Chapter Four
I realized I had lived above Mr. Princeton for many years and had never seen the inside of his apartment. He taught Archaeology of Ancient Civilizations at the university and true to form, his apartment screamed old. Not that all people’s homes who are interested in ancient civilizations are weird, but Mr. Princeton’s apartment was definitely in that category.
I took in the smoky light accenting the dark and mysterious furnishings in Mr. Princeton’s apartment. I wondered about all the times Matthew sat on the porch talking to him and if Mr. Princeton ever invited him into his apartment. I didn’t think so because I was pretty sure Matthew would have told me.
Nonetheless, I continued to survey my neighbor’s abode. There were bones of all kinds placed strategically throughout the living room. I didn’t look too closely because I didn’t want to know what warm-blooded body, or cold blooded for that matter, they came from. Unusual and curious relics that, I assumed, came from hundreds or maybe thousands of years ago, found at an ancient dig or something like that, were dispersed throughout the room.
The furniture was oversized and overstuffed. Tapestries hung from the walls, some covering the end tables. Pieces of dried, unknown plants graced vases and bowls, and primitive candles were set on pottery that was either very old, or created by someone who didn’t know how to make pottery.
There was so much stuff my brain was on overload. It was enough I was dealing with voices in my head and on my answering machine—I didn’t seem to have room in the “ole noggin” to take in any more. So as Chaz inspected every inch of the shadowy room, I walked right through it, following Mr. Princeton into the kitchen.
I noticed the layout of his apartment was a duplicate of mine. The first time Matthew and I rented one of our other apartments we realized they were mirror images, so it seemed common sense that his would be too. We had a mild turnover of tenants in the other units, but Mr. Princeton came with the building and would probably go with the building—if I were forced to sell.
There was something else about Mr. Princeton’s apartment that seemed identical to mine. It was the feel to it. And that made me uneasy because it was the same feeling I had when I heard the voices.
“Can I help?” I asked, trying to elude the discomfort.
“Why, of course. You can get the corkscrew out of that drawer there and open the wine.”
I opened the drawer he pointed to and searched for a wine key. It was toward the back. I carefully opened the wine, knowing full well Mr. Princeton was a connoisseur of wines. While I was concentrating on pulling the cork out whole, I sensed someone behind me. I turned quickly to see Mr. Princeton smiling at me.
“Quinn, it’s okay. I won’t fail you if you leave a piece or two of the cork in the bottle.” He winked and went back to preparing the salad. I didn’t know why, but I knew in my soul Mr. Princeton wasn’t the “presence” I felt. At any moment, I expected to hear the voices invade my head, so I started talking to keep them from doing so.
“Well, I appreciate that, Mr. Princeton. I would hate to flunk ‘Opening a Bottle of Wine 101.’”
He chuckled then started to speak. His mouth was moving, but the words entering my brain didn’t match the movement of his mouth. He had the funny appearance of an old television movie where the editor didn’t do a good job of lining up the soundtrack to the movement of the characters’ mouths. I almost started laughing.
You must look. Look, please. Oh!
“…but maybe if it was a bottle of Sangria there would be no flunking.” Mr. Princeton’s words blended in with the voices. I stared hard at his face trying to separate them.
“Huh?” I stupidly said.
“Quinn, are you okay?”
“Yes, of course—a little reminiscing. Sorry. I just remember you and Matthew sitting on the porch having wine.”
“No,” he said hesitantly, “we had beer. Actually that was the only time I drank beer. I really do prefer wine. I often thought you were also more of a wine drinker, but Matthew, well he loved his beer. If there is anything such as a beer connoisseur, Matthew was one.” Mr. Princeton studied my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Beer. That’s right,” I stammered. I held out the bottle of wine to him and saw my hand was shaking. I quickly snapped my other hand on the bottle to steady it. “I think this should be a passing grade. No cork in the wine.” I smiled weakly.
Mr. Princeton gently took the bottle from my hands.
“You certainly have a lot of interesting stuff.” Chaz came bounding into the kitchen, his eyes as big as a child in a toy store at Christmas.
