Twice Lived, Twice Loved

Chapter Six

A thirty minute ride later, Elizabeth stops her car in front of the upscale mental facility where Mr. Vincent Iyke stays. The name "Peace Internal" is carved on the front of the establishment. It is one of the two best mental facilities in LA. Her grandmother is in the second.

"Whoa." Chris says from his seat beside her, staring at the wide expanse of the building in front of them. "Are you sure this is actually a madhouse?" He asks and she tsks.

"Careful with your words, nobody likes being called mad. And the kind of people here are especially sensitive about that." She says and kills the engine. "Come on, there is no time to waste." She tells him and gets out of the car. She hears him mutter something that is most probably not flattering to her before getting out. He really has nothing to worry about. She recognises that he is putting his job on the line to help her but if he gets discovered, she intends to leave him well compensated.

She strides through the opulent doors and into the reception area. She had not wanted to call ahead because Mr. Daniel Iyke could have been notified that a visitor was coming in for his father and he would definitely make himself a problem.

The receptionist looks up at her now, her eyes unimpressed as she stops in front of her desk.

"I am here to see one of your residents, Mr. Vincent Iyke." She says.

"Do you have an appointment with him?" She asks, looking away from her to continue clicking at her computer.

"No, I do not." She says.

"Well then, I am afraid that you may not see him. Please come back when you have a reservation." She says curtly.

Sadly, pulling her celebrity status will not work here. It is an elite mental facility that has seen its fair share of famous people, many probably more famous than she is. She glances at John who shrugs at her and continues his sightseeing, ignoring the both of them.

"I am afraid that I cannot do that." She says and the woman looks back at her with a frown. "It is most urgent that I see Mr. Iyke today."

"Miss..."

"Sanders." She provides.

"Miss Sanders. The rules of this facility are crystal clear. You make a reservation to see any of our residents. And if you fail to do so, you go back and make one. Bottom line is that no one sees anyone without an appointment. Please understand. I would hate to call the security on you." She says before looking away from her to continue tapping at her keyboard.

Frustration bubbles up within her. She is so close to the truth, why is it that every step of her way to discovering it, pesky little things are always cropping up to block her path?

She glances at John once again and motions surreptitiously at the woman. His brow rises and he looks confused. She resists the urge to sigh. She motions to the woman and back to him, he should have a go. He is not a particularly bad looking guy. In fact, his military buzz-cut and his wide shoulders exude a rough appeal that she sends a prayer to the heavens that is the receptionist's fervent wet dream, despite the garishness of his uniform. When he still looks confused, she kicks out a leg, connecting with his shin and he tries to stifle his cry of pain, turning it into a cough. She grabs a small portion of his shirt and drags him closer. The receptionist looks at the both of them, her hand going to the telephone and her face questioning what they are still doing in her sight.

John finally understands what he is to do and lets out a low cough before turning a brilliant smile on her. Elizabeth has to admit, the smile transforms him like magic and by the receptionist's rapid blink, she has also noticed.

"Hello. I am Chris." He says, holding out a hand to the receptionist. In a trance, she brings up her hands to shake his, and it seems for a moment, the two of them are lost in their own universe. She has to give credit to Chris, he knows what he is doing. The handshake lingers, with Chris holding her eyes and she almost feels like she is intruding on a private moment.

"We are very sorry to inconvenience you this morning..." Chris begins. The rest is history.

Ten minutes later, their reservation has been hastily made and senior Mr. Iyke has been prepped for a visit. Elizabeth walks with springy steps beside Chris as they are led down a hallway by a steward.

"So, tell me." She says. "Your company is broke as s**t. You sure as hell don't have money to continue to keep your father in this facility so how is your boss managing it?" She asks. It would require a huge yearly sum to keep up to date with the demands of the home.

"Well, that was Mr. Iyke's last act of kindness to his father. He was going to cart him out of the outside world forever and into this deep hole, so he pulled strings to make sure that his father's final abode would be as memorable and dignified as possible. He payed for twenty years in advance, probably bringing himself to rock bottom b'cos of that." Chris says.

Elizabeth whistles. "That is a lot of money for someone inheriting a run-down company to conjure up." She says and Chris shrugs. "And if Mr. Vincent lives beyond the steepled twenty years?" She asks.

"If the old man continues to linger beyond his allotted years, then I suppose a new home is in order." He replies, amusement coloring his voice.

Mr. Daniel Iyke really should have taken her offer.

Soon enough, they are led into a four corner room with a central circular table and three chairs surrounding it. Occupying one of the chairs is an old, stooped man. All of the hair on his head ad beard are white, and he does not look up as they approach. The steward announces them before going to the edge of the room to stand, looking in on them.

Elizabeth slides into the seat opposite Mr. Vincent Iyke. He has the same long face as his son and that is not where the resemblance ends. The same shape of nose, the same shape of lips and the same dark eyes look up at her. He is basically a thinner, much older version of his son.

