Resurrecting Harry (2 page)

“Despite what you think, she won’t recognize you on sight as the man she loved,” Jaden commented, as if Harry had conveyed his own thoughts aloud.

Of course she would.
Their love lived and breathed with a life of its own. It was more than the sum of them, it consumed them. Hers would recognize his, regardless of the body it was wrapped in or what Jaden believed. “I have one month to convince Bess not to hold a séance, and I can have a second chance at a life with her? The only barrier is she won’t recognize me?”

“And you cannot tell her the simple truth. If you do, it’s an automatic failure, and a win for me.”

Jaden had no concept of their love. “But when she recognizes me, then can I tell her the truth?”

“If the day comes that she believes with all her heart you are Harry wrapped in new skin, then you may confirm it. But, Erich, you remember the woman you fell in love with. You don’t even know the one your contradictions have destroyed.” Again, Jaden spoke to Harry's thoughts instead of the words he’d vocalized, cementing the idea the giant was omniscient.

“Why are you giving me this chance?” Not that Jaden’s answer mattered. He’d already decided to take the wager and deal with the repercussions later.

“Not important. The question is: Are you man enough to save her?”

“What do I need to do?”

“Just agree to the terms.”

***

Time heals all wounds.
What a load of hooey!

Bess tugged hard on the desk drawer and freed it from its confines. Dumping the contents on the dining room table, she sifted through the odds and ends, looking for the small, black book Harry called his bible. It held the phone numbers of preferred service providers and notes on everyone they’d ever met. Since he’d died, she learned Eli could mow the lawn, but he never trimmed or fertilized it. Jeffery charged a fair price to take care of the storm windows and screens twice a year, but would he know how to fix that ancient, fuel oil furnace? It’d been coughing and hacking like Uncle Ralph with his emphysema for weeks. In the middle of the night, the monster gave up the fight and puttered its last breath.

The Santa Ana winds were blowing this morning, but they wouldn’t last. Fall would give way to winter and the furnace was long overdue for service. She wished Harry would have kept his word and replaced that clunker last year. Instead, he hid everyday necessities as if they were treasured secrets, and made it so hard for her to go on alone.

“Damn you for always living in the moment!” She picked up a pen and tried to scribble on a worn, yellow notepad. As she suspected, no ink. She tossed them both in the garbage. A laugh spilled from her as the items clanked against the metal. Cold and empty, just like her life.

What she’d give for one more day with him.

When Harry died, it was like she had forgotten how to breathe, but that came back in time and she’d figure out how to take care of this too. She had no choice but to go on, praying he’d find a way to keep his most important promise.

I’ll return to you, if at all possible
.

She pressed her fingers to her eyes. No time for tears, let alone sobs. Only four weeks remained until the first anniversary of his death and the séance to call forth his spirit. There was so much left undone, including choosing the venue and a medium. For years she’d been Harry’s faithful assistant, but now she ran the show. He needed her more in death, and she’d succeed no matter the cost.

A knock on the back door, just off the kitchen, drew her from her thoughts. She pulled the curtain aside and smiled at Gail Cooper.

Don’t you let that harlot in, Bess. You know she’s just a well-dressed con-artist.

Gail and Martin had cut Harry, but they’d been a blessing since his death. If Harry knew how much they’d helped, he’d forgive Gail, right? A cool breeze from the open window brushed against Bess’s neck, arguing with her. To him, Gail’s actions were unforgivable. He’d hate her in his house. Bess opened the door anyway. “Good morning. You’re out early.”

“Is it too early to be calling?” Gail’s blonde hair was perfectly set, and her cheery blue eyes shined like the morning sun, but neither her eyes nor the actual sunrise were enough to lift Bess’s spirits today.

“Heaven’s no, I’ve been up for hours.” She opened the door wider, trying hard to be hospitable. “Come, sit down and I’ll pour us some coffee.”

