissapeared, like dew in the morning. All that was left was this dry sorrow, this grief for all the lives that had been destroyed, up to and including John Ryder himself.

John Ryder had looked so peaceful lying there on the bier. There was a small smile around his lips, and he looked healthier then than he had before. The blonde wavy hair framed his handsome, aristocratic face, making him look like an angel. The white blanket had seemed less a shroud, and more like a pair of wings folded over his body.

Jim had touched Ryder's face, almost caressing it. It was strange, he had thought, that someone who looked like an angel could be worse than the Devil himself. And then, almost before he'd finished that line of thought, he'd cried. He had cried for himself, for all the murdered innocents, and even for John Ryder, surprisigly enough.

Jim felt a hand on his sholder, and woke up from his musings, and found himself standing by the grave. The verger and his assistant were shoveling the soil back into the grave. Captain Esterigde was standing next to him, hand still on his shoulder.
"Are you all right?", he asked.
"Yeah", said Jim a bit absentmindedly. "Yeah, I'm fine."
The captain nodded. Anyone could see the the young man wasn't well, but he wasn't going to say anything about it.

Chapter 1

Jim Halsey was looking out through the window of his little appartment. It was raining. A steady gray downpour that was washing the street below clean from all the trash congealed in the gutters. He was happy he had an umbrella, because he would soon have to walk out in this rain. It was morning, but Jim had been awake for hours.

This day, a year ago, he'd met John Ryder for the first time. He still marveled at the fact that he wasn't in prison for shooting the man. But the defense had claimed that it was in self- defense and the jury's verdict had been that he was innocent. It had felt good to know that he wasn't going to jail, or worse, for killing the man that had killed so many innocents.

Well, some aniversary, huh. It rained and he had to go to work. Sure, it was a good job, but if things had been different he'd been in sunny California now, not here in wet old Chicago. But a year ago he'd decided that he'd lost the taste for going to California, even though he'd dreamed about it his whole life, since he was sixteen. Now he was twenty, and still stuck in his old neighborhood.

And he still was a skinny lad, of average height. Still had dark brown eyes and black curly hair. Nothing had changed. He was just a year older, and had a set of experiences and memories he didn't want.

At least he'd moved out of the house of his parents, to an appartment on the fourth floor of an old red brick house on Chimney Smoke Lane. And he had a job, at his sister-in-law's small restaurant a few blocks away. Jim shrugged. Time to go to work.

The rain was pounding away at Jim's umbrella as he walked down the front steps.

The funny thing about Chimney Smoke Lane, apart from the name of course, was the fact that it bent slightly in the middle, zig-zagging a little, so that one didn't get to see the main street until one had turned around two corners. In this bend was a door, and Jim knew that a fortune- teller lived on the other side of that door. He knew that because of a sign on the door, telling the whole world about Miss Florence Lee, Fortune-Teller and Curse-Breaker. Most of the other houses on Chimney Smoke Lane turned their backs to it, their owners preferring to have Western Edge street as their adress. It was only Jim's house, Miss Lee's door, and a couple of other buildings that admitted to actually lie on Chimney Smoke Lane.

If one walked down Chimney Smoke Lane, just like Jim did now, one would soon come to Main Street, and from there it was only a few blocks to the right to the Halsey's Eatery. It was a small restaurant, but it was popular with the white-collar workers in the area, and was always full at lunch-time.

Today he thought he saw someone walking before him. And that was odd since he was the only one who used to walk in this direction at this time of the day. Jim stretched his eyes to see who it was that was walking before him, but all he could make out through the rain was a long coat, wide shoulders and a very familliar way of walking. It was poking at something in the far back of his head. He knew this person, and yet he could not put a name or a face to whoever it was that was walking before him.

Jim opened the door to the restaurant.
"Hey! Anyone here?" Jim called out.
"Hey!" Sarah, his sister-in-law answered. "Good of you to be on time", she continued.
"I'm always on time!" Jim replied, and put away the umbrella in an umbrella stand beside the door.
"I know that. I'm just kidding."
Jim nodded and went to the restaurant kitchen to change into his usual cashier-cum-waiter clothes. He wondered when Sarah would start to ask him about his nightmares. She hadn't asked anything about it so far, but he could see that she wanted to. There was an inquisitive glance in her light yellowish-brown eyes, and somethimes she would twine a strand of her straight dark brown hair round a finger, just the way she used to before asking an uncomfortable question. But she never said anything, and for that Jim was grateful.

Sarah Halsey was the sole owner of Halsey's Eatery. She had been married to Pete Halsey, Jim's brother, for five years, and had owned the restaurant for two years. She served soup, pancakes sandwiches and the best hot chocolate in town. She had hired Jim when he had come back from California. Jim hadn't told her much about what had happened there, but she had read the papers, and if they were to be believed, Jim had been through Hell.

