Chapter Five

Hamilton was waiting at the appointed spot in the hallway at the designated time, still gravely shaken over his encounter with Tragg. When Paul approached, alone, he noticed immediately.

"What happened?" he demanded. He wanted to ask if Hamilton had had any luck concerning his license, but he held his tongue. He had rarely ever seen the district attorney look so rattled.

Hamilton looked to him. "I think I just lost a friend by saying his wife is dead," he said.

"You lost me," Paul declared.

Hamilton stepped closer. "You do remember that Tragg's wife is dead," he said, the plea obvious in his voice.

"She's been dead for years!" Paul exclaimed. "Tragg's niece Lucy moved in with him soon after it happened because she didn't want him to have to live there alone."

The relief on Hamilton's face was more than obvious. "Paul . . ." He lowered his voice, glancing around to make certain they were alone. "Tragg was wearing his wedding ring. He blew up at me when I asked why. According to him, Maureen's alive. And somehow I doubt his niece is living with him now."

Paul gawked. "How could Tragg think Maureen's alive?" His eyes widened. "Don't tell me this place can bring back the dead too!"

"There's no way I'm going to believe that," Hamilton immediately inserted. "I still think we have to be under some form of hypnosis. Tragg could be conditioned to think his wife is alive. Maybe we'd even all see her. That wouldn't mean she was really here."

"I guess," Paul said. "But this place is getting creepier every time we turn around!"

Hamilton nodded, grim. "What kind of luck did you have with Perry?"

Paul sighed. "I'm not sure I made much progress," he admitted. "But he does want to find out who Della is and where she is."

"Well, that's something," Hamilton said. "I want to find that out too."

"I checked the phone book on my way out," Paul said. "There's a D. Street listed, but the only thing with the name is a phone number. And if it's a cellphone, the prefix won't help any in figuring out what part of the city she lives in. I didn't recognize it." He shook his head. "I tried calling, but there was no answer."

"D. Street might not even be Della," Hamilton frowned. "Let's go back to my office and see what we can find out there."

Paul moved to follow him, then stopped. "Wait, you mean you want me along?" he said in disbelief.

Hamilton gave him a look of exasperation. "We're the only ones who remember the truth, other than our enemies," he said. "We should stay together."

"Oh, I'm not contending that point," Paul said.

"Good." Hamilton started to walk towards the elevator. ". . . I could turn it around and ask if you want to come along, when you'd be working with me," he remarked.

Paul kept pace alongside. "Touché," he said, chagrined. "I would like to know how you made out about my license, though," he added after a moment.

"Actually, I'm not sure," Hamilton realized. "Nothing had been resolved when Tragg exploded. I'll see about dropping the charges back at the office."

"I hope so," Paul retorted.

xxxx

Leon's mouth fell open in shock when Hamilton entered the outer office with Paul in tow. "Mr. Burger?" he said, looking back and forth between the two men. "Sir?"

Hamilton did not miss a beat. "Leon, I've brought Mr. Drake here to talk about the charges against him," he said. It was not an entirely false story. "There's a good chance I'll be dropping all of them."

"All of them, Sir?" Leon rose out of the chair. "But you were so adamant when you had Mr. Drake here before. You said you never wanted to see him in your office again!"

"I can feel the love," Paul muttered, sarcastic, from behind Hamilton.

Hamilton ignored him. "Some new evidence has come to light, Leon," he said. He opened the door to his private office. "We're not to be disturbed. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Sir." Leon hesitated. "You don't want me to take dictation?"

"Not now," Hamilton said. "Maybe later." Before Leon could ask more, Hamilton whisked Paul into the room and shut the door after them.

Paul shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he advanced over the carpet. "It's a really weird feeling, to have people tell you things about yourself that you know didn't happen," he commented.

He stopped to study a framed award hanging on the wall. To Hamilton Burger, in commemoration of his years of service to our community.

Hamilton slid into the chair at his desk and lifted the lid on his laptop. "It's happened more times today than I'd care to remember," he said.

Paul went over, watching over Hamilton's shoulder as his fingers flew across the keypad. "Hey, do you think this version of Leon will cause trouble for us?" he wondered.

"He still works for me," Hamilton said. "He doesn't have the right to blab anything that goes on in the office."

"But what if he thinks you're nuts and he's worried about you?" Paul countered.

