Part Six

As soon as Stuart walks in the front door, he heads straight into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of ginger ale. His stomach makes all kinds of noises and full to the rim. He slowly strolls upstairs, and on the way to his bedroom, he knocks on his mother’s door to let her know that he is home. He empties his pockets, placing his keys and wallet on his dark walnut dresser. Stuart unzippers his pants and changes into his loungewear and plops on to the bed. He reaches for the television remote on his nightstand and flips through the TV guide, looking for something to watch. Stuart settles into bed, holding his stomach, and his eyes glued to Pawn Stars. Chum Lee is geeking out on a gentleman’s collection of Marvel comic books.

With the remote starting to fall out of his hand, he pops his head off the pillow to turn the television off and places his glasses and remote onto the nightstand. Throughout the night, he tosses and turns, trapping himself in the bed with the blanket wrapped around his legs. I see her. Grandma is sitting in a brown desk chair with her arms tied behind her back. She’s trapped in a dark room with one pendant light hanging above her head. Concrete floors, no natural light, I think she might be held inside a closet or in a basement. A person wearing gray scala wool felt hat, which reminds me of a Sherlock Holmes hat, and a beige trench coat enters the room. I can’t tell if it’s a man or woman, their clothes are covering their physique, and the hat covers their face.

They stare into my grandmother’s ocean blue eyes, and say, “Where’s the journal, Dorothy?”

“Somewhere hidden,” says Grandma breathy.

“If you don’t give me what I want, I will put a bullet in your head.”

“You told me to go undercover to find out who is leaking FBI information to the CIA, so let me do my mission.”

“You have two more days, and that’s it.”

Beep Beep! From the alarm clock startle, Stuart awakes, finding himself drenched in sweat. He untangles himself, and briskly walks to the bathroom. He leans over the sink, splashing cold water on his face, trying to wake up. What if an old enemy of my grandmother’s made her death look she died from natural causes? I think my grandmother was an undercover agent.

Stuart dries his face, sits down on the ottoman in front of his bed, and dials Harry’s phone number.

“Harry, are you awake?”

“I am now silly. What time is it?”

“A little after six in the morning. I set an early alarm to make sure we could get a flight tonight.”

“Alright. Did you find ticket information?”

“No, I haven’t check yet. I’m calling because I had another dream.”

“What did you see this time?” Harry asks while yawning.

“She was being held against her will by someone wearing a detective-style hat and trench coat, but I think she was an undercover spy.”

“What?” Harry’s voice went higher than his usual tone.

“She said she was hired to find out who was leaking information to the CIA.”

“It looks like we have a good lead and information to help us. Call me back when you have booked us a flight. I need a little more sleep.”

“Okay, buddy. Talk to you later.”

Stuart grabs his laptop out of his work bag and searches for flight times and hotel rooms for him and Harry. A cold breeze flows in the room from the window, and it brings natural light into the room as the sun rises. Stuart books the last flight out to New York City for eight o’clock tonight for him and Harry, and a room at a Holiday Inn for the weekend. He sends Harry a text message with all the details. Then, he jumps back into bed to get a few more hours of sleep before he needs to get ready for his weekend trip to NYC.