And Jim had changed. She knew that he had been a docile lad with an urge to get out of his old home, and always talking, laughing and generally happy-go-lucky. Now he had hardened, and was much more quiet then before. He laughed less, even though he could still smile. Sarah was happy that he still could smile. To her, he was the baby brother that she never had, and if she worried about the dark rings under his eyes, then it was the big sister in her talking.

Now as Sarah took down the chairs from the tables and put out the ashtrays, she once more pndered the change in Jim. A couple of days ago a customer had gone up to the local witch, Miss Lee, who always ate her lunch there, and had started screaming at her, loudly blaming her for his impotence, and then he had tried to drag her out on the street. Jim had intervened then, placing himself between the irate man and his victim. Then he had simply taken the man's arm, twisted it up behind his back, and thrown him out of the restaurant.

That was one more thing that the old Jim Halsey would never have done. To Sarah it seemed that Jim had changed, both for the better and for the worse.

Chapter 2

Jim had just gotten home from work when the phone rang. He ran from the door straight to the kitchen where the phone was. He lifted the reciever and spoke.
"Jim Halsey here", he said.
"Hello Jim! It's Esterigde here", said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Oh! Hi! Great to hear from you!"
Jim took of his coat, with one hand, and hung it over the back of a chair, while still holding the reciever with the other hand.
"Nice to hear that I'm a wellcome caller. How are you?"
"Fine", said Jim. "I have a job now, at my sister-in-law's reastaurant."
"That's good", said Esterrigde. Then his tone turned serious. "I have news for you."
"Yeah?"
"We have identified John Ryder."
"Really?"
"Yes. And I thought that you could be interested in hearing this."
"Go on."
"Well", said Esterrigde and began his tale.

"John Ryder", said Esterrigde, "was a preacher. He belonged to a church in Boston, the 'Church of the Pure Word of the Book', a really fanatically fundamentalistic church. The church was against everything, up to and including gay liberation. When the AIDS epidemic hit the headlines, John Ryder said, and said often, in his sermons that it was God's punishment for the unnatural sodomites that dared defying His words. Then one day John Ryder had to undergo surgery for appendicitis. During the operation they had to give him a blood transfusion. This was four years ago. A year and two weeks ago, two weeks before you ran into him, he was diagnosed with AIDS."
"Due to the blood transfusions, right?" Jim said.
"Yes. After he got this information, he left the church, sold all his belongings and dissapeared. He never told anyone of his plans, and the church officials got in touch with us only yesterday. One member of their congragation had recognized John Ryder when his picture was shown on the news, you know; 'a year ago tomorrow blah blah.'"
"I see. They tried to interview me for that, but I said no."
"Right. So what happened was that a homophobic preacher got the very disease he thought only homosexual men could get. He kept it a secret, and also got insane. And this made him a mass murderer, killing at random. The sad thing is that it was an accident. Anyone could have gotten that infected blood. So random."
There was a moment of silence.
"So, case closed now? Ryder has been identified, and the reasons as well, right?" Jim asked.
"No, not really. There's the question of how he got from Boston to California. All police districts now look at all the mysterious deaths that happened during those two weeks."
"Oh", said Jim and didn't bother to hide the disappointment in his voice. He had hoped that it would be over now, but apparently it never would end.
"Don't worry. You won't be called in for hearing or anything."
"That's good. I'm sick and tired of this."
"I understand."

They talked for a few more minutes before Esterigde excused himself and hung up.

As Jim hung up his coat on a hanger, and made himself a cup of coffee and a ham-and pickles sandwich for supper, he pondered the information that he got from the kind captain. So that was why the highway killer had been sweating so much, and had looked so ill. The pathologist had said that Ryder had suffered from pneumonia, and a severe cold. Then he wondered if the pathologist had used plastic gloves while doing the autopsy on him. Oh well. It really was none of his concern, and the pathologist had probably had the same thoughts, and gotten tested by now.

When Jim had finished eating his tiny supper he figured that he could as well take a shower and then go to bed. Watching TV was not an option as he suspected that at least one TV channel would have a documentary, or something like that, about John Ryder. He did not want ot have to live through that again. The nightmares was quite enough, thank you very much.

'Strange', he thought, then realized that he must be dreaming, and if he was dreaming, then surely he was sleeping. You couldn't have one without the other after all.

And then he sank down through the bed and down on the floor. It happened so lightly, as if he was but a feather winding its way down through the air. Then he sank down through the floor, the apartment below his, sank down through the basement, and down through the foundations of the house.

Then he just sank down, down, down until he landed on a floor.

Chapter 3

Jim laid unmoving on the floor in the underworld of his dreams. He wondered where he was, even though he knew he was dreaming. The floor was of stone, and very hard and smooth it was. And above him, in what he thought was a roof, was a light. After having considered the light he decided that it was not a spotlight, nor was it that famed gate to Heaven, but a plain, ordinary star.