Hamilton paused. "Then we might have a problem," he conceded.

"That's what I thought," Paul groaned. He leaned forward. "Anything?"

"Well, Della's not in any of our court transcripts," Hamilton frowned, not pleased with Paul invading his personal space. "All traces of her ever having been Perry's secretary are gone. Look." He pointed at the screen as he scrolled down. "It's all Vivalene."

Paul straightened, slamming his hand on the desk. "That witch!" he cried. "What did she do with Della?"

"Just a minute." Hamilton reached for the telephone. "I'm going to try calling that number you found. What is it?"

Paul gave it to him. "And if no one answers again, then what? We're pretty much on our own here."

Hamilton dialed. "If you still have your license you should be able to do some investigating," he said.

"That's true," Paul said. "I could call the phone company and see what they'd tell me. What would you do?"

"There's something else bothering me," Hamilton said as the phone rang. "When I mentioned Vivalene having shot Andy, neither Perry nor Tragg reacted. Well, I mean, they didn't say anything about Andy. I don't know if that's any indication that they know Andy in this place or not."

"I got the same reaction," Paul said. "Maybe they know him and they're just not friendly here."

". . . Or maybe Andy isn't a police officer," Hamilton mused. He hung up the phone in irritation. "There's still no answer."

"That figures," Paul sighed. As Hamilton's first statement processed he jerked up. "Hey, wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "Remember when Vann had us play that crazy game at dinner?"

Hamilton nodded. "I was thinking about that. Everyone suggested other occupations for themselves. The only thing is, so far not everyone's followed those suggestions. Other than Della, everyone still seems to have the same jobs they had before. It's just their relationships with everyone else that have changed."

"But it could mean Della's a schoolteacher somewhere," Paul said. "That's the other job she finally picked for herself."

"It might also mean Andy's up in space." Hamilton looked ill at the thought. "It's something to try, though." He turned back to the computer. "Start looking for any teachers named Della Street."

"I'm on it." Paul headed for the door. "What are you going to do?"

Hamilton got up, closing the laptop. "I'm going to talk with Mignon. Larry still works here, so hopefully Mignon is around too."

Paul nodded. "Well, good luck," he said. "To both of us."

xxxx

Vivalene was leaning back at the desk she had claimed, casually running a nail file over her substantial fingernails, when Perry opened the door of his office and stepped out. She paused, looking up. "Why, Mr. Mason," she purred. "What is it? May I help you with anything?"

Perry frowned, debating with himself. At last he said, "Tell me honestly. Who is Della Street?"

Vivalene's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. "I've never heard of her. Who is she supposed to be? A new client?"

Perry's visage only darkened. He had seen that flicker. "I've been told, by two independent parties who are most certainly not closely associated with each other, that Della Street is supposed to be my secretary."

Vivalene rocked back, blinking in surprise. Once she had digested the information she threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, Mr. Mason, I didn't realize you could so easily come to believe nonsense. Hamilton Burger is trying to trick you. And maybe Paul Drake is sore because he's finally losing his license due to you."

"But how do they both know the same story to tell?" Perry returned. "That doesn't make sense!"

Vivalene stood and came around the desk, slinking towards him. "Don't tell me you actually believe them," she pouted. "Perry, we've had so many good years together. Surely you're not going to throw all of that away?"

Perry gave her a hard look. But at last he sighed, turning away as he massaged his eyes. "You're right," he consented. "I don't know what came over me."

"Then you won't talk about this Della Street anymore?" Vivalene pressed, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"No," Perry said. A strange guilt stabbed his heart. His brow furrowing, he turned to go back in his office. "Get on those memos we talked about. I'll need them bright and early tomorrow."

"Of course," Vivalene smiled.

Perry barricaded himself in his office. Crossing to his desk, he pondered on the bewildering circumstances before him.

Nothing added up. Vivalene was right, that all of their years together could not be a lie. There was no way Perry could remember such an elaborate fabrication as the truth.

But Hamilton Burger would not try to trick him like this. Neither would Paul. They were both mature adults who would never stoop to such immature behavior.

Most of all, there were the odd feelings Perry felt in connection with Della being mentioned. She was the only part of these outlandish stories that rang some sort of truth. No matter how things did not connect, Perry was forced to acknowledge that.