“I prefer the word treasures, but thank you.” Mr. Princeton poured three glasses of wine and handed one to each of us. He picked up his goblet and raised it in the air. “Cheers!” Chaz and I raised our glasses and echoed his toast. “Quinn, if you would please, the pans are in the cupboard over there. Pick one large enough for the spaghetti and fill it with water for me.”
I wandered over to the cupboard, picked out a large pot, filled it with water and placed it on the stove. I turned the gas burner on to high.
“Chaz, are you good with a knife?” There was a hint of mischief in Mr. Princeton’s eyes.
“Oh, most definitely. You’d be amazed at what I can do with a knife.”
“Really. Why don’t you show me? The bread is over there and the knives are in that drawer.”
Chaz opened the drawer and pulled out a very sharp-looking, serrated knife. “Oh, this will do just fine.” He winked at me and tended to the bread.
“Quinn, the dishes are in this cupboard here,” he said pointing to a cabinet above the counter. “Would you be so kind as to set the table?”
“Sure.” I knew what he was doing. He had to have seen my hand shake. He had to have heard the tremble in my voice, but keeping me busy wasn’t going to keep the voices at bay. I already tried that. When the voices came, it didn’t matter what I was doing.
I grabbed the dishes anyway and went into the dining room to set the table, again afraid I might insult this distinguished, well-mannered gentleman by setting the table the wrong way. Did the forks go on the right? Or left? Damn, I couldn’t remember. So I guessed, setting the table as fast as I could. I kept looking around for someone to grab me or worse, start whispering to me. I went back into the kitchen because I wasn’t comfortable being alone in the dining room.
Soon after, we sat down to a delicious smelling meal of spaghetti, meatballs in marinara sauce, salad, and Chaz’s expertly cut Italian bread. Mr. Princeton offered me another glass of wine, but I declined even though I was afraid of once again offending him. I needed my wits about me. He merely smiled as I shifted in my chair, knowing I was being paranoid.
The conversation flowed mostly between Chaz and Mr. Princeton. Mr. Princeton explained different artifacts that Chaz excitedly pointed out. The drumming of their conversation made my brain step out of the dining room and back to my apartment as I tried to figure out what was happening. Where did the message on the answering machine go? I knew I heard it. How did the locket get on the end table? It was supposed to be in Matthew’s coffin.
“Don’t you think, Quinn?”
I snapped out of my trance. “I’m sorry. Think about what?”
“Girl, where are you?” Chaz asked.
“I believe she is deeply engrossed in trying to figure out where the voices are coming from.”
I looked surprised at Mr. Princeton. How did he always just know? “You’re right.”
“I’ve heard you many nights asking them to stop,” Mr. Princeton said to me. “At first, I thought it was only your voice I heard. Other times,” he took a sip of his wine, “I wasn’t so sure.”
Excitement outweighed the astonishment I felt at Mr. Princeton’s statement. “You’ve heard them,” I said matter-of-factly.
“I believe I have.”
“Oh, now, wait a minute,” Chaz butted in. “Mr. Princeton, exactly what have you heard?”
“Yes
, what have you heard?” I asked, hungrily wanting to know more.
“I have heard voices. Unfortunately, through these walls, it was mostly muttering, but every now and then, Quinn, I could hear you, pleading.” I looked down. “Don’t be ashamed or embarrassed. You think you’re going crazy, right? I want to tell you that I do not believe you are.”
Tears ran down my cheeks. Relief was such a small word to describe the feelings I had at that moment. Mr. Princeton reached across the table and put his large hand over mine. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
I grabbed my napkin and pressed it to my eyes to stop the assault of tears. He believed me, and I wanted to tell him everything. I couldn’t very well do that if he couldn’t understand a word I was saying because I was a blubbering mess.
After a minute or two, I felt I could talk without losing it. I lowered the napkin and opened my eyes to see both men staring intently at me. I didn’t feel paranoid anymore so I delved right in. “It started shortly after Matthew died.” That statement alone stopped me. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. It was still difficult to actually say that. “For a while, I only heard the voices at night so I thought I was dreaming, but a little while ago, I started hearing them during the day—only at home, never at work.”
“Were you napping?” Mr. Princeton asked.