Slowly he got aware of a presence in this room, of not one other person, but a legion of persons, all looking at him. He decided, as one sometimes does in dreams, that it was not good manners to lie on a floor in the company of strangers. Therefore, because he was a boy who had been taught how to behave, he rose from the floor, and steeled himself for what he might see.

Around him was a host of strange beings. They kept a polite distance of ten or fifteen steps away from him, but he could still see them clearly. He wished that he didn't. There were men with heads of dogs and legs of goats, women with snake bodies and beetle horns, and children with old faces and diamond eyes, and many, many other kinds of mismatched beings. There were also beings so beautiful, shining with an inner light, but with cruel eyes that made Jim's belly turn in fear.

Then he saw the throne. It was a high throne on a high dais, with a stair going from the floor to the throne. Before his eyes the shadows around and above the throne became solid, took the form of a tall man, with a crown of iron and stars, clad in a red cloak that flowed over the armrests of the throne, and down on the dais. The way it shone in the light made Jim think of blood. He couldn't see the if there was a face under the crown. But there was a mouth, he deduced, because the man on the throne spoke to him.

"Jim Halsey", said the man on the throne in an androgynous voice.
"Yes sir. That's me, sir", answered Jim. The man's voice had startled him somewhat. He hadn't expected such a strange voice.
"You have been called to the trial of John Ryder, to testify of his actions. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir", said Jim, reeling inside. Ryder was getting a trial. Why? He was dead.
"Good," said the man on the throne. Then he made a short wave and called forth two of the beings around the throne. It was a pair of the cruel beauties. "Bring the defendant", he ordered them. They disappeared in a puff of smoke. Jim thought that the smoke was a rather cheap au revoir.

The cruel beauties soon reappeared, holding a man between them in a firm grip. It was Ryder. He hadn't changed much since the last time Jim had seen him alive. The blonde hair still fell in lazy waves around his face, and the eyes were as icily blue as ever. There was an odd clinking sound as he was dropped on floor. Jim saw that he had been put in chains, from the neck down to the ankles, that tinkled when he moved.

"Stand up", said one of the cruel beauties to him, giving him a kick to underline the command.
"May I sit down? The chains are so heavy," pleaded Ryder.
The man on the throne cut in. "You may sit on your knees."
"Thank you, sir."

Then Ryder turned his head to check out the his new surroundings. When he saw that Jim was there, he smiled. "Hello Jim," he said with a smile. Jim was surprised at the smile that he just nodded a greeting. But he didn't smile back. Ryder seemed to understand, and nodded back. Jim felt something pass between them, connecting them, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

Then the trial started.

The judge called forth the spirits of every single person killed by John Ryder. Jim watched as they emerged from wherever they had been when they were called, every spirit a thin, smoky version of the body they once had inhabited, crackling blue around the edges.

Jim watched the spirits step forth, tell what Ryder had done to them, and answer the questions of the man on the throne.
"Have you been avenged?" the man on the throne asked each and every one of them, even the small children, and every one said "yes I have, he was shot by Jim Halsey."

It struck Jim that this dialogue sounded very much like a ritual where every participant knew their lines and how to behave. Everyone except Jim himself, that was. The spirits of the killed were called forth in the order they'd been killed. So there were many faces Jim didn't recognize, but as the faces grew more and more familiar, he felt a twist of expectation in his stomach. He knew that there would be a lot of policemen coming, but it wasn't them he wanted to see, but the girl he had failed to save from being torn apart between two trucks.

The policemen testified, telling of their deaths and claiming that they were avenged. Jim knew their stories. He'd been there, chased by them in their cars and helicopter. He didn't feel very sorry for them, and felt ashamed for that.

And then, from out of the shadows, emerged Nash.

Chapter 4

Nash walked to the throne, as the others before her and after her had done. She curtseyed like a little girl to the judge. When the judge asked her the same questions he had asked the others, she replied just the same way they had. And all the time she was standing with her back to Jim, who hoped she'd turn around to look at him before disappearing.

Then she turned around and walked back into the shadows. She never looked back.

The emotions in Jim's heart were very mixed. On one hand he was happy to see Nash, and on the other he felt let down because she hadn't acknowledged him. No, if the truth should be told, he was angry with her, because she had left so easily. Had he meant so little to her? After all they've been through together? He thought that she could at least have asked for him.

Those questions flew through his head as the last spirits emerged, testified and left.

"Before I decide on a sentence", said the judge, "Does the defendant have anything to say?"
"Yes", replied Ryder. Then he told his story, with many breaks, and gulps of water to wet his mouth.

