25 Hour Watch

It was one of those interminable long days for Mary Schmidt. She sat alone at the single seat of the information kiosk centered inside the volumous lobby of the records building, quietly applying the finishing touches to what she considered a very fine example of fingernail painting. Her work day was more than half over and so far she had assisted only three people and answered five phone calls. It was not as if this building regularly saw a massive amount of traffic, most of the people who came in were frequent visitors, usually politicians, lawyers, professors and genealogists, people who already knew the wheres and whys of this place and required little help. But today had been particularly slow, no doubt due to the hard cold outside. What little daily paper work she was required to complete she had filed within the first hour of her shift and so she had occupied the past two hours painstaking brushing on Black Raspberry Luster gloss to the tips of her fingers, waiting for her work day to end.

She was so intent in this that, despite the relative quite of the lobby, she failed to hear the Charlie’s approach to her desk. Ever the gentleman, Charlie allowed a minute for the young woman to acknowledge his presence. When it became clear to him that she too deeply focused on prettying-up her hands, and would be for some time, he cautiously cleared his throat.

Mary looked up at her visitor, eyes wide with faint surprise, quickly moved her numerous painting supplies aside and smiled graciously at the pale faced man standing in front of her. “Hello. Welcome to the Federal Records Building, sir,” she chirped, “is there something I can do for you?”

Charlie smiled back as warmly as he thought he could. “Yes, hello, my dear. My name is Charles Marley and I… well, I…” To his horror, he realized he had not given any thought on how to broach his special situation or even what it was exactly he was looking for here. “You see, my dear, I am looking for… well, I guess you could say that I am looking for something along the lines of death certificates.”

Mary nodded with understanding. “That shouldn’t be a problem, sir. We have half a floor with just those in it.” She began to reach for a visitor’s guide but Charlie stopped her with a gesture.

“No, no. The problem is that there is no death certificate yet for the person I’m looking for.”

The young woman arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. There’s no death certificate… yet?”

“Yes, well, you see, there is this person, a person whom I am representing, who… passed away some weeks ago and the local coroner is refusing to issue a death certificate for him.”

Mary was trying to get a handle on the situation. “Sir, it’s not uncommon for the issuance of a death certificate to be delayed if there is, say, an unknown cause of death.”

“Oh, that’s not the case,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “Four doctors and two coroners all agree that the cause of death was natural. His heart just gave out. Old age, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, sir,” said Mary in an effort to be sympathetic. “But if all the doctors agree on the cause of death, why haven’t they issued a death certificate? Did the body… disappear?”

Charlie thought hard about how to word an explanation. “No,” he said slowly, “there just happens to be contrary evidence that this person is really dead.”

Now both of Mary’s eyebrows were rising to her forehead. “Contrary evidence that your friend is dead but they all agree he died of natural causes? I apologize, sir, but I just don’t understand.”

The old man’s head slumped down in exasperation. He had tried this strategy before, several times in fact, of trying to get to the point while at the same time avoiding it completely. It never worked before and he should not have expected it to do so now. Despite himself, he felt those dreaded two words being forced into his mouth. Those two damnable words which never failed to produce less than satisfactory results to those he uttered them to. He said them nonetheless, quietly but directly.

“I’m dead.”

The blank expression which Mary wore was one that Charlie was well acquainted with. She nodded lightly, trying to comprehend what this old man in the tweed suit was telling her. She nodded for a long moment, then asked in a small voice, “Dead tired?”

“No, just dead,” he barked, a little too sharply, a little too loudly than he should have. “I am deceased. I am no longer alive. I have passed on… well, as you can see, I may have passed but I didn’t go very far. I have shuffled off this mortal coil and am no longer among the land of the living.”

“Well, many people feel that way about living in the capital,” Mary said, hoping against hope that this was what this man meant. Out of Charlie’s line of sight, one of her beautiful fingernails began inching towards a small red button hidden beneath the desk.