Obviously he could not depend on Vivalene for help. She was a jealous sort, so that could be part of it. She never had liked it when Perry's attention drifted elsewhere. Sometimes he wondered why she was still willing to serve as his secretary.

He got up, heading for the back door. He would slip out without her knowledge. Somehow he had to find this Della woman. Maybe then and only then would he be able to get to the bottom of what was going on here.

xxxx

After seeing just about everything turned on its head, it was both a surprise and a relief to find Mignon's old car parked in the driveway of what Hamilton knew to be her home. But he was not about to let his guard down yet. He remained tense as he went up to the porch and knocked on the door.

The strong scent of incense greeted him when Mignon opened the door, dressed in black as usual. She regarded him with a slightly quirked brow. "Have you come to apologize, Mr. Burger?" was her greeting.

Hamilton's jaw dropped. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "What is it I'm supposed to have done now?"

Mignon remained where she was, making no move to open the door enough to let him in. "So you've forgotten? I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. You never realize when you've done something wrong."

"Now just a minute!" Hamilton waved his forefinger at her. "That isn't true, but Mignon, I have something very important to discuss with you. It could explain whatever it is you think I've done. Please . . ." He regarded her with agonized eyes. "Hear me out."

For a moment Mignon studied him, unmoved. Then, slowly, she stepped back and drew the door open farther. "Very well," she said. "Come in. But try to keep it brief. You caught me in the middle of worship."

Hamilton stepped into the modestly furnished living room, waiting for Mignon to close the door before trying to begin his explanation. "Mignon . . ." He hesitated, feeling ridiculous for what he was about to ask. "Have you ever heard of something called the Forbidden Box? It's supposedly from Egypt."

Mignon shook her head. "I've never heard of it."

Hamilton started to pace. "What would you say if I told you your godson's family had this box and someone stole it? And that the next day nothing was the way it was supposed to be?"

"How do you mean?" Mignon sounded guarded.

"Well . . ." Hamilton stopped pacing. "No one remembers their lives the way they were. They think other things are true that actually aren't." He looked into Mignon's dark eyes. "Some of them aren't even friends any more. Either they think it never was the case or they've had a bad falling out."

Mignon turned away. "If it wasn't that this would be completely out-of-character for you, I would say that you are simply trying to get back into my good graces." She looked back. "As it is, it almost sounds as though you are blaming this missing box for everything being upside-down. And that is also not like you."

"I know it isn't." Hamilton ran a hand through his hair. "Believe me, Mignon, I'm not saying the box is responsible. That just sounds crazy. But the facts are that the Petersons had some kind of a box last night. Someone stole it, after using some kind of freak energy inside it to knock all of us unconscious. And today I was knocked flat by a weird white light. When I got up, no one remembered what I remember about our lives—except Paul Drake. He also saw this light, by the way. I know it sounds insane, but I thought if anyone would believe me you would, and . . ."

Mignon turned fully around to face him. ". . . I believe you," she said.

Ready to protest what he figured would be a rejection, Hamilton instead stopped and stared. "You . . . you do?" he stammered in amazement.

Mignon nodded. "You would never come to me with such stories unless you were absolutely desperate. It took a great deal of humility for you to tell me this.

"We'll have to move quickly. Do you know who stole this box?"

"A man named Vann," Hamilton said. "I think he's working with Judge Heyes and a woman called Vivalene. They're both crooked, but no one remembers that any more. I've talked to both Heyes and Vivalene and they've all but said that they know the truth." He shook his head. "Vivalene was especially getting a kick out of taunting me about it."

Mignon walked towards the hallway. "I will try to find out what I can about not only the Forbidden Box, but phenomenon such as what you've described," she said.

Hamilton followed her. "You probably won't be able to learn anything about the box," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised but what they've erased it everywhere, even in the history books."

"It wouldn't surprise me, either," Mignon said with a nod. "Which is why I'll focus more on what it may have caused. I might be able to discover how to reverse it."

"Thank you, Mignon." Hamilton could not hide his immense relief. They had another ally. "But please be careful!" he implored. "If they find out you're investigating . . ."

"They won't find out," Mignon interrupted, calmly. "I'll start my investigation right here at home. I have an extensive library of books on the occult." She paused at the doorway of what was presumably the library, resting her hand on the doorframe. "Do you need to be anywhere in particular right now?"

"No," Hamilton said with a slight hesitation. "No, I don't think so."

