1 The Beginning at the End
Seattle, Washington
Ferguson Mansion
Morning
October
2113
George picked up her hat from her bed and walked to the full-length closet mirror. She placed it on her head with the veil up and scrutinized the face looking back from underneath. She hadn't aged a day since she died. She still looked fresh - like she was just out of high school - except - yes, it was the eyes that gave her away. They were windows into the soul, or so they say, and her eyes were not those of a girl just heading off to college. They were big and brown and much more. She remembered Delores and smiled. She tried a perky smile and tilted her head and pointed at her big brown eyes. The perky smile did make her look younger but she decided that wouldn't be appropriate today. She would have to go as is. Fortunately the veil would obscure her face - and her soul.
This would be the last such funeral for her. There was no one left who knew her when she was alive. This was the end of something important, a milestone in her undead sojourn through the world of the living, and she struggled to get her mind to focus on it, to mark it with a worthy thought. She could feel the weight pressing down demanding some pithy substantive words to capture and hold onto, but all she had was the raw weight of that feeling.
A disembodied voice said, "George, the car is pulling up front now and Ms. Hesburgh and Mr. Ferguson are ready at the top of the stairs."
She looked up and to the side. "Thanks, Mabel. Please let them know I'll be there in a minute." She returned to her reflection in the mirror. "Could you show me a face view of my head next to my image in the mirror, and then a full body front and back?"
"Of course."
An image of George's face appeared next to her image in the mirror but this one showed a slightly longer proportioned face, a touch blonder hair, and deep blue eyes. The full length showed nothing amiss. She looked herself over one last time and satisfied, dropped the veil.
"OK, Mabel. I'm ready."
She took one more look around her bedroom and walked out into the hall. Charlotte and Tommy smiled. George stopped to look each over in turn before allowing them out in public. "Charlotte, you look wonderful."
"I look old."
"Not a day over 60. Tommy, hold on a sec." She took the knot of his tie in both hands to get some of the slack out. "Let me just fix this tie a bit here. There. Perfect. Everybody ready?"
George nodded to Charlotte who, as the eldest living family member, took the lead with Tommy one step behind and to her side.
George said, "Mabel, could you ask Mr. Gonzalez to join us in the car?"
"He will be there, Ms. McGillicuddy."
"Thank you Mabel."
From the top of the stairs George could see several more senior family members of the follow on generations gathered waiting for them. None of these people had yet reached a hundred years and most were no older than their eighties. A very few were younger, but none approached her own appearance. The trio stood and looked down on the solemn group. Most of the family were either outside or already at the cemetery waiting to pay their respects.
Charlotte took the lead descending the staircase holding onto the banister looking down at her feet putting her full weight on each step before moving to the next. Charlotte and Tommy acknowledged this one and that one with a mumbled greeting exchanged with a well-worn phrase of condolence. Several looked her way. No one questioned why she was with the two reigning senior family members, but she knew they were wondering why she was there occupying such a position at this time. Usually she kept out of sight. But today she would make an exception and allow them to see her and wonder.
At the bottom the way was clear through to the front door. And on the other side their car door was open. Ray stood at the open door waiting for them.
Outside the usual Seattle autumn sky was overcast. Maybe the sun would show itself later this afternoon. What an appropriate time of the year for this particular funeral.
They entered the car one by one with George followed by Ray. The door closed signaling it was time for the remaining family members to head to the cemetery.
In the car George looked Charlotte and Tommy over again. She fiddled more with Tommy's tie and adjusted the lay of his suit collar before taking Charlotte's hand and settling down for the ride.
Ray said, "George, a Detective Proxfire, I believe he is your…Millie's cousin, will be at the funeral and he has indicated that this morning he will approach you requesting a meeting at the house later this afternoon."
Tommy's face showed confusion. "Ray, who is he again? I mean family wise."
"He's your great grandson, Tommy."
"Have I met him? There are so many. I have trouble keeping track of them all."
Charlotte answered for Ray. "Of course you've met him, Tommy. He's a detective with the Seattle police. A very nice young man."