“Look, Mary,” Charlie began, referring to the name plate set evenly at the top of her desk, “please allow me to explain my situation to you?”

“Sure,” Mary agreed, her voice almost imperceptible, “Okay.”

Charlie leaned forward on the desk, folding his hands. “Some three months ago, I woke up one morning feeling not at all well; lethargic, general stiffness in the joints, a numbing sensation throughout, abnormally pale in appearance.”

“Flu?” Mary asked wistfully.

“So I thought. Anyway, I went to see my doctor that very day and what a trial that was. I thought he would check my tonsils, tap my knee, write me a prescription and it would all be done with inside an hour. Eight hours I was there! All kinds of tests and proddings, many of with I considered at the time to be a bit on the invasive side. I began to suspect something when my doctor had to get a second opinion on a thermometer reading. I saw three different doctors that day and at the end of it all, they had all agreed that something during the previous night I had suffered a fatal heart attack and died peacefully in my sleep.”

“And I take it you disagreed with their diagnosis?” Mary asked, her finger closing in on the hidden red button.

“In the strongest sense I disagreed! I mean, the mere fact that I was sitting there arguing the case of my death should speak volumes of my take on the matter. But they had all the evidence. All their tests revealed that I had no pulse, no respiration, no response to stimuli and my body temperature had fallen to sixty-eight degrees. I showed all the classic signs of an acute case of death.”

“And what happened then?” Mary asked, her finger a hair’s breath away from the button.

“Well, the three doctors ran me over to the coroner’s office to have a death certificate properly filled out and completed but she refused to give me one. She said that when a corpse walks into her office demanding a death certificate, she is rather reluctant to hand one out. She said that it could ruin her reputation to permit a walking, talking dead person to be interned.”

“So what did they do?”

“The only thing they said they could do was write me a prescription for cyanide in case I started to feel better.”

Mary’s finger mashed against the button with such energy that her precious fingernail splintered. Somewhere in a back office, an angry buzzer sounded and two security guards were quickly out the door, heading for the lobby.

“So what did you do?” the receptionist asked, doing her best to conceal the sharp pain stabbing at  her injured finger. Until security arrived, she thought I best to keep this man talking, to keep his interest on the story instead of her.

“Well, for the next month, I consorted with all sorts of people; medical specialists, politicians, local officials, even a hack named Merlin. They were all very sympathetic about my loss but insisted that there was nothing they could do. No one would allow me to have a death certificate issued. The doctor types, while admitting that I was dead, refused to get me one, claiming I was a bit too active to be considered legally deceased. The politicians declined claiming that my situation would mess up their census numbers, possibly effecting the amount of federal money they would receive. I spoke to a couple lawyers but right off the bat they said that the dead have no legal recourse. Then the bank somehow got wind of everything and had me evicted seeing as how I wasn’t ‘living’ at the house anymore. So I’ve been trapped in this bureaucratic whirlwind ever since.”

“Why that is just terrible.” Mary was struggling to keep an even tone but her eyes kept flashing over to the large stairwell to her right, hoping to see the dull brown of security uniforms come rushing towards her. The stairwell remained empty. She needed to stall this guy for just a little longer. “So, what brought you here, Mr. Marley.”

Charlie’s expression suddenly brightened. So caught up in his own story he had almost forgotten the reason for his long trip to the capital and now this dear woman seemed so eager to help him, so understanding. More often than not, the people he had told this same story to ended up calling security before he could finish his tale of woe.

“Well, Mary, one of the lawyers, even though he could do nothing for me, suggested I come here and dig up some old family records. He thought that if I could establish a genealogical pattern, I may convince all those doctors and administrators that I have some sort of claim to my death certificate.”

Mary was growing increasing impatient and her damaged finer, pain or not, convulsed repeatedly on the security call button. “And what are you trying to establish a genealogical pattern of, exactly?”

“That death runs in my family. My mother, my father. My grandfather has suffered from it for many decades. Both sisters, God bless them. This lawyer recommend I try to gather as much evidence as possible to prove that I am genetically predisposed to death.”