"Then help me look," Mignon said. "You can tell me more about this world we're supposed to be living in."

Hamilton blinked. Before he could reply, Mignon had already vanished into the library. Shaking his head, he trailed after her.

"What about your worship?" he asked.

"Under the circumstances, I'm sure a postponement would be understood," Mignon called over her shoulder.

xxxx

Della glanced in dismay at the clock across the street as she hurried through the parking lot of the school with her stack of papers. She should have been here some time ago, but she had been pulled into a last-minute faculty meeting on her way out. Now it was almost dark. She would be up late tonight. And she had hoped she might get a good start on her Christmas shopping. Unless she went right now she would have to reschedule for tomorrow.

Oh well, that might be better anyway.

She was almost at her car when a familiar voice called from behind her.

"Miss Street!"

She turned, struggling not to drop any of her load. "Why, Principal Anderson," she greeted in surprise. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Trying to get away without me noticing, eh?" Mr. Anderson came up to her, reaching to steady the sliding papers. "Here, I'll help you with this."

"Thank you," Della said in relief. But his sudden frown as he glanced at the newspaper bewildered her. "What is it?" she asked.

"Oh." Mr. Anderson took the stack from her, leaving her free to unlock the car. "I'm sorry, I was just noticing the headlining story about that lawyer Perry Mason."

Della reached in her purse for her keys. "It was certainly interesting reading," she said. "He always seems to manage to crack his cases and prove his clients innocent."

"My cousin Jimmy has worked on some of those cases," Mr. Anderson said. "He says it's frustrating yet fascinating to see how Mr. Mason works."

Finally locating the correct key, Della drew it out and turned it in the lock. "Mr. Anderson . . ." But she trailed off. Was she actually going to ask the question that had passed through her mind? It was ridiculous. She did not want to give the impression that she was overly interested. Yet the query leaped from her mouth before she had quite given it permission. "You haven't ever met him, have you?"

Mr. Anderson rocked back. "Perry Mason?" he said in surprise. "No. No, I can't say that I have." He handed her the papers as she reached for them.

Della nodded. "I didn't think so, unless maybe your cousin introduced you." She placed the stack in the passenger seat.

"I'm afraid not. He doesn't tend to socialize with the defense attorneys." Mr. Anderson leaned on the top of the car with one arm. "Why are you so interested, all of a sudden?"

Della straightened, embarrassed now. Her cheeks were probably flushed. "I . . . I'm really not," she said. "I just wondered."

"I see." Mr. Anderson pushed away from the car. "Well, I guess I should let you go. I just noticed you carrying that skyscraper and thought you could use a hand."

Della smiled. "I did. Thank you, Principal." She slid into the car. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Miss Street." Mr. Anderson shut the door for her and stepped back, watching her back out of the parking space.

"Hey, wait!"

He jumped a mile. Whirling around, he caught sight of an athletic man with graying hair running after the departing car, waving his hand wildly in the air.

Frowning, Mr. Anderson started to walk over. "Can I help you?"

Now it was the stranger jumping a mile. "Andy?" he cried in disbelief. He spun around, his eyes wide. "It is you! What are you doing here?"

Andy tensed. "You have the advantage of me, Sir," he said. "I've never seen you before, that I can recall."

The other man let out an exasperated breath. "Of course." His tone was grudging. "I'm Paul Drake, private detective."

Andy nodded, his eyes devoid of recognition. "Why do you think you know me?"

"Because . . ." Paul trailed off. "Nevermind. Was that Della Street who left just now?"

"She's one of my teachers," Andy said, still on guard.

"Your teachers?" Paul echoed.

"I'm the principal here." Andy gestured at the school.

Paul stared at him. "Now this is one place I never expected to find you," he said.

"And why is that?" Andy laid one hand over the other. "You still haven't told me why you think you know me. I have a mind to call the police if you continue to refuse."

"And you'll probably have a mind to call the funny farm if I don't refuse," Paul sighed. "What if I told you that you're not a principal, you're really a cop, and that this is some weird alternate reality we've been thrown in that isn't even real?"

Andy stared at him. "I'd say you're insane," he said. "Or trying to pull a very unfunny joke. Either way, I don't appreciate it. And I hope you're not planning to harass Miss Street with your nonsense."

"I need to talk to her!" Paul protested. "It's important."