“Yes, until this past week. I know I was awake when I heard them on my answering machine today and the other day after I spoke to Chaz on the phone.”
“Girl, was that the day you came over for cocktails?”
“Yes.”
“I thought something was up with you. You looked white as a ghost!” When Chaz saw the look on my face he quickly added, “I’m sorry, honey, no pun intended.” Mr. Princeton and I
looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“It’s okay,” I managed to say. “At least you’ve got me laughing and not crying like a sniveling scaredy-cat.”
“Quinn, you’re not a sniveling, scaredy-cat. Sniveling maybe, but not a scaredy-cat,” Chaz said. I reached over and slugged him in the arm. Chaz recoiled his arm as if he was hit by a heavyweight boxer.
“You’re such a wuss,” I said smiling.
“For a girl, you hit hard,” he whined.
“You said you heard them today on your answering machine,” Mr. Princeton interrupted our banter. “That explains the broken apparatus.” He smiled.
“They were in the background of a message from the Shikmans’ lawyers. I know it was the same voices, but when I tried to play the message back for Chaz, it was gone.” I noticed the confused look on Mr. Princeton’s face. “See, you think I’m crazy.”
“No, dear, I was just evaluating a thought process in my head.” He smiled at my puzzled look. “Did anything different happen around the time you started hearing the voices during the day?” Mr. Princeton asked.
I put my hand to my chin and thought for a few moments. “You mean like the Shikmans’ lawyers calling me?” All of a sudden I heard a voice whisper ever so softly, I’m sorry. My head snapped around to where I thought the voice came from. I looked back at the two men. “You heard that, didn’t you?” I asked them.
“Hear what?” Chaz asked, stone-faced.
“I heard it. The voice said ‘I’m sorry.’” Chaz looked at Mr. Princeton in surprise.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed out.
“You heard it?” Chaz asked incredulously. “I can’t believe you heard it! I didn’t hear it. Why didn’t I hear it?” Chaz looked at Mr. Princeton in a non-believing way. “Who is it? Is it a boy or a girl? Quinn, is that what they said?” He asked me as if to challenge Mr. Princeton’s validity.
“Chaz,” I answered, “yes, the voice said, ‘I’m sorry.’”
“And I believe it was a man’s voice,” Mr. Princeton added.
I could tell Chaz was still unsure. “Well, then what is he sorry for?”
“I know,” I said. And at that moment I did know. It was that simple. I’m sorry answered the question of why I started hearing the voices during the day. “The Shikmans sicced their lawyers on me the day I broke my alarm clock and my cell phone. The next day I started hearing the voices when I was awake.”
Chaz smirked. “We need to solve this before Quinn doesn’t have any technical devices left.” He sat up straight in his chair as his train of thought changed. “You don’t think it’s Matthew, do you?” By the look of confusion and a tinge of excitement on his face, I could tell he was trying to wrap his head around everything, but this was even too much for me to comprehend.
“No, of course not,” I answered definitively.
“Quinn, you just alluded that it was. Who else would be sorry for the Shikmans' lawyers harassing you?” Mr. Princeton asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s not Matthew. He’s dead,” I said sternly. After a moment, my stubborn brain relented and I looked at both men, “Okay, that made no sense, I know. After all, it most likely is a dead person since the whispering has no body behind it, but I don’t know if I can even begin to believe it’s Matthew talking to me. I mean he’s gone.” Tears started to blur my vision once again.
“Ah, honey, I’m sorry.” Chaz came over to my chair and wrapped me in a big bear hug. His hugs were always soothing, and they had gotten me through a lot of rough times this past year. At the funeral, Chaz stood next to me. He was my family—the only one who stood by me. I was shunned by Matthew’s family. I always had Chaz. No matter what, he could make me feel better. I held onto him for a few minutes.
“Quinn, if it is Matthew, and at this point I am pretty sure it is, he is probably sorry for all the misery his family is causing you. It makes sense.” I unfolded myself from Chaz’s hug and looked at Mr. Princeton. “We used to talk about it during our visits on the front porch, and again when I visited him in the hospital. He knew his parents didn’t agree with his decision to be with you. He told me he warned his parents to be nice to you or they weren’t welcome in his life.”
