Chapter Ten
Building A Mystery
Lyse

Yeah, you're working on it
Building a mystery

I set my chin in my hand and started wading through the links Google brought up. This was going to take a long while. 1967 Impala for sale… Visit Missouri!... Family of 5 injured in car accident… I turned back to Dean. "Do you know how many people, including yourself, were in the car?"

"Usually it's just Sam and I," he answered, "but Dad could've been in the car too."

"So, three at most?" I clarified.

He nodded. "Yeah."

I turned back to the computer. That narrowed it down considerably. But I still had a lot to sift through. The State of Missouri was home to well over five million people, most of whom probably owned at least two cars. Of course, there probably weren't too many people who owned and still drove a 1967 Impala. But to make matters worse, the man standing behind me told me not to look for his real name! It was like looking for a needle in a 70,000 square mile haystack.

We were silent for a long while, all that was heard was the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in far right corner of the room and click of the computer mouse as I searched. I heard him moving around behind me. I assumed he was looking at the pictures on the shelving to my left, looking through my books or looking through my music collection. I turned around quickly to see him looking through my CDs. I knew that would keep him busy for a while, for which I was glad. Normally I would watch one go through my things, but I had a mission to complete, so I turned back to the computer and clicked to the next page.

-0o0o0-

The silence continued for close to an hour, him still going through my music collection. I knew I had quite a few CDs and records, but knowing he was going through my collection – most of which I could describe as expressions of myself – I was getting a little but uncomfortable.

Suddenly, the familiar bells of Hells Bells came through the speakers, and I had had enough. Who in their right mind would play a record that didn't belong to them in a strangers' house? I spun around in the chair and took a breath to ask him to turn the record off and leave my stuff alone. Until I saw him sitting on the couch at the far end of the room, eyes closed, head against the back of the couch, relishing the music. I watched him for a brief moment, thankful he'd found something to keep him entertained – other than going through my things. It also gave me something to listen to other than the clock and click of the mouse.

-0o0o0-

The final song of the album finished and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find out what happened to him. I was about to tell him he could put another record on, when an article caught my eye. Family Of 3 Injured In Overnight Crash; 1 Critical. I clicked on the link.

The name jumped out at me first. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" He got up from the couch.

"Would Elroy McGillicuddy be a name your father would use?"

He snorted. "That sounds like my dad." I felt his hand on the back of my chair. "Why? Did you find something?"

I read the article. As I did, I felt a lump build up in my throat. It only got worse the more I read. I started getting the feeling that this was what I'd been looking for…

"Yeah, I think so…" My voice trailed off when I read the date of the article. November 4th, 2006.

"Dean…" I spoke, my voice soft. "What day is it today?"

"November 4th. That's what the computer says…"

"And the year?"

"What?" he asked, confused. "Why, don't you know?"

I rolled my eyes and bit back a curse. "Just answer the question."

He sighed. "2006 the last time I checked."

I froze and closed my eyes. I really did not want to be the one to tell him this. I swallowed and took in a breath. "No it's not."

"What?" Confusion lay thick in his voice. "What do you mean, 'No, it's not'?"

"It's not." I chanced a look up him. "It's 2007."

I saw the fear and confusion cross his face, his hazel – or where they green? – eyes widened, his shoulders tensed. I had to look away.

"What are you talking about?" His voice was quiet and wavered.

Fear seeped into me; fear of how he would feel, what he would do when he read the article. I took in a breath and got up. "I think you'd better read this. It was in the Jefferson City News Tribune."

Slowly, Dean sat down and started reading. I stood behind him, re-reading the article over his shoulder.

November 4th, 2006

A father, 52, and his two sons, 27 and 23, were rushed to Shiloh County Hospital after their 1967 Chevrolet Impala was t-boned by an eighteen-wheeler on I-9 early this morning.

The father, Elroy McGillicuddy and his 23 year old son, Sam both sustained minor injuries, while McGillicuddy's other son, Dean lays in a coma having suffered severe blood loss, kidney and liver contusions and severe head trauma and is listed in critical condition.

"It's a miracle he has survived as long as he has," Dr. Jerry Slava told the Tribune. "He is fighting extremely hard, but it's very touch and go at this point."

Doctors are unsure if Dean will wake up, but his family remains hopeful.

"My brother is a fighter," Sam said, "if there's anyone who can get through this, it's Dean."

The driver of the eighteen-wheeler, Daniel Moeser, claims he doesn't remember hitting the family of three. Authorities think he may have fallen asleep behind the wheel. The accident is still under investigation and charges are still pending.

He tensed, his eyes glazed over and the colour drained from his face. His breathing slowed and he didn't move for a long moment. I was getting concerned; I could feel his fear and an emotion that broke my heart – despair. When he didn't say anything, I touched his shoulder.

"Dean?"

He stood up abruptly, shrugging my hand off of his shoulder and started for the door.

"Wait." I reached for his arm, though not sure why.

"Don't," he said, his voice taut. He yanked his arm out of my hand and left the room.

I sighed. I wanted so badly to say something, what was I supposed to say to him? 'Sorry about you being in a coma'?, 'everything will be okay'? How was I going to tell him that when no one – not even the doctors – were sure, and he'd been in that coma for a year? What could I possibly say to make him feel better? I couldn't begin to imagine how he felt, what he was going through…

I looked back to the article, reading it over several more times. I didn't get it. In out-of-body experiences, I didn't think the spirit strayed too far from the body. Why was his body in a Missouri hospital and his spirit here in the Beaches of Toronto? Why would his spirit travel almost a thousand miles from his body – travel to a completely different country? I didn't understand, but I knew he needed my help and I was going to help him in any way I could.

I shut the computer off, then turned and left the room in search of Dean; I had to make sure he was all right.

TBC