Gail followed Bess to the kitchen and took a seat at the table. “I headed over just after the nanny left to take the kids to school. I wanted to catch you before you left for town. I know you like to run your errands on Monday mornings.”

Children...if only Harry and I had been so blessed.

Retrieving two cups from the cupboard, Bess filled them and then joined Gail at the table. “If it wasn’t for that stupid furnace, I might already be gone. It quit working overnight.”

“Oh dear. It’s been one thing after the other with this house hasn’t it?”

Bess swept her hand over the clutter. “I still can’t find Harry’s little book. Eleven months, you’d think I’d have stumbled across it by now.”

“Now don’t you fret, Bess. I’ll have Martin send Joseph over this afternoon to take a look at that furnace and anything else you need repaired.”

“That’s nonsense. Joseph is studying to become a doctor. He has more important things to do then clean and repair my furnace.”

“He’s Martin’s student,” Gail corrected in a familiar disapproving tone. The same one she often used in reference to the protégée. “If you ask me, he should be more grateful for the opportunities Martin gives him. There isn’t another facility or physician who would take one of
them
on as a fellow.”

“Do you mean Cabazon tribe member?” So many held Martin’s second wife under scrutiny, but Bess tried not to judge. Even though, at times like this, Gail made it difficult not to agree with them.

“Martin gives him so much. The very least Joseph can do is help one of our dear friends.”

Bess wanted to accept the offer. It’d be one less worry. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Joseph to help. He was someone she’d grown to trust in the past few months. When Bess volunteered at the hospital, she and Joseph had shared many conversations about herbal remedies and native healing methods. But, Harry’s imagined voice whispering in her ear and the need to start standing alone confirmed her refusal. “That’s not necessary. Now, you didn’t come by to listen to me whine.”

“I just wanted to drop these off.” Gail offered up a sterling silver flask and leather bound book.

The weight of the container surprised Bess. “What is this?”

“Some of Martin’s homemade, blackberry brandy. You said you were having trouble with the meditation I’ve been teaching you. A sip or two will help open your mind to the other side.”

Bess, my angel, it’s so important that we keep our minds clear and our body fit for the stage. Alcohol compromises both.

Harry’s words rang in her mind as if he were in the room with her. She always felt him next to her, helping her with every decision. But it was past time to stop that. Wasn’t it? “Thank you, Gail. You’ve been so helpful. Your training will be the key to Harry’s success. I’m sure.”

“A successful séance is going to be so much more about you than him. His spirit simply exists. You’ll be the one in control, not him. You need to learn how to let go of your own thoughts and concerns, open yourself to the universe and let those on the other side invade your body. Let Harry use you to deliver his messages. Read the book. It was a great help to me.”

For the first time, Bess looked closely at the cover.
The Principles of Nature, Her Divine Revelations, and a Voice to Mankind
by Andrew Jackson Davis.

Tomfoolery!
Harry’s voice echoed on the wind. She could see his face all crinkled up at the mere thought of her reading it, let alone praying she learned a way to hear his voice for real, instead of just in her daydreams.

Bess bit her lip. Harry would hate her discussing their act with Gail, but if she couldn’t lean on a friend, then who could she trust? “You know that Harry and I worked a spiritualist con in the early days?”

Gail frowned. “You aren’t the only ones, Bess. But just because spiritualism
can
be faked, doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Now that didn’t sound very convincing. What’s the matter, honey?”

It’s a con game. Once you know how it’s done, it’s easy as pie and as lucrative as sin.

Bess tried to close out the running commentary, but he was so much a part of her life and ignoring his influences was like cutting off her arm. “Harry was brilliant and a very quick study. It didn’t take him long to learn how to con a grieving loved one. He and I performed the illusion quite effectively for a long time.”

“Some people prey on the grieving, but some are true, spiritual mediums. I know Harry thought I manipulated him, but you forget he asked me to try and contact his mother, not the other way around.”

