Resurrecting Harry Read online

  He stood in his home, yet was a stranger. And though it was only tiny things — like the stage clothes — that seemed different, each change ate at him.

  What to wear? He slid his fingers down the sleeve of the blue cotton dress shirt. Or maybe he should pick the simple white one?

  “Eleven months is a long time to hold on to anything. Isn’t it?”

  Erich didn’t have to look to know Jaden stood behind him at the ready to probe his psyche. “You think it’d be better if she threw my things away?”

  “Not yours. Harry Houdini’s,” Jaden said, his voice cool and firm. The reminder put Erich off balance. “You are no longer that man.”

  In some ways, a distinction between the two seemed absurd. Every single one of Harry’s memories breathed inside of him, as if the period of time since he’d been hospitalized and received this new body was just a long, twisted dream. In other ways, the distinction made perfect sense. Everything from Bess’s unknowing stare to an old friend treating him like a suspect stranger distanced that life, as if it had belonged to someone else.

  But now — in this house — Harry’s voice screamed at him from deep inside to reclaim his life. He touched the shirts again, Jaden’s warnings bouncing around in his mind like a ping-pong ball.

  “Is there a right choice?” he asked out loud, trying to remember if Bess had ever expressed a preference.

  “To see you in either is going to cut her to the bone.”

  “Then why did she offer them?”

  “It isn’t that complicated. In your previous life, wouldn’t you have given the clothes off your back to a man brave enough to dash into traffic to save a small child? Every action and every choice she makes is dictated by what Harry would have done.”

  Jaden spoke the truth. Harry would have applauded the bravery and done just as Jaden suggested. Following that gut instinct, Erich selected the light blue shirt and slipped it on, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Why is this body marred with the incision from Harry’s surgery?”

  “You like that? I thought it was a nice touch.” Jaden’s laugh sounded yet again, causing acid to bubble and press up from Erich’s stomach. The Houdini image was his hard-earned prize, and it offended him that Jaden mocked it.

  “Why do I think it’s there for a reason?”

  “You’re a smart guy. No one can deny you that. Everything in life has reason, value, consequence and repercussion.”

  “Repercussion. Saving the child burst a stitch. Punishment for a good deed?” Erich asked, frustrated by Jaden’s typical avoidance techniques.

  “Wrong. That was a consequence. Just because something is right doesn’t mean it’s always easy. Repercussion will be how it affects you.”

  “Pain?”

  Jaden sighed and shook his head. “Too narrow a focus. I’m rather disappointed. I expected you’d visualize the future more.”

  The endless stream of riddles made Erich’s head light. He had once enjoyed games like this, but having experienced death, the frivolity seemed pointless. He started buttoning the shirt. “What comes after pain? Either healing, more pain or death? Are there repercussions to death?”

  Jaden’s hand touched the center of Erich’s back. An instant flash of fire shot through his body, dragging him to his knees. His head arched back and pain contorted every muscle. Not the physical, like when the stitch had torn in two, but the pain of a heart ripping to shreds, of drowning in grief.

  In his mind, the slideshow of images, like those that played during his months of death, flashed in front of him. Only this time, he wasn’t inside his own mind’s eye. He looked on from above at the scenes, but the overwhelming sense of loss and the desperate grip at hope that compelled people to visit Harry and beg for that last moment of contact with their loved ones consumed Erich and ate away at his soul.

  “Any touch to another’s life alters their course. You’ve already effected a change in Bess just by being here.” Jaden’s words echoed in his mind, and Erich fought against the power coursing his body and constricting his muscles. “You haven’t lost free will, but I implore you to remember the reason you entered that body to begin with.”

  The power consuming him left as quickly as it had impaled him. His body collapsed, and Jaden disappeared. An eerie silence exaggerated the emptiness, not only of the bedroom, but within him. Yes, death had repercussions. Maybe not to the lifeless body, but to everyone that person touched.

  He pushed himself to his knees, trying to piece the images together with Jaden’s words and decipher his warnings. Like a robot, he slipped into a pair of black pants and started for the door just as Bess came running into it.

  “What happened? It sounded like something fell.”

  “Something did. Me.”

  She eyed him curiously, and he searched for the right words to explain. But what logical excuse could he give? His feet wet from the shower? That didn’t make sense; the floor was carpeted. “What can I say? I’m clumsy. No harm. No foul. Nothing’s broken.” He tried to smile, hoping to ease the raw bundle of nerves he’d been since he collided with her on the street.

  She nodded, accepting his excuse, but her stare lingered on his face for a moment. “I always liked that shirt on Harry, but it looks better on you. The blue matches your eyes.”

  Bess then pivoted away and started down the steps as if the comment meant nothing, not knowing how much it divided him. Of course, he liked that she noticed his eyes, but Harry’s soul panged with jealousy that she looked at the smallest of detail in another man.

  Oh, the irony. She would have to fall in love with another man to save both their lives.

  ***

  Those eyes. That strong jaw. Bess shook off her stare and set the bone plate in front of Erich. Her heart sank to her quivering stomach. Harry was her first, and she’d vowed he’d be her only. Yet, here this man sat, and a piece of her was reaching to him for no other reason than her sleeping libido had awakened.