"I was a preacher once", Ryder said, "and I believed that what I said was truth. The truth of the Holy Book, the only truth. God's truth. I believed myself a good servant and preacher of God's word. I preached against the unnatural and heretic practices of homosexuals and foreigners. I said many things against them. I believed that AIDS was the punishment of God.
I believed that only homosexuals could get that disease. Then I was proven wrong. A blood transfusion with infected blood from a straight man who had gotten the disease from his girlfriend whose's ex-fiancé was bisexual. When I got the diagnosis the very foundations of my world crumbled. I began questioning the truth that I had always known as the truth. I had been God's loyal servant, so how the fuck could he give me this? Then my sanity broke down. I decided to be as cruel and as random as God himself.
I don't remember how I came to that decision, because when I try to remember that part of my life, all I can recall is looking at the world through a blood-red veil. I sold everything I owned, gave away the money, and kept only as much as to buy me some food every day. Then I left. I hitch-hiked my way through America, killing the ones that gave me a ride, rewarding kindness with death. And all the time I looked at the world through a red haze. Then Jim Halsey offered me a ride. I did plan to kill him, but something in him pierced through my red daze. I decided to see if I could get him to kill me. If the will in him to live was so strong that he'd fight me, kill me. In the end it was."

The judge looked at him for a long time. "Are you sure there were no other reason for sparing Jim Halsey?" he said eventually.
Ryder stared down at the floor. "There was one more reason", he admitted. "I, if I had been true to myself from the beginning, should never have preached against homosexuals, because I was, even though I had kept it hidden from myself, one of them. And I fell in love with him, with Jim Halsey."

Jim stared at him, stunned at this revelation, but Ryder never lifted his head.

Then Jim felt himself waking up, felt how the waking world tugged at him, as if he was at the end of a rope. He wondered briefly who it was that was holding the other end of the rope, and then he woke up.

Chapter 5

The old red brick house on Chimney Smoke Lane was almost golden in the morning sun. Soon it would be time for most of the neighborhood to wake up, to face another day in their lives. But they hadn't woken up yet this special morning. Ryder was sitting on the steps to the house.

John Ryder pondered the beauty of the morning sun, and wondered if Jim had awoken yet. He knew that Jim had been to his trial the night before this morning. He also knew that Jim didn't know what the verdict had been. The boy had woken up too soon, and the Court Outside Time had no power to force the living to stay any longer than they could. Therefore the task of explaining all this had fallen on the defendant, namely one John Ryder.

The dead man sighed. He'd gotten his sanity back, and with it the full implications of the fact that he'd done everything in his power to make sure that the last love of his life hated him. Would Jim allow him to stay around long enough to explain the situation? Ryder wasn't sure about that.

'Well', he thought, 'I can't stay out here any longer. I could face dying, I should be able to do this as well.'
And with that he rose from the steps and went inside. He didn't need to open the door, but walked straight through it. Then he walked up the stairs, taking care to put down his foot on each step, trying to feel the wood of the steps under his feet. He could just have hovered up the stairs, but that seemed a bit like sloppy manners to him. It might have been faster to just swoosh up to Jim's door, but he was in no hurry.

As Ryder walked up the stairs, he tried to figure out what to say, and how to say it. But when he got to Jim's door his mind was a total blank.

Ryder walked through Jim's door and found himself in a narrow hallway, with a hat rack to the left and a mirror to the right. A couple of steps in there was a door to the left, and a quick investigation showed that the kitchen was behind that door. The bathroom was at the end of the hallway. Jim's bedroom had to be to the right then, Ryder thought, because there was only one door left in the hallway, and it was the one to the right. He took a deep breath and walked through that door.

Jim was lying with his back turned to the door, and Ryder couldn't see if he was asleep or awake. He took a few tentative steps into the room. It was a small room, with just a bed and a wardrobe. There was a shelf on the wall above the bed, and a pile of dirty clothes in a corner. Spartan was the word that came to Ryder's mind, spartan, cold and bare. Just gray walls, with no pictures, or posters, or paintings. Just that shelf, with a few books, and a lamp, fastened to the shelf with a clip. Jim himself was lying under a faded red quilt.

There was a strange noise, coming from Jim's bed. At first Ryder didn't recognize the sound, but then he realized that Jim was crying.

Ryder walked closer to the bed. Now he could hear a name being said between the sobs. "Nash". He couldn't believe his ears. Jim was crying over that girl. The boy should have gotten over that girl long ago, Ryder thought, and was tempted to just turn around and leave. But he did not do that. Instead he walked even closer to the bed and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Jim turned over. He was not quite awake, and had to blink away the sand in his eyes before he could see who it was that had tried to wake him up. At first it was just a blur, but soon the world cleared, and he saw who it was.