I never knew Matthew talked to anyone about his family. It was a surprise on the one hand, but on the other nothing surprised me anymore. “That’s right, but I had no idea they didn’t like me until the funeral. They didn’t even acknowledge me as his partner at the funeral. Chaz and I had to sit in the back of the synagogue. And now, they have lawyers to force me to give them all his belongings and to turn over his share of our properties.”
“I know Matthew would be devastated if he knew what his parents were doing to you. I’m sure it was he who said ‘I’m sorry.’”
“Mr. Princeton, did he ever say anything about protecting Quinn from something like this? Like a will or putting her down as a beneficiary?”
I put my hand on Chaz’s hand hoping to suppress the anger I saw starting to appear. “Chaz, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. He should have taken care of you.”
“He was dying.”
Chaz made a harrumph sound.
Mr. Princeton interjected. “I think that is why Matthew is trying to reach Quinn.”
“I still can’t believe this. I mean everything I know tells me the dead don’t come back, and they don’t talk to us,” Chaz said.
“Yeah, welcome to my world. That’s how I felt, but it appears we were wrong because some dead person is,” I retorted.
“Yes,” Mr. Princeton agreed, “someone is. So, Quinn, what else has the voice been saying?”
“Voices,” I said.
“Voices? There’s more than one?” He looked surprised. “I thought the other voice was you.”
“Definitely more than one.”
“How can you tell?” Chaz asked, looking more and more skeptical.
“They sound different. Just like the three of us sound different.”
“How many do you think there are?” Mr. Princeton pressed.
“I’m not sure. Sometimes they’re all whispering together and it just blends. It’s hard to pick any distinctive ones, but I’m positive there is more than one.”
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Chaz turned to Mr. Princeton. “That kind of blows your theory that it’s Matthew.”
“It’s not a theory,” Mr. Princeton said solidly. “I believe it is Matthew, but I have no idea who the other voices belong to.”
“You seriously believe Matthew is talking to Quinn from somewhere beyond and there are others joining in on the conversation?”
“I do.”
“A party line,” he snickered and then he looked at me. “Do you?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I answered. “I just don’t know.”
“Tell me what you’ve been hearing.” Mr. Princeton put a hand up to silence Chaz who was about to protest again.
“Most of the time they want me to ‘look,’ but for what, I don’t know. Sometimes, they seem afraid, they kind of scream. They seem afraid…” I whispered the next words feeling chills run up and down my spine as I recalled in my mind the voices pleading. “For me.”
“Why would they be afraid for you?” Chaz asked, a concerned look on his face.
“I don’t know that either, Chaz. It’s not as if I have conversations with them. I’ve tried, but they never answer me. They just keep saying the same things over and over.”
Chaz threw his hands up in the air. “Okay, I don’t know if I can believe any of this. I mean I never really had to think about this kind of stuff. I watched the movie Ghost, but I watched it for entertainment. I didn’t necessarily believe in it.” Chaz looked at me with a look of pity. He turned to Mr. Princeton. “So, if you’re saying the voices she hears aren’t really in her head and they’re from…” Chaz paused as if he couldn’t believe what he was going to say next, “the beyond and it could possibly even be Matthew, then what do we do to help Quinn? What do we do?”
“I think,” Mr. Princeton answered, “we have to find out if indeed it is Matthew and find out what he wants. It seems this spirit is disturbed and won’t rest until Quinn knows.”
“How do we do that?” I asked quietly.
Mr. Princeton got up from the table. “Come with me.” Chaz and I got up and followed him into the living room. “Quinn, did you know that embalming started with the Egyptians?” Without even waiting for me to answer, he continued. “Of course you would. I’m sure they taught you that during your mortuary science training. Well, the Egyptians believed in life after death. They embalmed or mummified the bodies so they would be ready to exist in the afterlife.”
He walked over to a cabinet made of dark wood with intricately ornate carvings. It had a glass top and was only about four feet high. The closer we got to it I realized it was a display case. He took a skeleton key from his pocket and unlocked the top that he lifted and leaned back against the wall. I peered inside.
“Please don’t touch anything. This artifact is extremely old and valuable. Of course to someone like you, you wouldn’t think so.” He winked at Chaz.