  Erich’s eyelids fluttered, and he seemed to be taking in the scent of fish, potatoes and corn. Sliding the napkin from the table to his lap, he said, “I can’t thank you enough. This is so much more than I expected to be eating tonight.”

  “A man who works hard deserves a good meal, and thanks to you that little boy–” He’d asked her to put the deed out of her mind, and she should try harder to respect that. But what might have happened if Erich hadn’t been so observant and selfless?

  She loved Harry, as much as any woman could love a man, but she’d never use selfless to describe him. Erich had proven himself to be self-sacrificing twice.

  Is that why I find him so appealing?

  “That doesn’t make you responsible for me,” Erich said. “But I’m grateful for any kindness.” Erich’s cheeks pushed back with a smile that lit up those eyes she was trying to ignore.

  She forced her gaze to the hastily prepared meal that he savored, and she asked the question that had circled her mind since he had said he only had the clothes on his back. “Are you running from something, Mr. Welch? The law, perhaps?”

  He coughed on his tea and kept his focus on his plate as if the food fascinated him. “Why do you ask such a thing, Mrs—”

  “Call me Bess. Because you showed up out of nowhere with nothing, not even enough cash to pay for a room.”

  Another bite of fish disappeared after Erich chewed it more thoroughly than needed. “Running away from something isn’t really my style, but sometimes the need for change is overwhelming.” His fork scraped the plate, reminding Bess of her niece. The child often picked at her food when she spun at a tale, and Bess swore she could see the wheels spinning in Erich’s head. As if every word was chosen with delicate purpose. “A death separated me from the one I loved. I was in this place where standing still just wasn’t an option anymore. Like if I didn’t change something, everything, I’d just cease to exist.”

  “So you just got on a bus with nothing and no direction?”

  “Something lik
e that. What did you call me before? Impetuous?”

  “Maybe foolish is a better word.”

  The playful smile returned to his face. “Don’t you ever do anything spur of the moment?”

  “Not in quite some time.” Order and familiarity were two things that kept the gears moving and made going from one day to the next possible. Things that happened without warning, like the furnace breaking, threw her off balance. Those moments reminded her just how alone she was. Grief was another thing she had in common with Erich. “Sorry that you’ve lost someone you love. I know that pain too well.”

  “It was quite unexpected. And at times, more than I think my heart can take. But I try to remember the good times: the laughs, the smiles and the unexpected joys.”

  Each quality Erich mentioned stabbed at a different piece of Bess’s aching heart. How could such happy words recall such pain? She tried to think of the joy she shared with Harry, but more often than not, ended up feeling desolate and alone. Never happy. She pushed her chair away from the table and picked up her dishes, taking them to the sink. Within seconds, she could feel him behind her and smell the fresh scent of the soap from his shower. “Did I say something wrong?”

  She dropped the dishes — too far by the sound of the rattle — and started filling the sink. “No, Mr. Welch—”

  “Erich.”

  “That was Harry’s given name.” Why did I say that out loud? Because it’d been flashing in her mind like a bright, stage light since she’d heard him tell it to Will that morning.

  Harry’s parents had immigrated to the states when he was young, and neither ever lost their heavy Hungarian accents. Their native tongue caused them to focus more on the vowels than the harder sounds. So, when his mother would call him home from playing, his name came out “air-ee.” To neighbors and friends it sounded more like Harry than Erich, and eventually that was what the entire world came to know him as.

  She didn’t have to look behind her to know Erich loomed close. A heat rolled off him and called to her. Spinning toward him, a familiar urge to slide her hand up his chest swelled inside, but this wasn’t Harry. Standing in the same room and not touching him was always an exercise in restraint, but for those same sensations to roar to life with a stranger felt sacrilegious at best.

  “It’s obvious you miss your husband very much.” The distance between them tightened as Erich stepped closer. He lifted his hand, reaching toward her.

  She braced herself for the embrace or kiss she desired. Instead, he reached behind her, turned off the water and stepped back. Her chest expanded. She wouldn’t have this conversation with Erich. Couldn’t have it with such desire clouding her thoughts. Instead she focused on the menial chore and tried to drown her lust in the dishwater. “Excuse me, it’s getting late. I’d like to finish up these dishes so I can tend to your clothes.”

  A touch grazed her shoulder, adding fuel to the fire burning inside her. “I thought we were having a nice dinner. If I said something to offend you—”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Let me help you—”

  She laughed. Even to her own ears it sounded small, like a nervous child’s. “Silly. Haven’t you done enough dishes for one day? You must be exhausted.”

  His hand fell away. Once again, an almost strangling pressure lifted from her chest. She sidled past him to the table and collected his dishes.

  “Whatever I said, I’m sorry, Angel.”

  The mug fell from her hand, hitting the table with a crash and spilling tea, just like the wave of grief that splashed over her heart. Hearing Harry’s pet name for her come from another’s lips would never feel right. “Damn it all!” She tried to contain the emotions twisting her gut into knots, but the tears spilled down her cheeks anyway.

  Erich was there with the dishtowel, wiping up the mess. “Bess, please, sit down. Take a moment.”