“That’s the point, Gail. A lot of people do things while they are grieving that they normally wouldn’t.” And Bess knew that all too well. She’d found comfort from two people Harry had declared nemeses. “It devastated him to lose his mother. The way he took care of her, you’d think he was the parent. She lived a full life, but it was still too short for him.” It marked the beginning of his search for a
true
medium. That obsession — and Gail’s falsehoods — ended Harry’s long-time friendship with Martin Cooper and Gail too.

And now look at her stumbling down the same path and hoping against hope that her husband could find a way to do the one thing he believed impossible.

“You’re still defending his actions.” Gail exhaled as if Bess was a hopeless cause. “Of the two, you are the strong one. Harry is going to need someone at that séance whom he can use, someone who is completely open to his state of being. You can’t serve him if you lose faith.”

Bess twisted her wedding ring. Roseabelle — their code word for believe — was engraved on the inside of it. Where another man would have declared his love, Harry asked for her undying faith. He’d want her to believe that he could escape any confine, physical or mental. No, not want. He’d demand it of her.

Not knowing what to say, Bess nodded. She knew that because of the coded message sealed in an envelope in her safe she couldn’t be the medium at the séance, but she couldn’t share that detail with Gail and risk losing her coaching. Bess needed to learn everything Gail offered if there was any hope of Harry coming to her alone before the big show. If Harry was able to reconnect with this world, he’d deliver only that message.

Maybe it was selfish of her to want the Great Houdini to put her above his public, but after everything she’d done for him, and all the pain she’d lived with since his death, she deserved it. She’d tell Gail the truth soon, but not while there was still time to contact Harry alone.

Steamy, thick air kissed Erich’s cheeks, and his head rolled back on his shoulder. He embraced as an old friend the breeze he once cursed. Different than the dream state he’d been tied to for so long, real flesh encased his spirit. The body he sensed with Jaden gave form and had a sense of touch, but not with this intensity or clarity.

He was alive.

In the past, Harry might have ducked into one of the shops that lined the street for some shade, but Erich refused to escape anything this new life offered.

According to Jaden, Harry died eleven months earlier, making this a lovely September day, despite the Santa Anas. He didn’t have to look up the block to see the small deli he and Bess frequented to know he stood in their old Laurel Canyon, California neighborhood. The scent of fresh pastries and frying chicken permeating the air confirmed it.

He found his bearings and turned toward the house. Four short blocks now separated him from the only love he’d ever know. With one goal in mind, he quickened his pace and headed for their home – and her. Rounding the corner, he collided with a woman, causing her to drop her purse and spill its contents across the narrow walk.

Erich knelt and a sharp pain stabbed his right side. His instinct told him to cradle it and investigate the cause, but the sooner he scooped the wallet, keys, coins and pens into the brown leather bag, the sooner he’d be with his beloved. He inhaled sharply and the pain subsided.

The sunlight reflected off a silver band wrapped in a broken chain. He instantly recognized it and his heart seized. Jaden
really
gave him his life back! As Erich slid his fingers over the etching, his throat closed around mounting tears.

His
ring!

The sterling silver felt cool to his touch. He dropped the handbag and started to unravel the chain, needing to return it to his finger and reclaim his life.

“Excuse me, young man. That is my property.”

Bess’s voice stole his breath. But the words?
Young man?
He fine-tuned his focus beyond the ring and centered it on his flesh: smooth and soft, no lines of time and no calluses. Just how young was he?

So, that’s the way Jaden played his games. No catches, indeed. An age difference would be a challenge, yes, but he welcomed it. The thrill of fighting against the odds and winning gave him a high – similar to the way others described a stiff drink or a good cigar. Harry didn’t know for sure if those were good comparisons. He always resisted both activities, opting instead to keep his body pure and fit for the stage, but they felt right.

“Return the ring and the necklace to me this instant!”

