45. EPILOGUE (D1)

__ "That's one hell of a story," the man said around a mouth full of sandwich.
__ The woman he arrived with glared at him. "Jim!"
__ The man - Jim - forced a large swallow. "I mean come on! Deer head? God forgiving the devil? What kind of shit is this?"
__ "Jim!"
__ "It's okay," the old man smiled and waved a dismissing hand toward the woman's husband. "Like the truth of the August Winter, it's all down to faith."

__ The couple came in to the roadside novelty store on their way through Indiana toward Colorado. It was their honeymoon and they were playing out an extended cross-country road trip in lieu of the usual cruise or flight. "The way things are these days," the wife had said with a roll of her eyes. "Besides, we can really get to know each other intimately this way."
__ "Yes, you can," the old man had nodded and winked.
__ The couple had told him they were intrigued by the sign: "PSYCHIC" spelled out in unlit glass neon tubes above an eye and the word CHURCH painted on the glass underneath. The shop looked like a run down wild west saloon, the imagery heightened by the vast acres of dead farmland surrounding it - and nothing else. The sign on the door said OPEN, so they stopped.
__ The old man who greeted them at the door smiled with dark yellowed teeth and an old GOD IS MY CO-PILOT baseball cap. He wore a scarf around his neck despite the 90-degree heat. With the assistance of a bamboo cane, the old prospector stepped aside and used a sweeping motion with a papery thin arm to invite the pair in. "I get so few visitors, as you might imagine. Please excuse the dust. It's been a dry summer."
__ "Yup," the man said, unwrapping a subway sandwhich as he crossed the threshold and taking a huge bite of it.
__ The woman playfully smacked his arm and said, "Jimmy!" as she pointed to a NO FOOD OR BEVERAGES sign behind the dusty glass. Both 'Jimmy' and the old man waved it off. The old man saying, "You kiddin'? C'mon in. Can I getcha some lemonade?"
__ "No thank you," said the wife.
__ "Nup," said Jim.
__ The couple eyeballed the strange collection of items scattered about the main room of the PSYCHIC CHURCH and smiled nervously as if they had just found themselves wandering into a psychotic wonderland of the bizarre and unpredictable.
__ An old faded pizza box under glass, barely readable as PIZZA KING, had a price tag of $150. The bench seat from an old car with a hole punched through the passenger seat was listed at $750. A shovel, rope, and satchel bag was selling as a "unique set" for $800. There were crumpled men's suit jackets, salt and pepper shakers, horribly stained - "Was that blood?" - woman's tee shirts, a battered car bumper, and what looked like a large collection of splintered wood and organ pieces in a box. The box was labeled, ARDY'S CRUCIFIX and was listed at $2,000.
__ "Quite a collection ya got here," the man snickered around a chomp of roast beef and lettuce and who-knows-what.
__ "The sign says 'church'," the woman pointed out.
__ And that's when the old man told the story about the day a serial killer stepped into this very room and met a beautiful young psychic girl and how, on that day-turned-night over fifty years ago.
__ The whole time the old man spoke, pointing to different items around the store, the wife stared wide-eyed and the man rolled his eyes as if to say, That's why you want all that money for an old pizza box. Now I get it - forget it!
__ But for a time the husband - Jim - stopped munching on his foot-long and glared, sometimes catching himself in disbelief, other times sneering and glancing at his watch.
__ During the times he was caught up in the story, his wife was completely wrapt, leaning forward with her hand on her chest or fanning her face and muttering, "Oh, my God," and "Really?"

