Ty Callison for Kennebec7 (#8)
[Interrogation 2]
Phuong
I’m here in my hotel room in Krabi, Thailand. It’s a little after 3 A.M. My fingers are touching the keyboard. I scrambled out of bed to transcribe the notes I made after Phuong visited me. Some of you might remember who Phuong is. Or was. It’s all the same now. To me. Phuong is always. She was my Vietnamese wife who got killed thirty-three years ago when the ammo dump exploded, killing Phuong and our baby named Lily.
Sometimes Phuong comes to me in dreams. Occasionally she shows up in my bedroom. Phuong is not a ghost. Phuong is a spirit whose soul I share. She brings with her the fragrance of spring wildflowers.
Tyrone, she whispered and I awoke. She sat on the end of my bed. I was powerless to move, powerless to reach out and touch her.
She wore a wispy white dress with golden thread that sparkled a bit when she moved.
Howdy, darlin, I managed to grin. What brings you here tonight? She loved me to joke with her when I was a young soldier in Nam, and she was my bride. She liked to call me Cowboy.
Tyrone, you know that this world is fast changing, don’t you?
Yes I do, Phuong. Where’s Lily tonight? Lily was my daughter, who would be 33 this year if she hadn’t died in Phuong’s arms. Usually when she appeared to me now, she looked like she was about seven years old.
Lily is no longer non-physical, Tyrone.
What? I tried to sit up. My muscles would not respond. Where is she?
On Earth. Many of the non-physical have to return here now. For the changes.
My god! I said. Where? Can I see her?
Not at the present time, Tyrone. In the future, everything is possible. Phuong’s voice sounded like a soft wind. I let my body relax, which was about all I could do, anyway.
Are you coming back, Phuong?
Not as Phuong, she said. My soul has already split into a young man in Germany.
What? I said again, dumbfounded.
There is so much that must be done on Earth, and so little time. This is a dying planet, which must not be allowed. My soul entity in Germany must perform something crucial.
Okay, I’m not gonna act like a dumb ass. What do you want me to know, honey?
Many non-physical beings return here, Tyrone. As you know, beloved, many of them are not coming in the best interest of human evolution.
Yes, I noticed.
They want bodies, Phuong continued. You will see them. They know you can see them. Sometimes. They will try to deceive you. They will even try to kill you. Be careful, Tyrone. I will look out for you, my love, as always, but please understand, I also have limitations.
It was like the breeze carried off a cloud. Nothing changed in my bedroom except the spirit of Phuong was gone without a sound. It wasn’t the first time. I grabbed my notebook off the bed table, and tried to scribble down everything I could remember.
*
My second interview with Philip Weiss and other folks who had been at the estate the night Miranda Weiss had fallen from a high cliff onto the rocks below was scheduled for 11 A.M. Philip had to get his early day banking business out of the way. Since I was a private cop in a foreign country I couldn’t be very demanding about schedules. But because Miranda’s niece, Heidi, had hired Jill Evans and me, they also had to act polite about my intrusion.
Phil Weiss was a very wealthy fifty-year-old man who stayed very fit. He has that impatient, slightly put upon attitude that suggests that you’re wasting his time, but he’s a good citizen, and he’ll tolerate you for a spell. (Check that Cartier, Phil.)
Callison, you’re here again, he said breezily, pointing to a chair on the veranda. What would you like? Coffee…tea…a beer? He nodded to his servant, a nervous looking Thai lady in her fifties or sixties. White peony tea, Mai. He shifted back to me. Callison?
Coffee’s fine, Phil. He gave Mai a nod and she was gone.
Frankly, Callison, he started in with the serious, annoyed look I’ve seen so often when people don’t want to speak to me, I think it’s absurd that Heidi has hired two Phoenix police, ex-police, to come all the way to Thailand to investigate Miranda’s terrible, tragic death. Frankly, it pisses me off.
One ex-police, Phil. Jill Evans is merely on leave.
Well, Ty, you’re certainly ‘ex.’ Are they really making a comic book about you?
So they tell me. Heidi doesn’t seem to be satisfied about the conclusions by the Thai police about your wife’s death, Phil. That’s why I’m here.
Absurd. Do you want to smoke, Ty?
No thank you. I don’t smoke.
Good. Neither do I. Are you really a ghost hunter, Callison?
That’s nothing I’ve ever said, Phil. Why did your wife go out for a walk by herself in the middle of a stormy night?
You realize I don’t have to answer any of your ridiculous questions, Callison. In fact, I could easily have you kicked out of the country.
Yes, I imagine you could, Phil. I imagine you’re pretty close to the Thai authorities. But, then, you’d have Heidi to deal with, and you’d have Evenside to deal with. Eventually you’d have bloggers asking questions. Evenside deals with a couple million of those folks.
How do you know that I’m not going to be running Evenside?
I don’t, Phil. Why would Miranda go out into the night by herself, where it was thundering and lightning on top of the rain?
It’s not common information, Callison, but it has been bruited about by some media that my wife was suffering from cancer. As a matter of fact, I can inform you confidentially that Miranda has been dealing with a rare form of leukemia for several years.
I’m sorry to hear that, Phil. I certainly won’t be discussing it with anyone other than Heidi and Jill.
Oh, I’m sure you are the soul of discretion, Callison. Laying your life out for anyone to see in a comic book. And is there really a movie about you in the works?
Heidi already told Jill and me about Miranda’s leukemia. We haven’t said a word about it, Phil, but it sure hasn’t been a secret to us.
Then, Ty, is it also not a secret to you that Miranda suffered from depression? As might be common with cancer sufferers.
Heidi mentioned that. She and Miranda talked a lot on the phone.
He raised his palms up from his wicker chair. And so, Miranda was given to taking long walks on our lovely property. Solitary walks. Did the security boys you questioned tell you about that?
As a matter of fact, they did. However, on the night of Miranda’s fall, their equipment was apparently in and out, not always functioning properly.
Philip opened his mouth, seeming to have some sort of adversarial rejoinder in his mind, when the young man, Sandy Barrett, strolled out onto the veranda. Sandy was one of Weiss’s nephews, age about twenty-four.
Ah, uncle Phil, here you are. Margot told me you were out here. He looked at me, Ah, Mr. Callison, the cowboy cop. Well-well-well. I heard you wanted to interview me, Mr. Callison. That would be very cool.
Phil looked up at him with what I think I can accurately describe as extreme hostility that was somehow tamped down, so you might miss it if you didn’t look closely at his eyes or feel the body temperature. At that same moment, Mai arrived with coffee and tea on a tray. There was, what do they call it—a pregnant pause—in the proceedings.
[To be continued]
Ty Callison
Krabi, Thailand
06-12-2010