"Seems like an awful lot of them are with the police."
"It's OK, Tommy. He wants to talk to me. All of his questions will be directed at me, Millie McGillicuddy, his distant cousin. Ray, I don't want to accept his approach until after the ceremony is complete."
"I'll take care of him, George."
John Proxfire, as befitting one of the younger family members, stood well back from the gravesite. He carried his umbrella in his coat pocket just in case. He hated getting wet and then having to stand outside through a funeral, even for family – even someone so important as this family member.
He had gotten here early to walk around and look over the old family tombstones. Reggie, the matriarch of the greater clan, was to be buried close to her immediate family including her husband, but also her mother, father, and sister, and a few children who preceded her. He stopped in front of the sister's tombstone – the oldest stone of the three by many years. But...if what he read in the old journal were true... He wondered what was really inside this grave.
He had met Reggie only a few times but never really any solid talk beyond the formal family pleasantries. She lived in the original Ferguson house and he was a few too many steps down the family tree to have ever gotten close. Or maybe by the time he showed up she was just getting a bit too old with too many generations of grand kids to keep track of them all.
While she couldn't be called a recluse, the last few decades she tended to stay within a tight circle, or so he'd heard. She had her secrets. What family didn't? That was something he learned as a detective a long time ago. But as he had come to learn in the past few weeks she was taking some big secrets to the grave or at least as far as most of the family knew. Secrets he couldn't get his mind around and didn't know what to do with, which is why he planned to confront directly the odd young woman also now living in the old Ferguson mansion.
That odd young woman now sitting so prominently in the front of the casket was looking neither left or right. This Millie McGillicuddy - the name she claimed - who seemed to have no public records, the lost child who recently returned from one of those remote countries with stan at the end of the name. He remembered Tajikistan, but the point was that it was one of the few remaining territories with limited penetration by AI's and very poor public monitoring of its people. Supposedly her mother died – no body was returned to Seattle – and the poor girl, never seen by any Seattle family member, as she was born over there – returned a few years ago to take up residence in the old Ferguson place with Reggie, Ms. Hesburgh, and Mr. Ferguson.
He tried to approach her before she took her seat and the funeral services got underway but that Gonzalez character backed up by two or three others always nearby moved to stand in the way, looked him directly in the eye, and shook his head. Ray Gonzalez was a big man. He guessed 250 lbs, young and intimidating. From what he could learn he was completely devoted to Mr. Ferguson and to the household. What little he had observed he also, oddly, took orders from the young girl. She wasn't obvious about it and seemed to try to obscure matters. Anyway, John got the message. Gonzalez looked like he had seen military – real military action, but he could find no official record of military service. Normal police override access requests came up with nothing of significance. The police AI's were cooperative, but insisted that there was nothing to be gotten. Very odd that was. As the ease of monitoring the public had grown, greater protections had also evolved to keep pace, but still people could keep few secrets. But, without some tangible evidence of a crime he could not invoke higher-level information access, and he had nothing he was willing to bring up with anyone officially. He certainly couldn't bring up the journal.
Now that he looked he noticed that those others - they weren't family - were more than two or three. He looked around with a fresh mental filter triggered by something he read from that hundred year old journal. He could see now that there were several people positioned at key spots around the graveyard. He had the creepy crawlies run up and down his backbone. He looked around. They carried no weapons. But they acted like bodyguards. And now that he looked closely that's exactly what they must be, but protecting whom from what, and in a graveyard, in Seattle? He felt safe enough to come here without his own police mobile units. Aside from the Ray Gonzalez man none of these people looked like they could be of any use...but then he supposed that depends what form the threat might take. His train of thoughts was broken. One of those people was standing nearby and watching him, a very young woman projecting an aristocratic air. He looked back. She did not look away. He knew that he carried his profession with him on and off duty and that the average person was intimidated by the focused attention of someone like him. That had been the way of the world since civilization began. He could read people at a glance, and even more unsettling for most people, he had access to information such that most were careful not to attract his attention. Most people, however, did not include this young woman. She not only held his gaze, but he had the unsettling feeling, growing now, that she could read him, that she could see into his soul. She might be, could she be one of...? No. He had to keep hold of the real world not that fantasy world his grandfather had concocted, because that is exactly what it must be. His mind - fed that fantasy - could start seeing things, drawing nonexistent lines between facts taken out of context. He pulled his attention away from her and back to the odd young woman sitting so prominently with the heads of the clan.