Bess’s voice sliced the air. Her bitter tone sounded as sweet as a songbird’s call. Erich lifted his head bit by bit in order to make this moment last. The first time Harry laid eyes on Bess remained etched in his mind, and this memory would sit next to that one in honored glory.

“Bess.” Her name slid off his tongue.

Hypnotized by her dark eyes, he scooped up the purse and offered it to her as he stood.

“That’s right. Doesn’t make you clairvoyant because you know my name. My husband — God rest his soul — made sure it would never be forgotten. Now, please. His ring.”

A jagged, icy edge laced her voice. Coupled with her closed off stance, it cut at his new flesh. What happened to the sweet woman of his heart?

Despite Jaden’s warning, he’d believed their eyes would lock, and much like the first time, love would blossom like lilies on a spring day. Instead, she demanded he give her back the symbol of their undying love. Nothing could hurt worse, even though his rational mind knew she couldn’t recognize him. Not so soon, anyway. The connection he’d put all his faith in was broken like the delicate chain.

He laid the jewelry in her out-stretched palm. A familiar energy pulsed between the point where their hands touched, proving to Erich that not even time and death could alter what they’d once shared. Bess must have felt the same sensation. It was too strong to be ignored. She had to see something in his eyes and hear something in his voice.

He willed her to grab on to the connection between them, not knowing if she sensed it. “Here you go, Angel.”

Her jaw locked. Though laugh lines etched her cheeks, reminding him of the love and joy they’d shared, no other traces of happiness remained on her face. For the first time, he understood Jaden’s warning. This wasn’t
his
Bess. Not anymore. The passage of time and depths of her misery could be mapped in the wrinkles at her temples and reflected in her cold, brown eyes.

“If you would be so kind as to return my handbag, I’ll be on my way.”

The way she treated him like an outsider shook him off balance. Of course, in this body, he was a stranger. His knees trembled. His head went light.
It’s just not possible.

Not wanting her to hear the tears constricting his voice, he silently offered the leather bag and stepped aside. He stumbled back and leaned against the brick wall, letting it hold his weight as she whisked around the corner. His heart belonged to her, and she held the string, dragging it behind her as she walked away.

The very first time they’d met, he spilled his drink on her dress, but she’d accepted his apology and, in no time at all, became quite taken with him. He had expected that warm, flirty smile and knew somewhere inside she’d never mistake him for anything but the love of her life. Yet, she had.

Why had he unraveled the chain from his ring? Because inside he was still Harry and that ring belonged to him. To her, those actions made him look like a thief. Instead of moving forward, his first encounter with Bess had set him back. Instead of building trust, he now had to regain it.

“I think we’ll call that strike one.”

Jaden
.

He also leaned against the same wall. His leather outfit had been replaced with blue-grey flannel trousers and a white dress shirt, but the clothes didn’t help him blend into the surroundings. Still tall, still thin, the same ice-blue eyes that shone like no other. This man — if that’s what he was — would never appear normal in this world.

Erich’s shoulders dropped. “You’ve set me up for one last round of torture before you sentence me to my never-ending Hell. Why don’t you just be done with it now?”

“Giving up was never Harry’s style.”

Jaden’s comment seemed off the cuff, but struck as if it were a blow to the chin. In life, he never once abandoned something he believed in. Was this different because it was hard? No. He had faced many obstacles in his short life, and the only one he ever failed to conquer was his own health. He owed Bess that same determination regardless if Jaden was right and his contradictions had made her into this cold, empty being. “I’m still me. No matter what you’ve done to my face.”

“If you still believe that at month’s end, the whole wager will be for nothing.”

He’d never be ashamed to call himself Harry Houdini, despite Jaden’s disgust. Because of his hard work, everyone knew who he and she were. “How can I not be me? That’s impossible.”

“This is not a game or one of your illusions. What you feel and how you act must come from your heart or it means nothing.”

“If this isn’t a game, why the bet?”