__ They had looked around, taken pictures, chomped on his sandwich, giggled and huffed for what seemed like an hour or two as the old man recounted the story of Ardy, Doug, Maggie and the killer Munson in mysteriously smart detail for such an old story.
__ When it was over, the old man said, "Care to purchase?"
__ The man laughed. The woman asked, "Do you have a restroom?"
__ The old man pointed to a side door. "Through the bedroom there. Forgive the mess, but the can is clean."
__ As she stepped away, Jim shoved the last bite of his sub into his maw and attempted to to compact it with his teeth. His cheeks inflated and he pushed the drool in with his finger.
__ The old man smiled crookedly, a look that simultaneously called Jim a pig and said 'to each his own.' He turned toward a broken set of antlers hanging on the wall, glazed with some kind of reddish brown stain, and said, "Oh, these are from Deer Head - still intact. I forgot the price tag. Six hundred."
__ Jim thought of something funny, or perhaps he was going to make an observation about the price. Whatever the case, his voice cut as the wad of half-chewed sub was inhaled into his throat and jammed his windpipe.
__ The old man heard the scuffle and turned toward the man. He rushed to him to see if he could help.
__ Jim, rapidly turning purple and making the "I. Am. Chocking." hand gestures, stared at the old man with his eyes bugging out and tears streaming down his cheeks. The old man stood in front of him with his powdering fingertips on Jim's chest and saying, "Eh? You're choking? Are you chocking?"
__ Jim clenched his left fist and wrapped it with his right hand. He attempted weakly and with no success to give himself the Heimlich maneuver five or six times before stumbling backwards and collapsing to the floor.
__ The old man raced to his side and lowered himself slowly with his cane. He leaned over the man who reached up and pulled at the scarf, his dying watery eyes practically screaming, For God's sake, help me! and darting from side to side as if to yell, Where is my wife!?
__ The scarf pulled away from the old man's neck revealing a savage dark brown bruise that looked clearly like a thumb on the left and four fingers on the right. The neck itself looked pinched and weathered.
__ Jim's eyes fluttered with the realization. Then he died.

__ Rose Bloomfield checked her makeup in the splotchy and greasy bathroom mirror after trying to balance herself on one leg while she flushed the toilet with her foot.
__ This was kind of neat. The old man's story went on and on, but it was fascinating to listen to. Wow, the old people in these backwards hole-in-the-wall towns sure could spin a yarn. She loved Jim and was glad he bowed to her whimsies like that.
__ "Oh, wow! Stop there. Stop there!"
__ They had only crossed two states and two camera cards were already filled. Maybe, she thought, they could stop at a Walgreens or something and download what they had so far. Eighty terrabites wasn't that much, was it?
__ She wondered vaguely if Jim would continue to be that way throughout their marriage. Would he still be willing to turn the car around to check out an antique store run by a one-armed farmer, or will he spend their post-nuptuals in a recliner watching the Bears?
__ Rose shrugged and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. She smacked her lips and noticed a faded picture stuck to the far right side of the mirror. It was so faded it was almost transleucent and that's why she hadn't noticed it. It was a photograph from a deeply yellowed - almost browned - newspaper. She leaned close to see what she could make out. It looked like a photo in an obituary column. It appeared to be of a woman in her thirties in a baseball cap. Her smile was bright, but the death notice type belied the emotion depicted. The caption was faded and partially obscured by a message in long evaporated ink - maybe a love note? - the type read, "ARDELENE R. JACOBI."
__ "Aww," Rose blinked. "How sad." She didn't know who the old man was. She supposed he could be one of the characters in the story, but he had introduced himself as Gus and said he bought the old Psychic Parlor intending to make it into a gas station.
__ Why isn't Jim calling me to get back on the road? He's probably caught in another long story with old Gus. I better save him.

__ Rose came out and saw Jim sitting on a folding chair near the front door. Old Gus was taking a half glass of water from him. Jim looked like he had been crying.
__ "Honey!?" The doting newlywed, Rose jogged to her husband.
__ Jim waved her off. "I'm okay [sniff]. I'm ready to go."
__ To Gus, "Is he okay? What happened?"
__ Gus smiled and shrugged. "Bit too much o' the sandwich. Down the wrong pipe."
__ Rose patted her husband lightly on the back as he turned for the door. "Honey. What have I told you about that? You're going to choke to death one of these days."
__ Jim looked over his shoulder, past Rose, and gave old Gus a confused but familiar look.
__ In moments they were gone, Gus waving after them.

__ Old Man Testerbird, as he was called - sometimes Gus because that's what he told people, turned and cane-hobbled back inside. Once inside he allowed himself to collapse on the dusty couch where he once held the only love of his life all those years ago.
__ "There's another one for ya, Ardy," Douglas wrinkled his chin and nodded. "Another one."