He watched her. She looked neither one way nor the other, but remained focused straight ahead. He studied the other family members. Most of these were much older than himself. He wondered now how it was that she was able to secure such a coveted spot that signaled such importance. Their family was rich and powerful and prerogatives were guarded. Follow the money and in this family there was a lot of money to be followed. So he felt that it was odd no one seemed to give the young woman much notice. Really strange given where she was sitting and the position within the larger family that implied.
As the young woman walked away from the gravesite and towards the car, he decided it was time. He noticed that as he approached the three, that Gonzalez and a few of those others, including that young woman of aristocratic airs, discreetly formed a tight circle. When he got close enough and caught her attention he said, "Ms. McGillicuddy, I am so sorry for the loss of your…?"
"Thank you, John. You can call me Millie. Our loss. And someone very close to me. You wanted to come to the house for a talk."
"Yes, if it wouldn't be too much trouble." She deftly avoided his open ended attempt to get her to offer some explanation of her relationship, her real relationship, with occupant of the casket.
The always affable Ms. Hesburgh drew his attention. "John, it's good to see you again."
He turned to Ms. Hesburgh, who projected sincere pleasure at seeing him. He knew she liked all of her kids and enjoyed tracking each step of their lives. "Hello, Grandmother Hesburgh. You are looking well."
"Oh, at my age, I've got one foot in the grave. My schedule is all done in pencil."
"I'm sure that's a long ways off."
Mr. Ferguson was a bit annoyed. "So what is it you want to talk about, young man, that you have to do it on today...of all days?"
The young girl guided things back to a more pleasant track. "Mr. Ferguson, it's OK. John is welcome. I'd love to hear what he has to say. How about this afternoon at say 4:30, John?"
Mr. Ferguson, he noticed immediately was curiously deferential to this young woman. Mr. Ferguson was deferential to very few people, at least that was his reputation, and probably you could count the number on no more than two hands. He tolerated as equal not many more. And yet his body language and mannerisms radiated strongly that he consciously and perhaps unconsciously saw himself as subordinate to this young woman. John was intrigued. This was a fascinating puzzle he desperately wanted to solve.
Mr. Ferguson turned to this Millie and asked, "Are we welcome?"
John looked over at Ms. McGillicuddy, not wanting to step into the path of Mr. Ferguson's low threshold for irritation. She said to Mr. Ferguson, "I'm looking forward to you joining our conversation." And then to him politely and firmly, "Good day, John."
With that the young woman turned and he noticed led the way back to the car. He stood and watched them go. He took note of the fact that when they had arrived, it was Ms. Hesburgh and then Mr. Ferguson, who led the way, and the young girl followed. But now, he suspected unconsciously, it was the young girl who led the way back to the car. And his long experience screamed out to him that the guards were keyed in on her, she was the center. He watched. When they reached the car, the young girl put on again that faux deference allowing the two seniors to enter first. Then she got in and that Gonzalez entered last.
The extended family, the clan really, was big and powerful and wealthy. Most of the money and power was concentrated at the top, certainly not with him. He was comfortable and able to pursue his career within the police force as he wished. It's what attracted him. He was not attracted to the business side of the world. He liked puzzles and people and their crimes were always the most fascinating puzzles that needed solving. People still found ways to commit crime and there was still a need for people who could solve those crimes. When he was young he had heard the stories, myths he had considered them, about odd happenings within the family. Most of the stories were just that stories he believed. And most of his generation did not take them seriously. But...the journal that had been placed into his possession had added texture to some of those stories, and piqued his interest. And forced him to consider the crazy notion, what if there were some core of truth to them? What then?