"Oh? And what, exactly, do you say is your connection with her?"

"She's Perry Mason's confidential secretary," Paul said. "We both help out with his cases." He braced himself for Andy pulling out his phone and dialing the little men in white jackets.

Instead Andy's eyes widened. ". . . That's strange," he breathed. It surely couldn't mean anything; there was no way. But right after Della had been talking about Perry Mason . . . it was an odd coincidence.

"What are you talking about?" Paul frowned. "What's strange?"

Andy opened his mouth, then closed it. "Nothing," he said. "Nevermind. Just leave, please."

Paul stepped closer. "Did Della say anything about Perry Mason?" he demanded. Was it possible that she remembered too? Had she said something about it to Andy?

Andy stiffened. "I said nevermind!" He spun around again. "And I asked you to leave. I'll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing and harassment if you stay here!" His eyes narrowed. "And if I hear that you've been bothering Miss Street, I'll . . ."

"Forget it," Paul snapped. "I'm out of here."

He stalked back to his car and got in. As he drove off, his thoughts were spinning.

Andy was no longer the friendly man he knew. It was Paul's first experience with being treated as a total stranger; the others had known him, at least in some manner. But, he supposed with a sigh, in Andy's position now he might react exactly the same way. He had to commend the guy for wanting to keep Della safe from a presumed nutcase.

And now he knew where Della was at least some of the time. Maybe she lived in this area. He could cruise around and look in driveways for the car he had seen.

He had something to report, anyway. He would call Burger on his hands-free phone.

It rang a couple of times before he answered. "Hello?" He sounded occupied.

"I found Della," Paul announced. "She teaches school in the San Fernando Valley."

"I was just going to call and tell you that," Hamilton said. "I'm with Mignon. She says Della teaches Howie Peterson's second-grade class."

"She's feeling chatty!" Paul declared. "I couldn't get much out of Andy."

"You found him?" Hamilton exclaimed.

"Yeah; he's the principal. Right now I'm looking for Della's car. Ask Mignon if she knows Della's address, will you?"

"Just a minute." There was a muffled pause while Hamilton spoke with Mignon. "It's 1223 Sycamore," he reported then.

"Great. Thanks," Paul said. "Why is she being so helpful? Does she remember, by any chance?"

"No, but she believes we're under a black magic spell," Hamilton said.

"And we might only have a certain amount of time to break it before it becomes permanent," came Mignon's voice in the background. "My research so far shows that many spells in general are not binding at first."

"It could end up permanent?" Paul howled. "We might be stuck in this creepy place forever?"

He could not see it, but Hamilton had winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. "We're not going to be," he vowed. "I don't care what it takes; we're going to get home."

"For once, I really hope you're right," Paul said.

xxxx

A telephone rang in a darkened room. A ringed hand reached and lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

"I'm afraid we have trouble," said the voice on the other end. "Everyone is looking for Della Street. Even Perry Mason's getting into the act."

"He can't find her! If they meet, everything could fall apart. The spell changed almost everything else, but it couldn't completely mask their bond!" A curse. "I don't understand what happened, you fool! Why do Hamilton Burger and Paul Drake remember the truth?"

"I don't know. I'm still trying to uncover that."

"Well, don't forget we don't have much time. If they unravel things before Tragg is dead, they might find out how to set things back the way they were."

"I'm aware of that. How long do you think it will take?"

"I've been draining him whenever he falls asleep exhausted from the energy he's already missing. I shouldn't think it would take longer than a few days at the most."

"He doesn't suspect anything, does he?"

"Of course not! He thinks I'm his wife, which is how it's supposed to go. And he won't know different until I take the last of his life energy. I want him to wake up and look at me with that horrified realization that he's been used and is dying because of it."

"You're very cruel."

"That's how I've always got ahead."

"It was also very cruel of you to set things up so everyone seems to have a problem with Hamilton Burger."

"I hate the man. I want to see him suffer more than any of the rest of them. If it weren't for how he and Drake are throwing a wrench into our plans, I would find it delicious irony that he remembers. It makes the blows so much more profound.

"Now I'm going to stop Perry. You work on your end of things."

Without waiting for a reply the receiver was replaced. A deadly smirk glinted in the oncoming darkness.

Perry Mason would never make it to Della Street's house. He would have a terrible accident first.