Chaz scooched in closer for a better look but not after he rolled his eyes at Mr. Princeton’s comment. Inside the case was a stack of parchment-type material. Pictures and symbols were visible on the top piece of parchment. It not only looked old, it felt old. Not by touching the document as we were told not to, but in the feeling that emanated from the parchment into the room. It was as if when Mr. Princeton opened the cabinet, the spirit of whatever was in there filtered out. I looked at Chaz who actually looked pale. A black man looking pale was a sight that always made me chuckle.
“So what is this?” Chaz asked nodding to the parchment.
“It is a very old copy of an Egyptian Book of the Dead—The Papyrus of Ani to be more precise.” He answered with such pride I thought his bow tie was going to burst from the puffing out of his chest.
“The book of what?”
“Book of the Dead. Of course, this copy is only a piece of it. The whole copy wouldn’t fit in this case. I have the rest of it stored safely away.” He looked lovingly at the parchment in the case. “The actual, original Papyus of Ani is seventy-eight feet long by one foot, three inches.
That one is in the British Museum.”
“So, how does this pertain to Quinn?”
“Like I said, the Egyptians didn’t believe life ended in death. That was unthinkable to them. They believed there was an afterlife. The Book of the Dead contained spells that would help their dead to pass on to the next world, the next life. They buried their kings with a Book of the Dead to help them exist in the hereafter.” Mr. Princeton became animated as he spoke to us. “There were spells for them to speak, to eat, to see, and to move within the afterworld, as well as spells to help them defeat creatures they would encounter on their journey.
“In the beginning, the Book of the Dead was written on the cave walls, then on the inside of the coffin and eventually on papyrus, a thick paper-like material made from the papyrus plant, like this one.” He became quiet and gazed down at the scroll in the cabinet. “It’s all so extraordinary. I can still feel the presence of the spirits. I think you can too.”
I still wasn’t sure. I did feel something that I couldn’t explain and I wondered how you could even feel the presence of spirits from a copy.
I watched Mr. Princeton look up to the ceiling and close his eyes. The look on his face was one of satisfaction and appreciation as if he was reveling in the thought of spirits. I saw the intense seriousness in his dark eyes. “The Egyptians also believed the dead could communicate to each other and they could see each other, sometimes even presenting themselves to the living. It’s these beliefs that lead me to consider the possibility Matthew is trying to communicate with you and that he is not alone in his efforts to reveal to you whatever message it is he has.”
“Mr. Princeton, when I came home tonight I sensed a presence watching me as I got out of the car. I looked up to my bedroom window and saw a shadow—a person, but I couldn’t make it out. There were no features—just outlines of a smoky existence. I checked my whole apartment and didn’t find anyone. I also found a locket in my living room that Matthew gave me on our anniversary the year before he died. I swear I put it in his coffin, but tonight I found it after I threw the answering machine. It was on the same spot where the answering machine was. I know it wasn’t there before.”
As Chaz continued his suspicious look of doubt, Mr. Princeton’s expression became more excited. Mr. Princeton carefully closed the lid and locked it. He deposited the key in the breast pocket of his shirt.
I wasn’t sure what to think. It was implausible for my brain to grasp what he was trying to say and everything I was experiencing, but if I doubted what Mr. Princeton was telling me, then I had to doubt my sanity, and I was pretty sure I was still somewhat sane. I swallowed my skepticism and asked the only question I could ask. “So, what do I do now?”
“I think I know someone who might be able to help you.”
“She’s already got a therapist,” Chaz quipped.
Mr. Princeton shot Chaz a sideways glance that stopped Chaz from saying anything else along the line of satire. He went over to a table positioned at the entrance of his apartment. On top was a small, dark wooden box with the same type of carvings that were on the display cabinet. He took out another, smaller skeleton key and gently unlocked the box.
Watching Mr. Princeton so captivated by the artifacts in his apartment, I wondered if Matthew knew about any of this. If he did, he never told me.
He thumbed through the box. I half expected him to pull out a Voodoo doll, or a petrified scarab, or maybe a piece of paper with a spell on it to help me communicate to Matthew.
Instead he handed me a business card.