Mary’s restraint was hanging by a thread. She was seriously considering simply bolting from the desk and locking herself in on of the offices when a booming voice banged across the lobby.

“What’s all this, then!”

The two of them snapped their heads in the direction of the voice. Almost at the bottom of the stairs trotted a bear of a man, dressed in a security uniform. Pinned on his barrel chest was a gold star, the carefully polished surface catching the dull light. Behind him, trying to look severe, was another guard, a much younger clone of the older guard.

The two men approached the kiosk, the elder guard regarded Charlie with a sharp eye. “Is everything okay here, Mary?” he asked, not looking at her.

“Everything is just fine, sir. I was explaining to this young lady…”

“Mary?” the guard asked, cutting off Charlie.

“Hank, this guy says he’s dead,” she blurted out in a rushed panic. “He says he’s been to doctors who say he’s dead, all three of them and the coroner was a bitch who won’t give him a death certificate so they gave him cyanide and now here’s here to get his dead parents and grandfather and sisters to prove he is too!” She stopped abruptly, almost panting.

Charlie and the two guards looked at Mary stupefied. Hank finally turned to the old man and asked, “Is… any of this… um, true?”

“Well, I would like to think that my version of events was a bit more eloquent than hers,” Charlie explained haughtily, “but essentially yes, I am here to get records of deaths in my family.”

“And that little bit about you being dead and all?”

Charlie shrugged. “I may have mentioned something about the fact that I am recently departed, yes.”

Hank regarded Charlie with a long, head to toe look. “If you don’t my saying so, sir, you’re looking kinda healthy for someone who has… recently departed.”

“I have been getting that frequently as of late. The fact of the matter remains that I am deceased and I require certain information here that may ease my passing. Now I believe that I have been more than patient, I am not making a scene nor causing any sort of trouble so if you do not mind, I have some rather important business to attend to.”

The senior security guard gave a sideways glance to his counterpart, gave him a curt nod. “Chris, make a call to Hillside. Tell them to hurry.” In a severe manner, the younger guard marched up to one of the phones at the information desk and began punching buttons.

“And just who is this ‘Hillside’ you are calling for?” Charlie demanded, his voice louder, growing more urgent. “See here, I think I have been perfectly reasonable with you people..”

“Oh, yes,” chimed Hank, hand slipping to the canister of mace at his waist, “perfectly reasonable.”

“… and if you folks are not in a position to help me, then perhaps I think it best if I should just leave.” Charlie took a step back from the desk.

Hank advanced towards Charlie, holding out a beefy hand. “Sir, just relax. We do want to help you. There’s just some people I think you should talk to, is all.”

Over his shoulder, Charlie could almost make the low key conversation security guard Chris was having with Hillside. He distinctly made out the words, “old man,” “completely gone, and “wagon.”

All of the activity at the information desk had begun to draw the attention of a small crowd of people, most of whom were early workers making their way home for the day. The sight of a pale old man being slowly rounded up two security guards in front of a receptionist who looked like she was about to pass out from panic was enough to draw the attention of even the most apathetic metronaut. People began to edge their way closer to the scene of the action, catching bits and pieces of the conversation.

Charlie had had enough. He turned towards the doors, preparing to storm out of this place. Before he could even put his foot out, however, a heavy hand fell on this thin shoulder and tightened firmly.

“I think it would be better if you waited a bit, sir,” Hank said. Chris had finished his phone call and, seeing his superiors actions, rushed ahead to block Charlie’s escape. The small crowd around them tensed at this new turn of events but drew in closer all the same.

Charlie gave a hard twist of his body in a futile effort to dislodge the guard’s grip. “Unhand me at once!” he bellowed. “I demand the respect due to the honored dead!”

On hearing his cry, the people in the crowd began to murmur to one another.

“What’s going on here?”

“Look’s like Hank has himself a lively one!”