Jim's eyes widened, and Ryder saw fear in those dark eyes. Then disbelief.
"I don't believe it, I'm still dreaming", said Jim, rubbing at his eyes.
"No, you're not."
"The hell I'm not. You're here and you're dead. That means I'm dreaming."
"No, it does not. I'm dead and I'm here, and you're awake."

Jim slammed his fist into the wall beside his bed. It hurt. On the other side of the wall a dog began to bark. "It hurt", Jim said, "I'm awake."

Jim looked at Ryder for a long moment. Then he pulled the quilt over his head and curled up underneath it. Ryder's heart sank. Was the boy so terrified of him? Again he thought he should just go away, but then he remembered Jim's resilience, and decided to stay.

Tentatively Ryder put what he intended as a comforting hand on what he surmised was Jim's back. He was rewarded with a roar from somewhere underneath the quilt.

"TAKE YOUR HANDS OF MY ASS!"

Chapter 6

Jim threw away the quilt and rose from the bed. For a brief moment he was standing on the cold floor, trying to decide what to do next. Should he yell some more at the dead man sitting on his bed, or should he go and get some breakfast? He decided that he could not do the former without some food in his stomach, so he could as well go and do the latter.

Ryder watched him as he walked out of the bedroom. The boy was only wearing a pair of underpants. He wondered if Jim had realized that it was a bit cold this morning, and that the cold made the boy's nipples hard, which made them very tempting to touch. With a sigh Ryder rose from the bed and followed him out to the kitchen.

Jim was standing at the electric stove, making coffee. He looked at the kettle intently, while he was assembling a couple of sandwiches. The hands seemed to move of their own accord, knowing what had to be done and where everything was. Soon the kettle's whistle whistled down a storm, and was quickly removed from the heat. Somewhere on the other side of the wall a dog was howling for a short while before going silent again. Ryder thought that it might be the same dog that had barked before, but he wasn't sure. The howl sounded too whiny for it.

Jim sat down at the plain kitchen table, coffee in a mug, and cheese sandwiches on a plate. Ryder sat down too, at the opposite side of the table. Jim looked at him, scowling.
"Why are you here?"
"It's not a long story. Do you want to hear it?"
Jim shrugged, and took a gulp of his coffee.

"You left the trial a bit sooner than intended", said Ryder, "and couldn't hear the verdict, so I was sent to tell you."
"Then what was the verdict?" Jim asked, wondering what his punishment had to do with him.
Ryder coughed to clear his throat, and to buy himself a few more seconds to consider his reply.
"Well", he said, "I am to be your guardian angel. An invisible friend."
"What!"
"Yes."
"I don't need a guardian angel! Especially not you!"
"I know that, but that's the Judge's verdict. I am to be your guardian angel for the rest of your life."
"Why?"
"Because you covered my dead body with a sheet a year ago, at the pathologist's. Because you shed a few tears for me. The Judge thought that it would be a fitting penitence for me."

Jim didn't reply, but his hands shook. Conflicting emotions played over his face, and it seemed as if he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Suddenly he threw his mug at the wall. There was a loud crash, and coffee running down the wall. Ryder didn't move, even though the mug had gone right through his head.

"Get out!"
Jim sat cradling his head in his hands. Again he said "get out! I said get out!"
"I can't", said Ryder. "You're stuck with me."

Jim lifted his head and stared at the dead man.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."

Jim considered this. Then he threw a glance at the clock on the kitchen wall.
"Shit, I'm gonna be late to work", he exclaimed.
"It's saturday", said Ryder, nonplussed.
"I work every other saturday morning, and every other saturday evening. I'm to be there at eight! And it's seven-thirty now!"

As Jim walked out of the kitchen, he said "stay out of my sight for 24 hours, okay?" over his shoulder.
"Yes, yes. Of course."

And as Jim watched, Ryder slowly disappeared like mist in the morning. Relieved the boy went to the bedroom to put his clothes on.

But all Ryder had agreed to was to stay invisible for 24 hours. He had said nothing about going away at all.

Chapter 7

Jim got to the Halsey's Eatery just in time. Else Johansen, one of the other employees, cheered ironically as he ran in through the front door.
"And ... He makes it! Everyone cheer for Jimmy. Whoa, Whoa!"
Jim shrugged. Else was like that to everyone.
"One day", Jim said, "I'm going to stand there, and I'll have a stop-watch. And I'll cheer for you. And you'll be so late."
"In your dreams", said Else and laughed.

Sarah listened to the usual banter between Jim and Else. It was something that happened every other saturday morning and every other saturday evening. It was annoying to hear, but if she didn't hear that banter, then she'd get worried.