Jaden’s chest rose and fell, and his lanky body shook with his sinister laugh. “I didn’t say we couldn’t have a little fun with it now.”

How dare he amuse himself with his and Bess’s pain? The agony of returning his ring and watching her walk away hurt like nothing he’d experienced in all his years of death defying acts. Not even the months he’d spent tortured by Jaden cut more. If Bess hurt even a fraction of what he did, Erich would do anything to save her. If only he knew where to start.

“I’d put myself in a place where she can’t ignore you.”

Jaden could read his mind. Erich was positive now. Despite the invasion into his private thoughts, Jaden’s words made sense. He’d have to find some way to become part of her life – not as the man he once was, but as who Jaden had made him.

“There is a wallet and an ID that no employer would question in your back pocket.”

As Erich twisted to retrieve it, pain shot through his side. He spun back, but Jaden had disappeared. No real surprise, he hadn’t been much help so far.

Alone, he investigated the throbbing to find a six inch wound bound with stitches. He wasn’t a doctor, but he’d seen enough injuries to guess this one was only a few days old. Another obstacle? Or was it a veiled reminder of the appendix surgery Harry received a few days before he died?

More of Harry’s memories rolled through Erich’s mind like a movie. Harry had been in such agony the last several days of his life, but refused to let anything stand in the way of providing for Bess or pleasing the fans who had spent hard-earned money to watch him perform. If Erich were to take a page from his book, this fresh incision was no cause for concern.

His attention back on the billfold, he stroked the fine leather. Even when he’d been able to afford it, he’d never have spent the money on such a luxury. Flipping the wallet open, he rummaged through the pockets until he found the papers Jaden spoke of and then read the details of his new identity: Erich Welch, born in 1902. That made him…twenty-four.

Less than half the age Harry had been at death. Half Bess’s age.

No wonder Bess had called him a young man. It was going to be hard enough to get her to give anyone other than Harry a second look, but someone so young? Near impossible.

***

Safe inside the deli, Bess’s walls fell. The strong face she reserved for the public evaporated. Grief enveloped her like the darkness of being closed in one of Harry’s trunks or the seemingly endless nights since he’d died. So much for a crisp, new start, free of those memories.

Unclenching her hand, she looked down at the sterling ring and fingered the broken chain. It should still be on his finger, but in the last moments before they closed the coffin, her eyes fixated on the memento and her heart demanded she keep it. The chain, an anniversary gift from Harry, kept the ring close to her heart until it had snapped a week ago while she worked in the flower garden. She felt naked not having the comforting weight of the ring brush against her chest, but avoided dropping the chain off at the jeweler. Too much pain to discuss with strangers and way too precious to let out of her sight, she closed the symbols of their love in her fist, unable to let go of him or their past.

And
that man
might have stolen them. As quick as the thought flashed through her mind, Bess dismissed it. If he’d intended to take the jewelry, she wouldn’t have been able to stop him. Besides, his eyes were too kind and his smile too sweet for him to be a ruffian.

And he’d called her “Angel.” Just like Harry.

Was that some kind of confirmation that moving forward was the right choice? Or was she looking for signs where none existed? Even so, the young man refused to leave her thoughts.

Goodness, he’s just a child.
And she was married. Or had been. Even if almost a year had passed, her heart still belonged to her husband. She had no business noticing how attractive the stranger was.

“Are you all right, Bess?” Will Johnson, owner and operator of the Courtyard Deli, stood before her. He wiped his large hands on his stained apron and looked on with a father-like concern.

Oh, yes, I’m fine.”

When he offered her his plump arm, Bess took it, allowing him to guide her to the corner booth in the back of the restaurant. “You sit right down, sweetheart, and let me bring you some coffee and a sweet roll.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you to fuss over me.”

“Aren’t you lucky? You don’t have to find out.” He scurried behind the counter, pouring her a cup of coffee and picking the largest pastry from the display case.