“Did that old man say he was dead?”

“How can he be dead if he’s walking and talking and stuff?”

“Maybe he uses that botox.”

“Well, he does kind of look deadish.”

Hank made a quick survey of the situation. He wanted to move this old man away from the lobby but, while the crowd was not large, the thickest part of it had gathered directly in front of the only office door on the ground level. He would have felt more comfortable moving him to the security office upstairs but decided not to risk it. It would not look good on his record if he allowed a struggling old codger to take a spill down the stairs.

“Chris,” he barked, “how long until Hillside gets here?”

“They said they had a unit in the area. Be about two minutes.”

“Two minutes until what, exactly?” Charlie fumed.

“Until you get the help you really need, buddy,” replied Hank.

“Hey,” someone shoot from the crowd, “did you say you were dead, gramps?”

“Yes, damn it!” blasted Charlie, “Thirteen weeks dead!”

“So how come you ain’t buried yet?” someone else asked.

“Because I do not have a blasted death certificate yet. You cannot bury a body, apparently, without a bloody death certificate. It is not legal, I suppose.”

“Well, why can’t you get one of those things?” inquired a woman.

“Isn’t it obvious!” answered Charlie.

“How come you’re not, you know, dead dead?” another person asked.

“How the hell should I know? I just woke up one morning like this. I might as well ask you how you came to be alive!”

“Now that’s a personal matter between my mother and father.”

For the next few minutes, the crowd continued to lodge question after question at Charlie and as the two guards seemed content with simply holding him near the information desk, he answered all of their questions patiently, eagerly even, making sure his voice was loud enough so that everybody could hear.

“What does it feel like to be dead?”

“Rather like spending the entire night watching infomercials. It’s rather numbing.”

“Have you spoken to God yet?”

“No, I figured He’s much too busy to concern Himself with my personal dilemmas. I have been thinking that maybe I slipped his mind and he just forgot to collect me.”

“So what are you going to do if you get your death certificate.”

“Be put to rest, I hope. I have an entire family waiting for me on the other side.”

Charlie was so completely engrossed in all this banter that he did not notice one man in particular, dressed an expensively cut business suit and with an intelligent glint in is eyes, make his way to the front of the crowd. He listened for a bit, then turned to another man and asked, “What’s all this about?”

“This is great stuff. That old guy right there says he’s been dead for like three months but no one will give him his death certificate. Says he keeps getting the run around from the doctors and the government. You can’t help but feel sorry for the guy. Anyway, Hank and Chris are making sure he doesn’t wander off, probably waiting for the cops or something. Boy, just listen to that old man go!”

The young man did listen for a bit longer, paying close attention to Charlie’s sad story. He scanned the crowd, watching their faces. Every man and woman was enraptured, hanging on the old man’s every word. A few of the more emotional types even had tears beginning to well up in their eyes. He looked again at this old, well-spoken man and then a light seemed to flicker from behind his sharp eyes, catch fire and begin to burn. With the fluid motion of a skilled gun-slinger, he whipped a cell phone from his pocket and placed a call.

“Sir, it’s Cross,” he said when the other end of the call was answered. “I think we’ve found something we can use. Get down to the lobby as fast as you can.”

Hank, meanwhile, had let his guard down for the time being. This old man wasn’t resisting in any way and was now cheerfully chatting with the people in the crowd. The guard was leaning leisurely against the kiosk as his cohort drew up beside him and whispered in his ear.

“Don’t you think we better do something about this, boss? I mean, this crowd is getting bigger. What if he starts creating a scene?”

Hank snickered. “Why sure. You mace him and I’ll club him with my nightstick. Just relax, kid. I don’t think he even knows we’re here anymore. We can’t do anything until Hillside arrives anyway so let him carry on. Speaking of which, look who just pulled up.”