That saturday was an odd one. Jim was the only one who didn't have the strange feeling that someone invisible was in the restaurant. The people who came to eat found themselves avoiding a chair or a corner, as if it was already occupied by someone unseen. Sarah found herself counting the number of customers. At eleven o'clock, she was certain there were nine people in the restaurant, but somehow she only counted eight. The ninth she only saw in the corner of her eye, and the moment she turned around to count that one as well, it was gone. Else noticed Sarah's obsessive counting, and began to count the people herself. She came to the same frustrating results.

Jim was standing chopping the parsley for the tomato soup. As the knife cut through the green leaves of the parsley, the boy was pondering his dream and the event of this morning. Chop, chop the knife went, as he put the parsley in a bowl and began on the next bunch.
"Jim! What are you doing?" said Sarah, who had seen that Jim wasn't thinking of the work at hand. "You almost cut your finger off!"
"Oh, sorry."
"Your mind is not on your work to-day. That knife is sharp."
"I know."
"Tell you what, the dishes needs some attention", said Sarah and pointed to the sink. "I'll take care of the parsley."
With a sigh Jim walked across the kitchen to the piles of dirty plates and glasses.
"This is Else's job", he said.
"I know, but she is busy serving."

Pick up one plate, scrub it with a washing-up brush, rinse, put in the plate rack, and repeat. It was an easy job. Jim could do it in his sleep. As his hands worked, cleaning one plate after the other, his mind wandered.

He thought of John Ryder, of the oddly amused and sad expressions in his eyes that morning, and of that half smile. So odd, Jim thought, the things you notice about people. The way someone walks, smiles and talks. He thought of the man he'd seen walking before him in the rain the day before. That had been Ryder, hadn't it? But the trial had been that night, after he'd seen the man in the rain. That was something Ryder would have to tell him tomorrow. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the dead man face to face today. One would have to be grateful for small mercies.

With a sigh Jim put the last glass on the plate rack. He had done most of the dishes. Now there were clean soup plates to fill with soup and croutons or parsley.
"I'm done now", Jim said to Sarah, who was stirring a chicken soup, adding spices from a bowl.
"Good", said Sarah.
Jim took a look at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon.
"I think my shift ends now, doesn't it?" said he.
"Yes, it does. But please stay around to Pete comes, okay?
"Okay."

Pete Halsey didn't show up until half past four. Normally Jim would have walked after a few jokes about Pete's tardiness, but not today. He had too much on his mind already. An eternity with the ghost of the man he'd killed was not an easy thing to think about, and he could feel the first beginnings of an headache, looming like thunderclouds just over the horizon.

As Jim left, the odd presence disappeared. Sarah felt it leaving, and wondered if Jim had anything to do with it.

Jim walked down Chimney Smoke Lane in a pensive mood. He thought about being stuck with the ghost of the man he'd killed, about the way Ryder had smiled as the bullets had hit his body. Ryder had thought he'd be free. But he had been wrong. Ryder had been sentenced to a lifetime of babysitting instead. Jim had to smile at the irony. Then he thought that he would have laughed at this, had it happened to someone else. This was the stuff of comedies after all, the ones with a message about forgiveness tacked on at the end. The kind of sappy, cheesy, feel-good comedies Jim simply couldn't put up with without cringing and sniggering at the same time.

And beside Jim, unseen, unwanted and unnoticed, walked the cause of his headache, and his deep thoughts.

Chapter 8

It was night. Jim was lying in his bed, turning to and fro, trying to sleep. But no matter how much he turned, sleep wouldn't come. Instead he found himself staring up at the ceiling. His eyes followed the dark lines of the cracked paint lighted up by the streetlamp outside his window.

What a world, he thought. You have it all figured out, and then it goes Twilight Zone. Like tomorrow. Tomorrow he would spend the first day of the rest of his life with the ghost of a mass murderer. A mass murderer that claimed to love him. Sure, and and the sky was green. Then on the other hand, life is what you make of it. No more, no less. So he could resent this and be miserable for the rest of his life, or he could accept this and...

And what? Jim thought. Learn to like Ryder? What was there to like about him? Good looks for one thing, and a sarcastic, sadistic sense of humor. Looks wasn't everything though, and not wavy, blonde hair either.

Jim could still remember it. The way Ryder had put his hand on his leg to prevent him from stopping by that little white Wolkswagen by the side of the road. Had Ryder noticed that Jim had gotten hard by the touch? Jim felt a bit disgusted by the way his body had betrayed him, wanting what he himself didn't want. And then there was that roadblock when that old guy had seen how Ryder had put his hand between Jim's legs, dangerously close to his crotch. Jim still blushed when he thought about what that old guy might have thought. That old guy had called them "sweethearts". Sweethearts indded!