"Mr. Iyke, I am sorry for popping in here like this without due notice." She says.

"I barely ever get visitors other than journalists." The old man says, surprisingly lucid. "Are you a journalist?" He asks.

"No, of course not." She replies. "I am Elizabeth Sanders and this is my friend, Chris... Chris." She says, glancing at Chris who shrugs.

"Elizabeth and Chris." He says slowly as if trying to rummage through his memories to find out if he knows them. She will probably enter all pits of hell for this, but she remembers in that moment that he has dementia and that she could use that.

"You probably don't remember but we've met before." She says. Chris' eyes jump to hers but she avoids looking at him. She continues. "Just before you came here."

Mr. Iyke's face looks strained as he cracks his tired brain trying to come up with the memory and she feels like s**t.

"It's okay, it was very brief." She hastens to add, releasing a breath when the old man finally quits his straining.

"My memory is not as it was." He admits and she nods understandably. She heard once that patients like him have a lucid window, which means that she has to get her answers out of him before his illness takes over.

"Yes, I understand. If it is not too much trouble, my friend and I are in need of some answers." She says.

"Of course not." He says with a smile. "It is such a pleasure to see new faces in here. I have a son, you know, strong and smart he is. I knew that he was destined for great things since the first day he came roaring into the world."

Elizabeth glances at Chris who shrugs once again. He is not going to be of any help.

"Well yes, I agree with you." She says, cutting him off gently. "Your son is simply magnificient. And so well behaved too!"

Mr. Vincent Iyke smiles widely and opens his mouth to continues the epistle about his son but she continues.

"So, about these answers I seek. Ten years ago, you were adamant that your family company, Wild Ride does not only deal with human messages but also does some courier services with other worlds." She says and he grows silent. She takes a deep breath.

"It must have been difficult when the entire world did not believe what you were saying. But I believe you." She says and stretches out her arm to take his hand in hers. His fingers feel knobby and yet fragile between hers.

"I believe you." She repeats. "Which is why I have come all the way here. Because I want to know more."

The old man's eyes are cast down, and he is silent for so long that she begins to fear that he had nodded off in the middle of her touching epistle. But then his fingers flex between hers and he looks up.

"It is a relief." He says. "For so long, nobody believed me, not even Daniel. He lacks the sight." He says with a deep frown and Elizabeth wonders what he means by 'the sight'. "But I knew what I was talking about. The Others are real. They are here." He whispers, sending goosebumps racing down her arm.

Elizabeth glances at Chris. If that is not ominous as hell, then she don't know what is.

"What Others?" She asks, giving his hand a squeeze.

"They are everywhere. You just have to look to find them." He says and seals his lips, apparently done talking.

"Okay, can you tell them that I want to meet with them?" She asks but he does not give a reply. She glances at her wrist. Four minutes. Her time is almost up.

"Mr. Iyke, where can I meet these Others?" She asks. When he still remains silent, she has a suspicion. She leans forward, bending to peep at him from below his lashes. His eyes are shut and his breath comes in even rhythms. To confirm her suspicion, a light snore emanates from his nose and she lets out a little laugh.

Look at her, she thinks, look at the depths she has sunk to. An old man is raving words of madness and she is eagerly eating it up. A glance at Chris confirms what he thinks of the whole affair. He looks at her like she is as mad as Mr. Iyke obviously is. She sits back straight and clears her throat. A second later, the steward is at the table.

"It seems Mr. Iyke is done for today." He begins. She raises up a hand to cut him off.

"He is taking a short break because he is old and tired. I have three minutes left with him, so if you would please give us some privacy?" She says with a mega-watt smile directed at the young man. Flustered, he nods and makes his way back to the edge of the room.

"Mr. Iyke?" She calls out gently but he continues his snoring on a steady. She gives his hand a small squeeze. "Mr. Iyke?" She calls louder. The man startles from sleep and looks around wildly, calming down when his eyes come to rest on them.

"Oh yes, I was telling you about my son." He says with a smile. "He is already twenty five, you know." He says proudly.

Mr. Daniel Iyke stopped being twenty five ten years ago.

"It seems like it was just yesterday that the nurses brought him in and put him in my arms, a little squalling thing. I knew he was destined for great things from the moment he came roaring into the world."

Elizabeth stares at him, feeling pity welling up within her. She hopes that he is getting the amount of care that he needs.

"I am sure he was a beautiful baby boy." She says and the old man smiles widely.

"He was. Took after his mother, he did." He says proudly.

A glance at her watch tells her she has just over a minute left.

"Mr. Iyke, can you tell me where I can find the Others?" She asks gently and his red-rimmed eyes come to rest on her and they widen.

"The Others? You know of them?" He asks in a furious whisper.