Chris turned to where Hank was pointing. Through the glass of the front doors, a large van had just come to a stop, the words “HILLSIDE MENTAL HOSPITAL” printed in sweeping red letters on its side. Two burley men dressed in drab white orderly uniforms exited the vehicle and made their way quickly to the doors.

“Okay, this is it,” nodded Hank. “You take his left side, I’ll take his right. Let’s get him out quickly.”

“You got it, boss,” agreed Chris.

The two guards moved efficiently, drawing up to flank Charlie on both sides. The old man, still fielding questions, did not notice their approach until two pairs of hands fell squarely on his shoulders.

“Okay, sir,” announced Hank, interrupting Charlie in mid-sentence, “you’re done lecturing for today.” To the crowd he barked, “Show’s over, everyone. Make a hole, we’re coming through.”

Charlie tried to resist as the two guards egged him towards the doors which the two orderlies were holding open. “Stop, stop, stop,” he cried, “haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said. There’s no need for this sort of treatment!” Looking ahead, he noticed the van parked on the street, the sign printed on its side and the two men waiting to take charge of him. “What is this? You think I’m crazy? I’ve told you, I’m dead!”

Amid the disappointed hisses and catcalls of the crowd, Charlie was propelled forward with speed, the two office guards almost lifting him off his feet to keep him ahead of them. “I’m sorry to have to do this to you, sir,” Hank said with sincerity, “you seem like a harmless enough guy but you need help. Just go with these men and I’m sure you’ll be feeling better in no time at all.”

They had almost reached the door. The orderlies reached out, ready to take a hold of Charlie, a slight smile on their ruddy faces.

“Hold it right there, gentlemen!” rang a clear, commanding voice from behind them. Hank turned his head in annoyance, ready to tell whomever to mind their own business. But when he saw who was approaching them, his surprise was such that he dropped Charlie to his feet.

The man coming quickly down the stairwell was a portly but distinguished looking fellow, his round face a stern mask of confidence and experience, a figure that everyone who worked at the records building, indeed by almost everyone that lived and worked in the capital, recognized at once.

“Senator Templeton?” Hank blurted in surprise.

Upon reaching the foot of the stairs, the senator was quickly intercepted by the hawkish young man from the crowd, cell phone still in hand, who then whispered some words in his ear, pointing to old man sandwiched between the two guards every now and them. Templeton nodded severely the whole time and after about half a minute, the advisor drew away, allowing the senator to approach the two stunned guards.

“You did a fine job here, gentlemen,” he said to the guards upon reaching them, his fleshy face blushing with the exertion of rushing down here from his office, “but I believe everything has been taken care of.”

Hank shook his head in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir, but what has been taken care of?”

“This… situation,” Templeton explained with a generalizing wave of his hands. “You performed quite admirably. However, I believe that everything is in order now so if you would be so kind as to release mister… mister…”

Charlie had been just as stunned as the guards, if not more so, over this sudden turn of events but he did not fail to recognize this turn of fortune, apparently in his favor. “Marley,” he said quickly, “Charles Marley.”

“Of course, Mr. Marley,” the senator said through a large, professional smile. “The two of us have much important business to discuss. So if you would allow…”

Hank was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Senator Templeton, but this guy is a total fruit cake. You should have heard him just a minute ago, going off how he was dead and how the system has failed him. All kinds of crazy talk. He needs to be committed, for his own sake.”

Templeton was wringing his hands eagerly, the smile on his face now so large it threatened to split his head in half. “I’ll hear nothing of it. One man’s insanity is another man’s dream, as they say. Besides, just look at him. Such an elderly gentleman could not possibly pose a threat to a fly, much less himself or anybody else.”

“But, sir…” Hank implored but was interrupted by the senator, his voice now under his breath.

“And besides, Hank, I would consider this as a personal favor to myself.” Templeton punctuated this last bit with an expansive wink. Hank had to consider this for only a brief moment, knowing full well that the gratitude of a senior senator could be very generous, while their dissatisfaction very vicious.

“Let the man go, Chris,” Hank said firmly.