Damn, Jim thought, noticing the way his body reacted to the memories. My peter's a pervert!
You don't want this, he thought at the offending part of his anaotomy.
Sure do, his peter replied.
No, Jim thought back.
Oh yes, was the answer.
No, was the stern denial.
Come on, please! pleaded his peter, or I'll make you dream about it.
Oh, no, Jim moaned.
Oh yes, replied his peter smugly, it's not as if you don't go for handsome, blonde people with blue eyes.
The bastard is male, Jim said.
And this is a problem how? wondered his peter, that never bothered you when you fantazied about that guy who played that terrorist, Wulfgar. What was that actor's name again?
It is just wrong!
And...?
He pointed a knife at me, killed the girl I loved, and put me through hell!
Couldn't you just let it go? He has paid for that with his life. He's a ghost now.
Nash...
Nash is gone you moron! She has walked away to another world. She's at peace now. It's no use clinging to her memory.
But...
Did you love her? Are you sure you would not have walked separate paths once it was all over?

That reply gave Jim pause, and he had to think. What if they had grown tired of each other? What if it was just the tension, the adrenaline rush of the moment that had made Nash follow him on that crazy, terrifying, ride through the desert. Would they have liked each other at all if they had met during diffrent circumstances? That last question could be applied to the relationship between him and Ryder as well. Oh, what a tangle!
Am I getting a case of split personalities? Jim suddenly wondered, a bit scared. Am I going insane?
No, said his peter, you are sleeping and this debate between you and me happens in a dream.
Oh, that's okay then, Jim replied and felt very relieved.

Let me think about it, okay? Jim said.
Okay, said his peter.

And Jim thought it through. Then, just as he had made his decision, he woke up.

Chapter 9

Jim woke up. For a moment he lay still, and enjoyed the feel of a free sunday morning. He thought back on the dream, and wondered what it said about his state of mind, that he dreamed about having conversations with his peter. Probably nothing bad, he hoped.

Maybe he should give Ryder a chance to show his best sides, Jim thought, before letting his mind wander the way a mind was wont to wander in the morning, when one was pretty much awake, but still a bit sleepy.

The sun shone in through the window, and small specks of dust were dancing in the light. Jim looked around. He noticed that the walls were grey. He wondered if they always had been grey. Then he wondered why he had never noticed before. There were neither any posters nor any pictures on the walls either. Jim decided that his bedroom looked just awful. It reminded him of a prison cell. He decided to see if he could do something about it. Repainting the walls would be a good start.

Then Jim saw Ryder standing in a corner. The dead man was staring down on the floor. Suddenly as if Ryder felt Jim's gaze, he looked up. For a moment their gazes were locked. Then they both looked away at the same time.

Jim sat up in the bed, with the quilt covering his body up to the chest. He still felt a bit sleepy, but not tired enough to get back to sleep.
"Ryder", Jim said, to get the man's attention.
"Yes?", Ryder said as he slowly walked to the bed.
"I've been thinking", said Jim.
"Yes?"
"These walls, they are grey, aren't they?"

Ryder stared at him. Why was the boy talking about the color of the walls?
Jim repeated his question.
"Yes, they are", Ryder answered, mystified.
"What color would be good here?"
"I don't know", said Ryder.
"Yellow, perhaps", Jim mused aloud. "Some kind of light yellow", he continued, "like that yellow one sees at dawn, the kind with a slight pinkish tinge in it."

Ryder thought that Jim had lost his mind. Why talk about colours when there was more important things to discuss? Such as that eternity they were to live together.

"You know", said Jim, "I never cared what color these walls were until now."
"Oh", said Ryder, finally understanding, "so you are feeling better?"
"I think so", said Jim. "A proper mourning period lasts a year and a day after all."
"And now?"
"And now I'm going to have some breakfast."
And with that Jim rose from the bed. He put on blue jeans, black socks and a plain red sweather. Then he went to the kitchen, with Ryder close behind him.

Jim was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his breakfast. Ryder was sitting on the other side of the table, facing Jim. Neither of the men knew how to start a conversation. They didn't know each other, and yet they were to spend a very long time together. Somehow Jim felt very calm about this situation, as if he had walked through the fire and come out on the other side. Ryder on the other side was fiddling, following the pattern on the table cloth with his index finger.

"I have a question", said Jim around a bite of his sandwich. "Was it you I saw the day before yesterday, walking before me in the rain?"
"Yes."
"But the trial wasn't until the night after."
"Well, the Court Outside Time is just that, outside the time."
Jim looked like a question mark.
"It means that when the trial was over", Ryder tried to explain, "They dumped me in the right place but a day too early."
Jim still stared at him.
"To them time is just a place."
"Just a place?"
"Yes."
"So it was you in the rain?"
"Yes." Ryder's voice betrayed just the finest hint of annoyance.
"Just checking."

After breakfast Jim washed the dishes and surveyed the contents of his frigde. There weren't much inside. He was out of milk, butter and eggs. The cheese had begun to look slightly suspicious, so he decided to throw that in the waste bin. He figured that it was time to go to the supermaket and buy the necessary groceries. He wrote a shopping list, put on his shoes and prepared to leave the appartment.