"Yes, I do." She says, swallowing. Is this what it means to grow old or are the holes in his memories due to the insanity in his brain? "I need to find them, how can I do that?" She asks, giving his hand another squeeze to convey her urgency.

"Go to Mountain Dews." Mr. Iyke says, his eyes remembering something from the past. "Ask for a pint of nectar. They will know what you mean." He says and her jaw drops at the ease at which the information was given. Just like that? She goes to the bar and says the words and she'll finally get her answers? It almost sounds too easy. "And when you go, ask for Mormont." He says, his eyes on her completely lucid. "Tell him that I am ready."

"Ready for what?" Chris speaks for the first time since he got here and she glances at him to see the confusion on his face as he looks between the two of them. "What madness are you two talking about?" He asks.

"Daniel?" Mr. Iyke's voice rings out. He pulls his fingers from hers and reaches out to Chris. "Daniel, my boy, why have you not visited even once?" He asks.

Chris glances at her, not knowing what to do and she is just as clueless.

"Come. Come to me, my boy." Mr. Iyke says, rising hurriedly, his chair clattering to the floor. The steward rushes forward and places a restraining hand on his arm. "No, wait, Daniel. Allow me to touch my boy." Mr. Iyke pleads.

The attendant gives them a regretful look before he turns and shuffles the old man away hurriedly. Chris still looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Come on, let's go. Our time is up anyway." She says and rises.

"You believe anything that man just said?" Chris says, not rising.

The question is uncomfortable. To outright say that she believes is to admit that she is sharing the same madness as the old man but how can she tell him that she has to chase this to the very last end? That she needs to discover if she is afflicted with the same malady as the old man or if they share the truth of a reality known to few. How can she tell him that she cannot be sure but something about everything the old man has said has resonated within her? That deep down, she feels like she has been waiting all of her life to get these answers? She pushes her chair back into the table and stands behind it.

"Maybe, maybe not. I came here for answers. I am not going to stop until I have chased the lead to the very end." She says.

He shakes his head, his face incredulous.

"That man could not even recognise his own son. He has dementia and he lives in an alternate reality. How did you think that anything that came out of his mouth was genuine?" He asks.

"I don't know and that is the problem. I don't know if he was talking out of his ass, spinning fantastic tales to while away his time or whether he is a man passing on a truth that the rest of the world is blind to. And I intend to find out which it is. Get up, we have one last stop to make." She tells him.

"You and who?" He asks and gets up. "I'm tapping out here, man. I'm done. This," his hand encompasses the room and the both of them. "Is the beginning of madness. I want no part in it."

"I am not asking you to do anything but guide me and sit pretty. How is that putting you in danger of madness?" She asks incredulously.

"I've got a girl." He says, taking a step towards her. "She is only six. And a wife. It is hard as f**k to look after the both of them, ensure they have everything they need, put smiles on their faces, make them happy. But I try, and I intend to keep on trying for the rest of my days. This, you, this whole mad-hatter train, I have had enough of it. Thank you for the money, a normal man like me doesn't see sums like that everyday but this is where I quit. I would prefer you also go home, catch some sleep, get your head back on straight but if you insist on chasing this, I cannot do anything about that. But this is the end for me." He says. He turns away from her and walks away and she watches his back until he disappears through the door and out of sight.

But she cannot go home and she cannot go to sleep, because that is where her own demons lie. She needs those answers, no matter what.

###

Finding the bar was not hard at all. A search on the internet and a map later, she stands in front of the small establishment.

It is a small, nondescript bar in the more congested parts of LA. The signboard in front of it clearly says Mountain Dews but she has difficulty believing that the small bar has the answers she seeks. For one, it is small. Even around this area, there are bigger, more opulent bars in her line of sight. And also, it is so... dingy.

She sighs and berates herself for being picky. Who cares where the answers come from as long as she gets them? With determined steps, she strides into the bar.

The interior matches the outside. It is a small circular room with tables and chairs clustered close together. The lighting is low and only about three waiters make the rounds. Ignoring the leering men whistling as they catch sight of her, she strides straight to the bar to the bartender who welcomes her with a grin. She slides onto one of the tall seats and the bartender makes his way over from the other side of his cubicle.

"What will the pretty lady have?" He asks.

"Just a pint of nectar." She says pointedly in a low voice.

The bartender freezes on the glass he had been towelling dry and stares at her. She holds his eye, letting him know that she means business.

His smile returns with full force and he puts his glass down.

"And you shall have it. Come with me." He says and turns to stride towards the back.

She glances around the room, at the men with their eyes on her. Is she really going to do this?

She slides off the bar and follows the bartender to the back, yes. Yes, she is doing this, she thinks, excitement fizzling beneath her skin.

She can see him disappearing through the back door and without a moment of hesitation, she follows.