  “Don’t call me, Angel. Just don’t. And I can do the dishes. I’m not fragile.” Her stiff posture reinforced the defensive wall Bess hid behind. She refused to take his pity or comfort, but her knees gave way. She lowered herself to the chair.

  He squatted in front of her and cradled her hands. “I’m sorry, Bess. I didn’t mean to upset you. I reminded you of Harry. Didn’t I?”

  Even if she wanted to, Bess couldn’t deny the truth. He squeezed her hands again. A sense of comfort wrapped around her like her favorite wool sweater. “It’s not your fault. Some days are easier than others. This one was hard, so many memories.”

  “Believe me. I understand.” He refilled her cup and set it in front of her. Without saying a word, he drizzled a bit of honey into the mug. Another example of how observant he was. He’d paid attention to how she liked her tea. “Just sit her for a few minutes and compose yourself. Leave these dishes to me.”

  Her lungs expanded and slowly deflated as she tried to find her center. The hot tea passed her lips and soothed her. She could hear the water splashing in the sink and feel Erich’s presence behind her as if they were tied by a pair of Harry’s shackles. Harry would never...This has to stop!

  The ongoing comparison between her husband and this man was unhealthy. Almost as much as the way she asked Harry’s ghost advice on every decision she had to make. It was past time to bury the dead, let him have his peaceful, final rest. She needed to look at Erich — and everyone she came in contact with — on their merits, not how they ranked on the “what would Harry think” scale.

  She shared a commonality with Erich, like Martin he knew firsthand what it was like to lose a lover and companion. Unlike her, both men seemed to move beyond the pain with ease. Maybe Erich could help her learn to live without Harry?

  Chapter Six

  Bess paused at the entry to the hospital ward. Of the ten beds in the room – five on each of the long walls – only half of them were filled. Even though Harry had spent his final days in a private room, under a physician’s constant care, the antiseptic smell always took her straight back to the past October. She set the tray of homemade brownies on the small table to the left of the door and crossed to Joseph who was changing the bandages of a burn victim that she’d come to know during his weeks of treatment.

  She brushed her hand against his ankle as she moved to where he could see her. “How are you doing today, Edwin?”

  Though Joseph was using a gentle touch to clean the wounds, she could see the extent of the pain on the patient’s face. His hands twisted the blankets as he grimaced. “Not good, Mrs. Houdini.”

  Bess sat on the edge of the bed and pried Edwin’s fingers from the blanket. “Grip my hand, and look in my eyes,” she directed. When he did, she gave him a kind smile. “Now, tell me how that wife of yours is doing? She and I keep missing each other here.”

  She was well aware that caring for the young couple’s three children kept Edwin’s wife’s visits short and not as frequent as they would like. Bess also knew that anything that would distract him from pain would be welcomed. It was one of the reasons that kept her coming back to the hospital week after week to visit with the patients. Anything she could do to help someone else kept her mind focused on everything she still had instead of what she’d lost in Harry.

  “The misses is just fine.” Edwin spit the words through clenched teeth. He squeezed her hand so tight that her flesh turned white. “Hopefully they send me home, or these bills are going to do us in.”

  “Don’t you worry about anything but getting better.”

  Bess had been volunteering at the hospital the day three of Edwin’s coworkers had carried him into the hospital. He’d been in the utility room of the factory when a malfunctioning boiler had left the man with third degree burns on his arms, neck and the right side of his face. It was just the kind of work-related accident she’d always feared Harry would succumb to, and she’d bonded with the man from minute one. Anything she could do to assist him in his recovery made up, in part, for not being able to help her husband pull through his illness.

  “It won’t
be long now,” Joseph said. “You’re healing nicely.”

  Bess gave a sideways glance and noticed Joseph rubbing an ointment from a small glass jar instead of the salve she’d witnessed Martin using the week before. “Is that a new treatment?”

  Joseph began wrapping the arm with a clean bandage. “It is, in fact, an ancient remedy. We’ve been using it for a few days, and I’m quite pleased with the results.”

  Edwin rolled his head toward the door. “Did I smell your famous brownies?”

  “You certainly did.” She patted his hand. “As soon as Joseph is all done with you I will bring you one.”

  “I think I’d likely starve if it wasn’t for you bringing us such good home cooking.”

  As Joseph carefully laid Edwin’s arm back on the bed, Bess found her feet and released the man’s hand. “You exaggerate. I know full well that they are treating you well.”

  “The treatment, maybe, but not the food.”

  “I need to talk to Dr. Cooper,” Joseph said. “But I suspect you’ll be able to go home by the end of the week. Now, I want you to lay back, close your eyes and get some rest. Mrs. Houdini knows the patients can’t be given any outside food until the nurses check your prescribed dietary requirements and clear it.”

  Joseph walked to the foot of the bed and motioned for Bess to follow him.

  “Hopefully when I come in next week, you’ll have already gone home, Edwin.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears, Mrs. Houdini.”

  Bess patted his hand again, before meeting Joseph. Together they walked toward the door, and she waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. “Why do you put me in these predicaments? You know how Martin feels about you using untested treatments in the ward.”