Ryder, who had watched Jim the whole morning, asked him where he was going. Jim told him. Ryder then asked if he could come with him, and Jim said it was alright.
"After all", said Jim, "I've decided to make the best of this situation. To grin and bear it, as they say."
Ryder felt very relieved to hear those words. He gave a silent thank you to any deity, that might be listening, for that grace.

Maybe, just maybe, Ryder thought, he'd be able to redeem himself in Jim's eyes. Maybe one day Jim would look at him with fondness instead of loathing. And Ryder followed Jim out of the appartment, onto Chimney Smoke Lane, with a tiny seed of hope in his heart.

Chapter 10

When Jim Halsey had decided to get something done, he usually got it done. Therefore the next sunday found him with a can of primer and a can of paint, in that yellow color he liked so much, and a paintbrush. He had emptied his bedroom and put everything in the hallway and the kitchen. There were newspapers on the floor, and some masking tape on the egdings. The walls had been prepared. Everything was ready.

Jim picked up the brush and dipped it in the can with the primer. Then he began to paint the wall opposite the window, the wall with the door. At first the strokes were hesitant and uneven. Then, as he got more and more used to the brush in his hand, they got more secure. The work with the primer was quickly done as it was a small room. Then he left it to dry.

Ryder was standing in the doorway as Jim began to paint the walls with the yellow color he'd chosen. The dead man had decided to keep an eye on the cans to stop Jim from stepping in them. "First the primer, like they said in the store, and then the paint", Jim said. Ryder nodded to indicate that he had heard what Jim had said.

Jim was happier now, Ryder observed. More of that happy kid who'd offered him a ride so long ago, and less of that haunted, depressed man he'd seen at his trial. Ryder hoped he had something to do with that, but knew that it propbably wasn't the case. More like that happiness that came when you had made a decision, and knew it to be a good one. 'Well, the important thing is that Jim is happy, even with me around.'

The yellow paint was a good choice since it made the whole room a lot lighter. When it had dried Jim surveyed his work.
"Not bad, isn't it?" he said.
"No, it is not bad."
"Looks a lot better than gray."
"Yes, it does."

Jim slept in the kitchen until the paint had dried up, and the smell had gone. Then he moved back into the bedroom. It was then he found that he needed to do something about his bed and the shelf. Ryder watched as Jim painted the shelf with the last of the yellow paint.
"I would have reminded you, had I thought of it myself," said Ryder to Jim.
"You didn't and I didn't, but now it's done", answered Jim. "Now what shall I do with the bed?"
Ryder had an idea, but since it involved them both, naked, he didn't say anything.

Jim spent the next weeks cleaning out his little appartment, painting the kitchen and getting used to be friendly with Ryder. They talked about safe things, such as the weather, Jim's job and career. More often than not Ryder would listen while Jim talked, making the appropriate comments in the right places. At first Jim thought it was fun to have an attentive audience while he was thinking out loud. Then he was getting annoyed about being the only one doing all the talking.

"Ryder, do you have any opinions, about anything?" Jim asked Ryder one day, after work, when they were sittig at the kitchen table, having supper.
"Yes, I do", said Ryder, mystified.
"Tell me then."
"Why?"
"My turn to listen."
"You might be offended."
Jim stared at Ryder, with his cofee mug halfway to his mouth.
"This from the guy who put me through hell! You offeneded me back then, very thoroughly. I doubt that anything you say can measure up to that."
Ryder considered what the young man had said, and didn't agree wholy.
"But this might top that", he said.
"Tell me", said Jim.
"I love you", said Ryder, and braced himself for Jim's explosion.

There was no explosion though.

Instead Jim regarded Ryder with a rather curious expression on his face. Then he put down the mug on the table.
"You said that in the Court Outside Time."
"Yes, I did", said Ryder, "and I still mean it."
Jim nodded to himself, and recalled the dream when he had a conversation with his peter.
"Then, what would one call it?" Jim said, as if to himself.
"Call what what?"
"You are dead, and I'm alive. Wouldn't it be necrophilia?"
"It's when it's corpses involved", said Ryder, "and I'm no corpse, I'm a ghost."
"Spiritual love?" Jim ventured,
"No, because I feel a very bodily kind of attraction to you, as well as a kind of symphathy."
"There was a lot of big words in that answer."
"Yes."
Jim was silent for a moment, gathering himself for the leap into the unknown.
"Then why don't you give me a kiss?" he said eventually.

Ryder stared at him, not believing his ears. Then, when the chock had lessened and he felt able to move, he slowly leaned towards Jim, who was sitting very still, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

The tension ran out of Jim's body and then he laughed. After a moment Ryder joined in.

THE END

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