Part Ten

The twinkle alarm blaring from Harry’s cell phone awakens them both. Stuart pops his head up and glances around the room.

“Time to get up already?” asks Stuart, trying to untangle himself from the blankets.

“Yea, it’s one o’clock already. Sorry buddy, no time for snoozing,” Harry chuckles as he wanders to the mini-fridge.

Harry drags his feet across the hardwood floors and opens the mini-fridge. He bends over, scratches his head, and grabs a cold bottle of water.

“Can you toss me a bottle of water too? I have to take my medicine.”

“Yes, of course. How have you been doing with your diabetes?” says Harry with a concerned look on his face.

“Actually, I have been doing a lot better. My physician gave me a new medication that has been helping me control my blood sugars better.”

“That’s great!”

“I am no longer on insulin shots. Instead, I take a once a week shot to assist my pancreas in making the insulin I need to regulate my glucose.”

“That’s wonderful, Bro. The last time you were sick in the hospital, I was afraid of losing you,” says Harry with a teardrop forming in the corner of his eye.

Harry wraps his arms around his buddy to give him a sweet hug.

“Don’t worry; you are not going to lose me. I’m still fighting like a warrior. The last two years have been challenging, but having the love and support from my family and friends keeps me moving forward despite the obstacles I face.”

“I am so proud of you.”

“Okay, enough with this mushy talk. We have a case to solve.”

“Okay, but first, I need a shower, coffee, and a bagel breakfast sandwich.”

“Me too,” says Harry with a smirk on his face.

Stuart sits at the rustic corner desk, sitting next to the window, swallowing his pills one at a time until all twelve of them are down his throat. His multi-vitamin is almost as large as a peanut-butter cup and makes him choke.

“Are you okay?” Harry shouts from the bathroom.

“Yes, I always have trouble swallowing my vitamins.”

“Oh, okay. Drink more water to get it down.”

“Yes, mother,” says Stuart in a jokey matter.

Stuart places his medication bottles back into his carry-on bag and picks up the retro style desk phone. As soon as he puts the phone to his ear, everything changes to black and white. Stuart blinks twice in amazement. The large picture window with a million-dollar view of Central Park vanishes and turns into a library room with leather lounge chairs, and wood paneling covers all the walls.

The fluffy red carpet tickles Stuart’s feet as he wanders to the double doors encased in white crown molding. He places his right hand on the door, and his body floats through to the other side. Stuarts catches the scent of cigars in the room, and the smell flows into his nostrils.

Stuart coughs into his arm and calls out, “Hello, is anyone here?”

No response. The more Stuart roams around the room, it comes alive like someone is playing a movie through a projector. A book labeled “Watson Mission 1945” lights up like a strand of fairy lights surrounded the object.

The book is wrapped in the same ribbon as my grandmother’s journal. There has to be some kind of message here for me to find. 

“What do you need me to find, Grandma?” Stuarts calls out into the void.