“Do what?” the younger guard cried in disbelief.

“Don’t make me say it twice.” The edge in Hank’s voice was unmistakable. Reluctantly, Chris removed his hold on Charlie and backed away.

“And what about us?” asked one of the orderlies as if still trying to get a handle on the situation.

The senator dismissed them with a wave. “Consider this a drill. Excellent response time. And close those damn doors, will you! It’s freezing in here.” Their disappointment obvious, the two orderlies walked away, shaking their heads.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” asked Hank, his tone indicating his uncertainty.

“If you would be so kind as to disperse this crowd, I think we will be done.” The older guard hadn’t noticed that there were dozens of people still clustered around the scene, all wide eyed in anticipation. Hank motioned to Chris and the two of them moved into the throng of people, barking orders.

Templeton nodded at this and at last turned his full attention on Charlie, beaming. “Well, that was certainly exciting, wasn’t it, Mr. Marley.”

“I suppose that is one way of looking at it,” replied Charlie wearily. Templeton chuckled at this.

“If Mr. Cross hadn’t called me when he did, I fear that the circumstances would have been not to your liking, yes?”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cross is…?”

“My assistant, as sharp and wily a man as ever you’ll find.” As if from thin air, the young, well-groomed man that had been at the senator’s ear materialized at Templeton’s side, smiled brightly at Charlie.

“Sabastian Cross, at your service, Mr. Marley.” He extended a hand, which Charlie accepted in a firm handshake. The younger man could not help but notice that the hand he held was cold and dry.

“And I’m at yours, Mr. Cross, as well as the senators. I’m very much in both your debt. As lovely as this Hillside place sounds, I’m sure I would have found its facilities less than luxurious.”

“I’ve no doubt of that,” joked Templeton. “The place is a zoo, full of poor souls whose minds have been destroyed by too much liberal propaganda. I would have hated to see you sent there.”

“Well, I thank you again but I am afraid that I must beg your leave,” Charlie explained. “I came here with a purpose and in all the hub-bub, no one ever bothered to direct me to the death records.”

Templeton waved his hands dismissively. “Mr. Marley, believe me when I say that you could spend a week in those records and not find a thing you are looking for. In my vast experience, I feel that this type of endeavor is not one that you should tackle by yourself.”

“But no one is willing to help me,” Charlie explained plaintively. “I have seen everybody and their brother and I end up getting thrown out on my face.”

“Until now,” declared the senator magnanimously. “From this moment on, I will dedicate myself to the sole purpose of obtaining you your much sought after death certificate.”

It took a few minutes for Charlie to find his voice. “You would do that for me?” he stammered in amazement. “But why? I mean, you don’t know me from Adam.”

Templeton drew up to Charlie’s side and wrapped an large arm around his shoulders. “Mr. Marley, I see here an opportunity that could prove to be mutually beneficial. I can do for you if you can do for me, as they say.”

“But what could I possibly do for you?” Charlie almost laughed. “I mean, you are a senator and I’m just an old man. Not even that, anymore. I’m just a dead old man.”

“Mr. Marley… Charlie,” Templeton cooed, “if we could go up to my office, I think we could discuss our plans privately and in detail. There is so much we need to talk about. What do you say?”

The old man was beside himself. For so many weeks, now, he had been searching for such a man as this: powerful, influential and eager to help. He could spend years scouring the country looking for an ally such as this. He would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity as this. With barely a moments hesitation, he nodded.

“Senator Templeton, I strongly feel that this is an opportunity that I could not possibly refuse.”

“Excellent!” the politician barked. “I’m so happy. Now if you would follow me, we can discuss our new relationship at once. Mr. Cross, if you would join us.”

As the senator and the old man made their way across the lobby, Cross following behind them at a respectful distance, a knowing smile on his lips.

What could a senator possibly want from an old dead man? Could there be an end in sight for Charlie? Tune in next Sunday for Part Three of Charlie Marley, D.O.A.!